Gian (Trassato Crime Family #1)(16)

I was suffocating on my loneliness. A few more days of this and I’d start talking to random people on the street or myself. I’d walked away from Kevin’s cheating ass, and nothing had improved. Now, I’d become Gian’s pseudo fiancée, which in his world was code for prisoner. I couldn’t eat, breathe, or sleep without an escort.

Tony sucked in his lips, making his beak-like nose more prominent. “You told him you were in for the night.”

I shrugged. “So? What’s your point? It’s not like he’s rushing home to hang out with me.”

“He’s busy,” he growled.

“Whatever. If it’s a problem, call Gian and tell him I’m going out again.”

His eyes narrowed. “Even if he agrees, you still can’t go anywhere by yourself.”

“Right. I forgot. I’m a prisoner.” I rolled my eyes. “Why don’t you call your boss while I go to the bathroom and get ready?”

Not waiting for a response, I rushed to the bathroom and locked the door behind me.

Unlike the place where I lived with Kevin, Gian’s three-story brownstone hadn’t been chopped up into multiple residences. The main floor consisted of a living room, dining room, kitchen, study, and a powder room. The second floor had two bedrooms and a bathroom. The third floor was one large master suite inhabited by Gian, or at least, that was what he told me during my five-minute tour the night I moved into his house. I’d never seen it. He also had a coveted two-car garage on the garden level.

Five monster steps on the striated porcelain tile and I stood in front of the double-hung window. I pried it open, climbed onto the top of the toilet, and stuck one boot-clad foot out the window and then the other. I dangled from the sill for a moment, the pulse in my neck pumping hard, the suede toes of my boots scraping against the weatherworn brick. I closed my eyes, counted to three, and uncurled my fingers. Three feet felt like ten as I whooshed through the air, landing ungracefully on the bluestone patio. A lightning fast jab shot up my weak ankle.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered.

I scrambled to my feet. The wind howled in my ears, and my hair lashed the sides of my face. A red candy bar wrapper tumbled over the tips of my shoes. I scanned the shadows, searching for any witnesses, and listening for footsteps or voices. I didn’t see or hear anyone.

With my back pressed to the building, I crept around the corner, my hair snagging on the roughened brick. The second I reached the tree-lined street, I took off in a full-blown sprint.

One block.

My ankle burned.

Two blocks.

The narrow buildings blurred into a kaleidoscope of brick, surprised faces, and gleaming yellow lights. I collided with elbows, shoulders, purses, and chests, not bothering to make any apologies. I just kept running. Needing space. Needing freedom.

Three blocks.

My feet pounded on a metal sidewalk cellar door, and mini-booms echoed through my ears.

Four blocks.

My lungs burned like I’d swallowed a mouthful of lava. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so out of shape. For as long as I could remember, I spent every waking hour dancing. A year of doing nothing had changed me into a wind-sucking weakling.

Five blocks.

My purse pounded against my back.

Six blocks.

I couldn’t take another step.

I paused, my chest heaving like a faulty life vest with a gaping hole. Screw this. I ripped the phone from the side pocket inside my purse, pulled up my Uber app, and summoned the first available car. In less than a minute, a black town car pulled up to the curb, and I slid inside. My damp shirt mimicked Velcro when I settled into leather back seat.

“Where to?” the driver asked, lowering the volume of his radio.

“Um…” In truth, I didn’t have anywhere to go. Carmela, who’d been my only outlet for escape and commiseration for over year, was no longer an option.

My two conversations with her had been strained. While she hadn’t said or done anything blatantly hurtful, she’d acted distant. Without her, I didn’t have anyone. I had no intention of calling my mother. I refused to sit through another hour of my life listening to her chastise me for making bad decisions. She made it clear she thought I should have moved home after I broke off my engagement with Kevin, and in retrospect, I couldn’t disagree.

The driver swiveled in his seat, his left hand tapping an imaginary beat on the steering wheel. “Well? Where do you want to go?”

I rubbed my temples, my mind wildly grasping for any plausible destination. “What’s the nearest hotel?”

“I don’t know.” His nearly black eyes narrowed, and then he nodded. “I think there’s a Marriott near the Brooklyn Bridge.”

I leaned forward, a small burst of excitement rushing through me. “Perfect. Take me there.”

“You got it.”

Rubbing the frayed hem of my shirt, I stared at the parade of people, all faceless and nameless. A few stared at their phones, some chatted with their companions, and others walked with purpose as though their whole life depended on them making it to their destination.

Meanwhile, I sat in frozen horror while my actions caught up with me. Gian wasn’t Kevin. He wouldn’t accept my defiance with nothing more than a few well-aimed barbs calculated to trash my self-esteem. The dead guy on the floor of his office said enough about his capacity for violence to have me regretting my impulsive actions.