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Katerina
I’m on edge. I’m on edge and I have no idea why. I feel like there’s something lurking beneath the surface, just waiting to consume me. I have this feeling in my gut that something terrible is about to happen.
When I was younger, for a while after my mom died, I had really bad anxiety. I was terrified everyone around me was going to die. I was terrified that Sophia was next. I wouldn’t leave her side. She probably doesn’t remember how bad it got. Bad enough that I had to go to therapy because I couldn’t sleep.
The therapist referred to it as hyper vigilance. A constant, overwhelming fear that something terrible is going to happen. Brought on by a traumatic incident. She told me I couldn’t go through life like that, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Especially not when there’s no basis for it.
Eventually, I got better. I’ve always hated that period of my life. I felt completely and utterly weak, especially in the eyes of my father. He expected me to always be strong and I crumbled. But I picked myself back up. One thing I never really confessed though, is that the hypervigilance never really went away. I became less protective of Sophia but I was always watchful of her, ensuring that she was safe, scared that she wouldn’t be.
But I also learned to always trust my gut and something is definitely about to happen. Something I won’t like. Rico notices my mood as we exit the gambling den my family owns. It’s not our main business, mostly because it’s harder to manage, a lot more public with many people involved, which doesn’t go well with my family’s desire to be conspicuous. But in the past few years, we’ve been more open than ever and I’m thinking it’s time to come out of the shadows fully.
“You okay, Kat?” Rico asks as one of the men opens the door of the car for me.
I nod once before entering, but my cousin can be annoyingly persistent. Instead of entering the other car which he always rides in when we go out, he crosses to the other side and enters beside me. I raise an eyebrow and he offers me an innocent smile.
“Something’s wrong,” he insists.
“Yes. But I don’t know what,” I mutter, looking out the window as the car starts to drive.
“Everything’s in order,” Rico starts to say. “There’s a plan in place to send out messages to the politicians in D.C, giving them a time frame for them to meet our list of demands. Have I already told you how brilliantly bold and dangerous that plan is?”
“Yes, several times,” I say dryly.
“Just making sure,” he continues. “Anyway, we’re making good time on our deals. New York has been relatively peaceful these past few years, with all the major mafia families having an alliance and all. We haven’t had any news from Moscow. There’s nothing to be worried about.”
My eyes meet his brown ones and I suddenly feel immensely blessed to have him. Rico’s my rock. I don’t know how I would have handled things without him.
“I know.”
He tilts his head to the side, studying me. “Do you want to shoot someone?”
That makes me laugh. “Why? Are you offering?”
“Nah, I’d like to keep my head and you never miss.”
“I’d miss if it was you on the other side,” I tell him.
“How sweet, cugina,” he says, brown eyes gleaming. “Anyway, what do you need?’
“Some rest, I guess. It’ll be okay. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
The nothing proves to absolutely be something once we drive into my family’s compound and a call enters my phone. It’s a private id number and my eyebrows immediately arch. One look at Rico and he’s handing me my laptop. I simultaneously start to decode who the caller is and his location while picking up the call.
The person on the other end doesn’t speak. My eyebrow rises even further.
“Hello?” I ask, but there’s no reply.
Rico taps the shoulders of both men in front of the car, telling them without words to step outside. I focus on finding the location of the caller. Whoever it is, the fact that they have my private number already raises red flags. My cousin waits patiently beside me as my hands fly over the keyboard.
“Who is this?” I ask to keep the person on the line.
There’s still nothing. But he or she doesn’t hang up. I don’t even hear any breathing. Rico gives me a look and points at the phone asking me to put it on speaker. I refuse, shaking my head. His eyes grow hard but he doesn’t fight, watching me as I continue tapping away on my keyboard.
The IP address for the number is pinging everywhere from Croatia to France to Chile. Whoever this person is, he’s good. I feel a flush of frustration.
“I’m going to hang up now if you’re unwilling to speak,” I state.
Finally, there’s a throat clearing on the other side. “I was giving you time, Katerina. To try and fail to figure out my location.”
