The words come from the base of my throat, and are low and gruff. Even more blood drains from Lily’s face, as if that’s even possible. I grab her shoulders, pulling her closer to me.
“What happened?” I demand.
Lily’s lips quiver as she tries to speak. She says something so quietly I don’t hear. She repeats herself, batting her eyelashes.
“They told the police.”
A tear gathers in the corner of her eyes. I shake my head, trying to make sense of the words.
“Who? What?”
Lily bites her lip, hard. “Jenna and Tyler. They went to the cops and told them everything. You were right. We shouldn’t have had them over.”
I pace the room, running my hands through my hair.
“Please don’t be mad at them,” Lily says. “They thought I was in danger, that you were holding me against my will.”
“What precinct?”
Lily blinks rapidly, trying to gather her thoughts. “The one downtown. Beside the post office.”
I clench my fists and scan the room for something to punch. I settle on a framed watercolor hanging on the wall, and hurl my fist into it, shattering the glass and cutting my knuckles in the process. Lily is unfazed by this. Her mind is occupied with something else. She runs up to me, grabbing my chest.
“You’re right,” she says. “We need to leave. They gave the cops your name. They’ll come after you.” She runs her hand up my neck, over my stubbled cheeks. “We can go to Canada. Or Mexico.”
Lily rushes to the bed and starts shoving clothes into the duffel bag. An ambulance drives by on the street below, lights and horns blaring. Lily clutches a blouse to her chest, looking like she’s going to have a heart attack.
“Hurry,” she yells at me. “They could be here any second, kicking the door down.”
I watch her move around the room frenetically, just like I was doing a moment ago. I tell myself I need to calm down, get ahold of things. I lean against the wall, breathing to slow the blood pumping through my veins.
Lily’s like a tornado, spinning around the small bedroom, pulling everything out of the drawers and dumping it on the bed. I walk over to her and wrap my arms around her waist. She struggles against my arms, unable to be still.
“Hey,” I whisper. I hold her tighter, not letting her move until she calms down. Lily turns towards me, and buries her face in my chest. “The cops aren't coming. It’s okay.”
“What? Why wouldn't they?”
I press my face against her hair, breathing in her scent. “The precinct they went to, that’s Salvatore turf. Every pig there is wrapped around Paul Salvatore’s greasy finger.”
Lily goes still as she thinks about this, nuzzling closer into my chest.
“I don’t get it. Wouldn’t the Salvatores want to see you arrested?”
“Worse,” I say, biting down with my back teeth. “They’ll want me to suffer more than that, to prove a point, and warn others not to mess with their revenue stream.”
Lily’s shoulders tense against me. She forces out the words. “What will they do to you?”
I close my eyes, holding her closer to me. I can’t lie to her. She needs to know.
“It’s not what they’ll do to me, it’s what they’ll do to you.” My throat tightens on the last word. “That’s how they get their revenge. They probably won’t even kill me, just beat the shit out of me, maim me, just so I have to go on living without-“ I press my lips together. I won’t let Lily see me cry.
Lily clings to me limply. Sweat forms on our clothes between us from the close contact.
“They know it was me who killed John, that’s for sure.” I stare at the ceiling, unable to look at her. “They might not know about us, about you.”
Lily squeezes me tighter, almost crushing my ribs. “No, Mateo,” she whispers.
I pry her arms away from my body. “It’s the only way to keep you safe.”
“No,” she repeats, shaking her head.
I have to move. I can’t just sit here in this horrible moment. I remove my clothes from the duffel bag, and start replacing them with Lily’s. I don’t look at her, but I feel her presence. She’s like a small point of energy, gradually building in strength and size. I know it won’t be long before she explodes.
Out of nowhere, Lily bolts towards me, grabbing me like a banshee. She lets out a high pitched scream as she jumps into my chest, wrapping her legs tightly around me. Instinctually, I catch her. Adrenaline pulses through me as I hold her in my arms. In her eyes is a look I’ve seen before, but never quite this intense. It’s dark, and strangely powerful.
“I’m not leaving you,” she says, definitively. “I’m not giving up. I’ll kill if I have to.”
I lock my eyes on hers challengingly, and squeeze my hands tighter around my ass. I know she’s just saying that in the moment. Lily didn’t grow up like me. She doesn’t have the dark, heavy ball of nothingness inside of her chest that allows her to do unspeakable things. But the thought of her pulling that trigger, intentionally taking a life, makes my cock rise long and hard.
“Could you?” I ask. “Could you spill a man’s brains all over his quarterly reports?”
I press my raging cock against her, desperate for her answer to be ‘yes.’
Lily hesitates for a split second, then her eyes light up with fire.
“I’ll kill any motherfucker who stands in the way of me being with you.”
Her voice is calm and clear, and I know she means every word. I ram my rod between her legs, and nibble at her ear lobe. In the back of my mind, I know what’s going to happen, what I’ll have to do, but I decide not to dwell on that right now.
With a grunt, I throw Lily on the bed and rip off her clothes. I tear my shirt off and stand over her, biceps flexed, my chest and face red, breathing fiercely. I pounce on top of her, and fuck her like it’s my last night on earth.
Chapter Twelve
————————
Lily
It’s feels strange to go back to work after the emotional rollercoaster of the day before. While riding on the subway, I flash back to that phone call from Jenna. In a shattered voice, she’d told me what she and Tyler had done. She seemed to regret it. I’d listened quietly, and when she finished her story, calmly hung up the phone. She and Tyler both called me nonstop, one after the other, for about an hour. I’d thrown my phone in a drawer so I wouldn’t have to deal with it.
I walk down the street towards the office. Usually I’m focused on getting to work, and the tasks I need to accomplish that day. Today, I walk slower, looking around at the mob of people rushing all around me. They carry briefcases, have cell phones pressed to their ears, or walk in groups, talking shop. Each one of them is convinced that what they’re doing is the most important thing on earth.
This is normal. They are normal.
I’m realizing that this world is a stark contrast to the one I inhabit with Mateo. The worst anyone else on this street is worried about is missed deadlines. I check over my shoulder every few minutes to make sure no one’s coming to kidnap and torture me. I thought I could meld the two worlds together into something normal. But they’re incompatible.
I like to go into the office through the back so I can avoid the receptionist who’ll hold me up talking about frivolous drivel. To do this, I have to walk through the parking deck. I didn’t know how paranoid I was until I walked through the quiet, empty space, the echo of my footsteps the only sound.
If someone knew my routine, they’d know this was the perfect place to snatch me.
I pinch myself for being so morbid, then break into a jog.
I make it into the office without being kidnapped, or chatted up by the receptionist. I settle behind my desk with a sigh, and quickly get to work. I’m shocked Mateo let me leave this morning. He’s probably keeping an eye on me. He thinks I don’t know he does that, stalking around the block outside, following me to lunch. Knowing he’s not far makes me feel more secu
re.
For lunch, I grab a sandwich and coffee from the food truck down the block. On my way back to the office, I hesitate before I walk through the parking deck. At this time of day, the sun is high in the sky, and the space beneath the concrete levels is dark besides a few dim lights. The skin pricks on the back of my neck, telling me to go in through the front door.
The sandwich paper crinkles in my hand. This is an artisanal porchetta sandwich. If I get cornered by Cathy, it’ll be cold before I have a chance to eat it. I put my head down, and charge into the parking deck, determined to get through as quickly as I can.
There’s no one in here. As I get closer to the back stairwell, I start to calm down. Why am I so worked up? The Salvatores might not even know about me, and if anyone darts out from the shadows, I have guns strapped to my waist and ankle, and a pocket knife in my bra.
“Almost there,” I whisper at the base of my throat.
I hear footsteps coming from the far end of the parking deck.
It’s okay, I tell myself. It’s just someone that works here.
I keep my gaze straight ahead, focusing on the light flooding into the stairwell. The footsteps pick up, coming faster, which I notice right away. My breath becomes shallow. I take quick, fluttering steps, just short of breaking into a run.
“Hey,” a man’s voice calls out.
I don’t look that way, just quicken my step. I hear the footsteps quicken.
“Lily, stop,” the man calls.
I whirl around to see a figure barreling towards me. I panic, dropping the sandwich and coffee by my feet.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
I scream, breaking into a run, but I trip on my high heels. I crash into the hard ground, banging my elbow. The man is right on top of me, hovering over me. I can’t make out his features in the dimmed light. He’s reaching towards me, trying to grab me. I crawl backwards, trying to put some space between us. My rational mind has faded away, replaced with all instinct. I roll on my side, grab the handle of the gun strapped on my waist, and point it at him.
“I’ll fucking shoot you,” I yell.
The man throws his hands in the hair in surrender. He steps backward quickly, and falls on his ass. I see something tossed out to the side, and I realize it’s a briefcase.
Oh, fuck.
“Put that away, right now,” he says in a commanding voice.
I realize in an instant who it is. It’s Dean Hathaway, one of the partners at Bellevue. I stash the gun back into my holster. I’m still on the ground, and don’t see any reason to get up. Dean scrambles to his feet, and starts wiping off his pants.
“Why the hell do you have a gun?” he asks, his face red.
“It’s for self defense.”
“Self defense? I was trying to tell you what a good job you were doing.” Dean shakes his head, fuming. “I told Joe not to hire you. I knew you were unhinged.” He leans over me, offering me his hand. “Get up. And walk in front of me. I’m not turning my back on you.”
With my porchetta sandwich going cold on the ground, Dean marches me right into Mr. Bryant’s office. Mr. Bryant listens with a blank expression on his face as Dean tells the story.
“I’m calling the police,” Dean says.
“No, please don’t,” I plead. I can’t trust the police. “I own this gun legally,” I say, defiantly. “As is my right.”
Mr. Bryant blinks as if he’s just waking up from a strange dream. “Firearms aren’t allowed in the building.”
“Pointing a gun at your superior isn’t allowed either,” Dean says. He turns to Mr. Bryant. “We need to call the cops, Joe. She could hurt someone.”
“I would never-“ I start. “I thought you were someone else.”
Mr. Bryant pricks up his head, suddenly alert. He eyes me compassionately. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Lily?”
I’ve learned by now to keep my mouth shut, so I just shake my head. Mr. Bryant leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk. I can tell he doesn’t entirely believe me.
“I’m sorry to lose you,” Mr. Bryant says. “You were the best assistant I’ve ever had.” He stands from his desk, and looks sharply at Dean. “We’ll handle this internally. We don’t need the press jumping all over this. No cops.” He offers his hand to me. “Good luck on your professional journey.”
“Thank you,” I say, shaking his hand.
————————
Where was Mateo? Did he see that?
People cast pitying stares at me as I walk down the street clutching a box full of my possessions. This is the fired walk of shame I’ve seen other people do. Usually they hold a crumpled tissue to their red eyes. My expression is stoic, calm. It doesn’t sting yet, but it will hit me later. I wish Mateo would emerge from an alleyway and hold me in his arms.
I climb the stairs to the apartment, telling myself this is only a setback. I’ll find another job. I have Mateo, and he makes enough money to cover our rent. I laugh, thinking of the shit he’s going to give me after I tell him why I was fired.
Once inside, I throw my shameful box on the counter and call for him. He doesn’t answer, and I can’t find him anywhere. There’s a terrible sensation creeping up my arms and legs. I ignore it, until I see the handwritten note under a paperweight on my desk. With trembling hands, I pick it up, and force myself to read it.
Don’t look for me.
Chapter Thirteen
————————
Lily
I lie in the middle of the living room floor, facedown on my vintage art deco rug. For so long, I’ve been scrambling to keep moving forward, and now I find myself stuck, nowhere else to go. All my carefully laid plans have gone up in smoke. I had everything. And I lost everything.
Inside my mind is an endless loop of everything I’ve done wrong, ever, how I’ve gotten to this point. I go back further in time, to before I met Mateo. My memory zooms in on every mistake, no matter how insignificant, and the way I treated other people. I’ve always blamed people for standing in my way, but as I rifle through my memories, I see how I’ve mistreated and misunderstood those closest to me.
My mom, for instance. During past nights of introspection, I’ve figured my mother out. She coddles me because she wants me to be her little girl, because I never was her little girl. I’ve been at odds with her since the time I could talk. Mom and other family members always commented on how independent I was. Even then, I needed to do things on my own, and in my own way.
I rarely let my mother take care of me. Even when I was sick, I’d shove away the warm washcloths she’d lay on my head, and refused her chicken soup. I never let her dress me up in girly outfits, and refused to be in any school plays. And she never got the chance to have another child to do those things with. I remember the night my mom had her miscarriage. She was farther along in her pregnancy than most miscarriages. They already knew the sex. A boy. I was four years old. Dad sat me down, and explained to me that the little brother they’d gone on and on about wasn’t coming after all.
I don’t think about that night much, or the sibling that could have been. But as I’ve gotten older, it occurs to me that Mom probably thinks about it all the time.
These are things I know, but things I ignore, because I’m so focused on selfishly following my plans.
My parents don’t even know Mateo and I are living together. I barely pick up their calls. When I do, I make some excuse to get off the phone quickly.
Then there’s Jenna and Tyler, my two best, and only, friends. They’ve been around for as long as I can remember. I know I could never be as close to them as they wanted me to be. Those two did everything together, even the most mundane, daily tasks. They’d ask me along. I was always shocked to see the disappointment in their eyes when I declined to go with them to the bank. I only hung out with them when I needed to, when I saw the point.
It seems the only person I could ever fully give myself to was Mateo, and I made sure to screw
that up. I bang my forehead against the geometric pattern on the rug beneath me. I did the one thing I promised him I wouldn’t do; snitch. He trusted me, and I threw that away. Is that why he left me all alone with no protection? Maybe he never really cared about me at all, and just used his witness for sex. Maybe Tyler was right. I do have Stockholm Syndrome.
I press my mouth against the woolen rug and scream, the sound of my voice being absorbed into the floor. Brainwashed or not, the pain I feel is real, and absolutely miserable. Mateo is gone. My life is once again dreary and gray. Mateo had brought a spark of energy, a red hot glow that overwhelmed me with its warmth. Now, I’m left with nothing. It’s the emptiness that weighs on every bone in my body.
I’ll probably never move again, I think, idly. Why would I move? I don’t have any reason to.
I’m lying on my left cheek, looking towards the entrance. There’s a sliver of light at the bottom of the door. The light blacks out when someone walks past. I focus on this, ignoring my demons, absorbing the rhythms of my neighbors’ footsteps. Everyone speeds by, unaware of the girl wallowing in mental despair just steps away from them.
But one pair of feet doesn’t pass by. They’re so quiet, if I wasn’t watching the bottom of the door, I’d never know they were there. I see the shadow stop outside of my apartment, pausing for a few moments. My breath catches in my throat. I expect the door to be kicked down at any second.
The door knob turns slowly to one side, and then the other, still with no noise. I’m thankful I had the presence of mind to lock the door. The knob goes still, and the footsteps walk away.
I lie still for a few moments, urging myself to breathe. Without Mateo to protect me, I’m terrified. I know I thought I was tough with all the guns, but the truth is, I'm hopeless without him.
I’m shaking all over when I sit up. Who was that outside of my door? Maybe someone had the wrong apartment number. But they were so eerily quiet, they had to be professionals.
Salvatores.
They know where I live. And I’m here all alone.
Witness: A Dark Mafia Romance (Romano Brothers Book 2) Page 11
