I don’t need a reminder. I’m hungry. Always hungry. I’ve been starving for years.
On a stool across the room is a pile of folded clothes with tags still on them. I guess they’re for me. Jeans, a sweater. Underthings. A pair of boots. All new.
I should shower before I put them on, but I just splash water on my face in the sink and return to the bedroom. Because I’d seen something at the window.
I go to it and look out, watch the train that runs along the elevated track not too far away and I realize I don’t hear it. He must have the place soundproofed. A fence circles the parking lot around the building but it’s old and not maintained. Not as secure as I’m used to.
And when I press my forehead to the window, I see the ladder I’d just glimpsed against the wall of the building. I can’t tell if it’s broken. If it reaches all the way down to the parking lot. I glance at the closed bedroom door then back to the window. I unlock it. It’s easy. Too easy. But the window itself is jammed and harder to open. It takes a few minutes but soon enough there’s a creak and I push it up. It only goes half-way then gets stuck again but that’s all I need.
Bending I stick my head out into the cold evening and see the remnants of the fire escape. The ladder is intact, and it goes almost to the parking lot. That last part I’d have to jump but it looks like it’s only a few feet. I can do that.
I hurry back to the bathroom and switch on the shower, leaving the bathroom door open as I pull off the hoodie. That’s when I notice the band aid stuck to the crease of my forearm. I take a minute to look at it, peel it back to see the miniscule puncture. Another injection.
He doesn’t want to drug me. Yeah, right.
I yank the band-aid away and let it drop to the floor. Quickly, I put on the folded clothes, fresh underthings, a warm, soft sweater. No coat, though. I’ll need a coat.
After slipping my feet into the boots I put his hoodie back on over top of my clothes, catching that faint scent of him. The feeling it gives me goes against what I’m thinking, against the warning in my head that this is all a lie. A trick.
I shove the feeling away and leave the shower running when I return to the bedroom, pausing when I see the wallet again, knowing there’s eight-hundred-dollars inside. I slip one of the bills out. I may need it when I get out of this room. I don’t know how far I am from the hotel. The Hudson, I remember the name. Like the river.
I head to the window and pause when I hear men’s voices inside speaking quietly. I wonder if they’re all still here, but I can’t think about that right now. Fear paralyzes. I know that well.
I can’t be afraid.
So, before I get to that point, I bend down and climb out of the window. The landing is not quite stable, the metal of the ladder rusty and cold. I hold on tight as I toe the first rung, just barely managing to touch it. My heart races and my breath mists in the morning air. The hoody catches on something, tearing, and I feel a sting as I swing the other leg out, but I don’t care. I’m out. And I climb as fast as I can manage, which isn’t very fast because it’s so cold my fingers are freezing. I’m also scared of falling. But soon I’m at the end of it and I look five or six feet down to the ground. It seems higher now that I’m here.
But I have no choice.
So, I turn carefully and when my back is to the wall, I take a deep breath and jump.
5
Dante
“This wasn’t what we fucking agreed!” Cristiano bellows.
I bite into a piece of crispy bacon, enjoying the saltiness, the texture. I eat the rest of the strip. “Any word on that fuck’s location?”
“Dante,” my brother starts. I can almost hear him forcing himself to breathe, to calm down. “You were going in to get her. To bring her home safely. That was the plan.”
That was his plan. I want Petrov. He’s at the top of my list of assholes to kill and I’m not leaving the city until he’s dead. After what I did last night, I know he’ll crawl out of whatever hole he disappeared into. He won’t be able to resist.
“Charlie?” I ask, again, ignoring my brother. He and Charlie are in his office back at the house in Italy. Charlie’s been monitoring for Petrov’s location but nothing as of last night.
“Come home,” Cristiano says. “Bring her home. Get her safe. We’ll go back together. I want him as much as you do.”
“She is safe. And I’m not leaving the city until I take care of him.”
“He’ll be on high alert.”
“That’s the point.”
“You’re reckless, Dante. You’re going to get yourself killed. Please, for fuck’s sake, wait until I can do this with you.”
After giving birth to Alessandro, Scarlett and Cristiano’s little boy, Scarlett miscarried twice and now that she’s five months pregnant, he’s taking extra precautions to keep her and the baby safe. I’m pretty sure my brother hasn’t told her about last night yet. She’ll lose her shit when she hears.
“You have a family to look after, Cris,” I remind him.
“You’re my fucking family too.”
“This one’s for me and I’ll take care of it,” I finish. I check my watch, look at the closed bedroom door. “I gotta go. Charlie, you still there?”
“I’m here, Dante.”
“Call me as soon as you hear anything.”
He’s silent.
“I mean it. Cristiano means well but I’m not going to let him get himself killed.”
“I’ll call,” Charlie says reluctantly, but he agrees with me. Now that Cristiano has his family, there’s more at stake for him. I’m a one-man show. No one will miss me when I’m gone.
Not that I plan to be gone just yet.
“Good.” I disconnect the call and tuck the phone into my pocket. I put another strip of bacon into my mouth and chew. There’s a low rumble in the warehouse. An unusual sound now that it’s otherwise quiet. I sent the men away so as not to scare her. She’s skittish. Understandably so.
After a few minutes, I check my watch again. That rumble repeats and it bothers me. I hear the shower, but something doesn’t feel right. Setting my coffee mug down I walk down the hall to the bedroom and knock first, but there’s no answer which isn’t surprising considering the shower is going.
I try the door, but it’s locked as I expected, so I pull the ring of keys out of my pocket, unlock the door, and open it thinking I should make some noise so as not to startle her even though some sixth sense is telling me I fucked up. That I’m going to find the room empty. And it takes all of a moment for me to see my mistake. The open window.
“Fuck!”
I make my way to the bathroom, confirm the shower’s empty. Water left running. Clever. I reach in and switch it off, my sleeve getting wet. The clothes are gone. My bad again. I shouldn’t have left her alone. Shouldn’t have left her with an out. She didn’t have a coat. That’s in the other room. She probably wore my hoodie on top.
I return to the bedroom, go to the open window, see the strip of cloth caught on a rusty nail. I recognize the material of my hoodie. I should have pulled the rusted old fire escape out.