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The house lights switch on, prompting me to cover my face. I’m shaking like a scared puppy.
Thinking of my parents I left behind makes my stomach turn – all the fights I had with them when I was a teenager. Some good times. Christmas mornings and big moments. My life flashes before my eyes often… because I always think I’m going to die.
This time, though… death has finally come knocking.
I take a shaky breath and steel myself.
Leandro steps to Lenny to inspect his leg – blood leaking through his make-shift bandage. “A shallow slice.” He smirks, his voice deep like a rumbling engine. “Man up.”
He steps over to me next – spikey tattoos crawling up his neck, trimmed beard too polished for the level of danger in his eyes, and the lines of muscle twisted into indents in his tank top scream the pain that awaits me.
“Please…” My voice is a shaky whisper.
He steps closer, gun in one hand, then glances at the microwave. “I could eat.” He whips open the door and nonchalantly grabs the plate of chicken parm, tossing it roughly on the island.
“Oh ho, you going to share, big man?” Tony asks.
Lenny winces, trying to get to his feet. “The neighbors. We should get the job done and go.”
Leandro finds the fork I left out on the counter and stabs the chicken. “Elderly woman across the way, hard of hearing. Middle-aged couple left with suit-cases an hour ago. House on the right is vacant. I’d say we have all the time we need.” Leandro takes his first bite.
Attention to detail makes the killer that much more disturbing. I stand no chance against him. I’ll bet someone like that wants me to run, just for the thrill of the hunt.
I hold my legs a little tighter. He pulls up a stool and sits at the island with his back to me, like I’m so little of a threat that I wouldn’t even be able to stab him if I tried. The knives are directly above me. The thought of trying ends with an image of the knife being turned on me, cutting my arm, my stomach. I can feel the wetness and throbbing sting of open wounds in my mind. I know how this will go.
My eyes flick to Joey’s body on the floor across from me. His head is facing away, and his shoulders rise and fall from labored unconscious breathing. Piece of shit was going to leave me to die.
“Not bad, kid. We could use a cook like you in the house,” Leandro praises me, eating with his head down.
Kid? I’m not a freaking kid.
Wait, why is he talking to me?
I pull myself away from him, sliding across the kitchen floor.
He hoots at that. “Scared of me?”
I bite my lip. I don’t know what to say. Each rumble of his voice vibrates through me like a gong, and I fear any response will end with a knife at my throat.
“Hitched your wagon to the wrong horse, is all. Been there.” He taps his fork on the plate. “I wasn’t always doing jobs for the right families. Almost got myself killed for it. I’m only here because of a stroke of luck.”
He takes my whimpering as a cue to keep talking, apparently. I have no idea what the hell is going on. Is this how he plays with his prey?
“My Uncle Ronny went to prison before he could whack me, and somehow, by some miracle, the Valentinos and the Rigianos found an alliance.”
God. He’s the Shadow’s nephew? Makes him even worse.
“Just a month ago, I was looked at as a lone gunman who couldn’t be trusted. But you see, sometimes we can be blinded by our vices.” He nods to Joey on the floor. “I guess he’s yours. Funny, because he’s mine, too.”
Tony and Lenny look at Leandro dumbly. I have the same confusion. What the hell is he talking about?
He wipes his hand with a paper towel and gets up. His big boots leave dirt wherever they touch the tile, and when he moves toward the sink, I cower.
Every sound is amplified right now. He turns the faucet, and the roar of rushing water feels like a fire hose in my head. My body is telling me to run, but I’m frozen. I’m always goddamn frozen.
Leandro steps over me like I’m some inanimate rock before returning his focus to Joey. With one muscular arm, he rips him up by his hair to be sitting upright, then slams his back against the wall opposite me where he slumps against the side of the fridge. I’m staring at his unconscious face, and I feel nothing. Just numbness.
This scenario played out in my mind many times. And now that it’s here? There’s almost a sense of relief amid the nervous fear. It’s almost over.
