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I inwardly sigh. This situation will be a bitch to explain.
I turn to Astoria. “You’re meeting me tomorrow,” I inform her.
She doesn’t even argue. “I’m free for lunch. Does two work?”
I nod. “I’ll text you the details.”
She arches a dark eyebrow. “You don’t even have my number.”
“You’ll find, Ms. Bianchi, that there’s not a lot of things that are out of my reach. Getting your number will be a piece of cake.”
“I probably should have found myself a boyfriend with a bit less ego,” she muses.
“Tomorrow,” I say, ignoring her statement. She rolls her eyes and waves me away.
Instead of leaving, I pull her closer and place a soft kiss on her forehead, right under the dark tendrils of her hair. I don’t miss the way she stiffens or the slight hitch in her breath.
“Your parents are watching,” I explain when she looks up at me in question. We’ve also garnered the attention of half the guests in the room, but I ignore them. “Good night, Ms. Bianchi.”
I walk away without another glance, wondering again just how I got myself into this situation.
CHAPTER5
Tori
From what I’ve heard, the best dreams are the ones you forget fastest. They fade almost immediately, the feelings they elicit falling away. For me, it’s the opposite. My nightmares evoke the same reaction. I guess I should be glad. When I wake up, I get to forget it all. When I wake up, all the fear and terror is gone. It’s like shedding a layer of my skin. When I wake up, I get to be normal. When I wake up, I’m not broken.
* * *
The gravityof my actions hits me the next morning as I fade between consciousness and subconsciousness. Then I remember everything and I’m blasted out of sleep. I sit up in my bed and groan.
Fuck.
“I’m going to make myself feel better by assigning a large portion of blame for last night’s activities to tequila,” I mutter aloud, staring at the digital clock at my side.
I woke up five minutes earlier than usual. My subconscious brain had been dreaming up scenarios where Carlo D’Angelo shot me for my behavior last night.
After he and his family left, I managed to find an older woman willing to fill me in on every bit of news, gossip, everything that’s known about the D’Angelo family. By the time she was done, I was feeling a little squeamish—although I’m not sure if that had to do with the tequila or the story of the D’Angelos’ ruthless murders.
They’re a scary bunch, and apparently, Carlo’s the worst of them all. Not just because of his ruthlessness but because of how little is known about him. He’s mysterious, intimidating, and probably the worst candidate I could have picked for a fake boyfriend. I’m still not sure why he agreed to the ruse.
I spent the rest of the night dodging my parents’ questions. After the party, we headed home and I retired to my room, falling asleep immediately.
With a sigh, I head to the shower and get ready for the day. Luckily for me, my parents like to sleep in, so I’m able to have a quick breakfast and leave the house before they can barrage me with more questions. Questions I don’t have an answer to.
The hospital’s busy, and I’m soon too overcome with work to think about my new predicament. Until I get a text from an unknown number.
Reese’s café, Oakland Avenue. 2 p.m., Ms. Bianchi. Don’t be late.
There’s no need to ask who it is but I do so anyway. My text is quickly followed by a bland reply.
Carlo D’Angelo. Save my number.
It doesn’t escape my notice that the café he chose is close enough to the hospital that I can walk there. I’m glad. I was worried I’d have to battle New York traffic to get to wherever he chose.
Me: How did you get my number?
Carlo: For someone who didn’t ask any questions before dragging me into a terribly concocted lie, you sure have a lot of questions for me.
