“I’m single.”
Fuck my life. What a time to meet a woman I’d happily spend my life fucking. I hand the bag back to her, and she drops it in her purse.
“Put the phone in your pocket. Never carry it in your purse. That’s too easy for someone to snatch. I’d rather you keep the phone than the cash. The cash can be replaced. Being able to call for help can’t.”
“How long do I have to hide?”
“I will text you one word. Now. When you see that, you’ll know I believe it’s safe. It may be a few weeks, even a month.”
“Do I change my name or something? Obviously, I can’t come back to work here. Do I quit?”
“You need to tell me your name and your email address. I can send something to your boss through a VPN. They won’t be able to trace it easily.”
She stands there staring at me, clearly debating whether to give me that information. She hasn’t tried to run, and I can tell she’s been locking away all my instructions in her memory. I think she’s getting how serious I am. I’m treating her like a CI, a confidential informant, who’s done serving my family. That’s how I know what to tell her.
“It’s Olivia D’Amato.”
It’s my turn to freeze. I knew something struck me as familiar.
“Are you related to Danny D’Amato?”
“I don’t think so.”
She’s lying. I can tell from her eyes. She’s not conveying something through her expression. It’s truly her eyes. I’ve seen the eye color before and only in the D’Amato family. Danny used to come to meetings like this with my uncle, but he got shot nearly two decades ago. A collapsed lung has kept him from being useful since he can barely string a sentence together without wheezing. I suppose she could be related to another person in the family and just doesn’t know Danny. He’s the only one I can think of who’s the right age to be her dad.
“What’s your email address?”
I’m repeating it in my head as she tells me. I won’t write it down anywhere, and luckily she gives me a work one that has the name of another company in it.
“I’ll send it tonight.”
“What’re you going to say? And won’t Carlos’s people think it’s suspicious that I quit the same night he goes missing? The company I work for certainly will.”
“No one’s going to know Carlos is dead for a few days. In the meantime, you got offered a better-paying job at another place. What did you do?”
“I’m a marketing rep. I did market research, lined up all the promotions, worked with the ad agency, and oversaw the social media team. You must know this store is part of a chain. It’s one of my company’s clients and one location I visit.”
“All right. You’re getting a new job somewhere like Westchester and unrelated to regular retail. Something at a big corporation. You need to hurry and go. Do you have somewhere in mind?”
“Yeah.”
Good, because I saw the second car come back. I need to know if they took out the driver or lost him. While I talk to him, my guy is going to follow Olivia wherever she goes until I know she’s safe. When I figure out where she’s staying, I’ll have a team watch her.
“Remember, call me if you think something’s wrong. Don’t wait to find out if it is. But otherwise, don’t use that phone and stick to the cash.”
“I will. Thank you, Luca.”
“Good luck, piccolina.”
I watch her get into a Volkswagen Jetta, and I’m glad it’s gray. It’s unremarkable. I see her chin dip toward me before she pulls out of the lot. What I told her is enough to keep her alive, but she’s not used to this. She will trip up somehow. It’s inevitable. It’s a question of how long she lasts.
Chapter Two
Livy
I have never been so terrified in my life. Not the time I got stuck on a rollercoaster upside down in one of those seats that only has the harness. Not the time I crashed my bike in Midtown and nearly had a city bus run me over. Not the time I watched my dad threaten to beat the shit out of my mom and point a knife at me.
It wasn’t the moment I stepped outside and immediately realized what I walked into. It wasn’t the moment the bullets hit the dumpster only inches from my head and chest. It wasn’t the few moments that I ran. It was the moment I looked into Luca Mancinelli’s eyes and realized I was the world’s biggest idiot to trust him.
When he held my arms, he didn’t hurt me, even though he could have. He held them tightly enough that I couldn’t break loose, but I know there won’t be bruises. When he hugged me as I was about to freak out, he was so gentle, even though I knew he wouldn’t let go. He smelled divine. And fuck me if he isn’t the hottest man I’ve ever seen. Even with the wicked scar that runs along his left cheek, down his neck, and beneath the collar of his button-down shirt. Whoever sewed it did a good job because it’s not jagged or puckered, but it is noticeable. It gives him an air of ruthlessness on top of his already dangerous aura. A man who survived that kind of wound is no lightweight.
But somehow I knew from the moment he caught me he wouldn’t hurt me. Instinct warred inside. Part of me trusted him the moment I could tell he was being gentle. But the other part said I deserved to die like in a slasher movie for not fighting harder to get away. It was a battle between what I should do and what I wanted to do. In any other situation, I might have tried my inept version of flirting. That wasn’t possible since I witnessed a triple murder, and one killer was giving me instructions on how to get away from the victim’s bosses. What the ever-loving fuck?
I just took the BQE—Brooklyn Queens Expressway—from Williamsburg in Brooklyn and jumped off at Sunnyside in Queens. I need to get gas. I’m watching all the cars I pass or those around me. I’m looking in my mirrors as often as I’m looking through my windshield. I keep my back to the pump the entire time. I’ve watched enough of those crime drama shows to know I should do that.
The moment my tank’s full, I jump back on the road. I get back on the BQE until it turns into the Grand Central Parkway, which takes me to the South Bronx. From there, I wind through the borough on local roads to Hutchinson Parkway and head north to Connecticut.
I don’t know where I’m going. I just feel like Connecticut is a less likely place to flee to than New Jersey. Do Brooklyn murder witnesses hide out among yuppies in the burbs? I’ve lived in New York City my entire life. I know which stereotypes about Jersey are true and which aren’t, but right now, I’m buying into all of them. I’m less likely to be swimming with the fish wearing concrete shoes if I head north.
Then again, that’s supposedly the Mafia’s hallmark, and Luca said I was safe from them. The Culiacán will behead me and leave me in the street. It’s how they handle things in Tijuana and Chihuahua. I know what that cartel is like, and I know TJ is the most dangerous city in the world. I want nothing to do with it.
Where the hell am I going? Luca said to color my hair and to get colored contacts. I definitely have the cash to do that, but I hate he gave me such big bills. That sounds so fucking unappreciative, but breaking one hundred-dollar bills draws attention. I’m on Interstate 95 now, so I get off in New Rochelle and find a chain pharmacy. I’m still looking around everywhere I go. It’s night, so it’s not like I can use sunglasses to disguise myself. It’s late winter, so I pull up my hood, but it doesn’t hide my face. I’m just going to keep my head down as best I can. Even with my chin tucked, my eyes are sweeping my surroundings.