Which is why the fact someone has just tried to kidnap me is utterly ridiculous. I know exactly who they are, Jerry and Gareth, those smug assholes who thought they could just take Gracie and I captive as easily as that. Theodore and Salvatore. I should have recognized them the second I slid my ass into that car. I’m an idiot! They’re the reason I can’t live in my own fucking town. They’re the reason my life is the way it is. I don’t care how irresistible they are, how much I want to have them both fuck me at the same time. I’m going to take great pleasure in wiping those two Barbieri brothers off the face of the earth.
But first, I need to get out of dodge. I need to get to a safe place before somebody sees me and plants a slug in my pretty blonde head. That chick back at the diner gave me her address and a key, and I’m really, really surprised that she did. But so she should have. If she hadn’t, I would have told my father to cut her head off. People should know their place in this city.
People should fucking bow down to me.
But they don’t, because it’s 2015 and nobody fucking bows, and because I’m never here. Plus they’re too scared. Pathetic, frightened creatures that walk along these streets like sheep, milling about in their meaningless lives, trying to pretend that this city isn’t run by us.
It’s so fucking hot I feel like I’m going to melt into the pavement and disappear before I can get to where I’m going. That chick’s directions weren’t too shoddy, and eventually I find myself standing in front of a crumbling apartment building that looks like it should be somewhere to shoot up or store dead bodies. It looks decrepit.
Well, beggars can’t be choosers. I’m going to go inside, find this apartment, and find a phone to call my father to come get me out of this mess. And kill Gracie. And kill Theo and Sal. Probably not in that order, but it’s close.
I scan the yellowed directory in the lobby that has each floor printed on it in fading letters. Looks like apartment six is on the sixth floor. Huh. It must be a floor per apartment. This place might be better than it looks if you get a whole floor to yourself.
I press the button for the lift, and wait. And wait. And wait. The front door to the building creaks open and I freak, rushing over to the stairs and taking them two at a time. I’m fit, I work out, I can take these stairs. More importantly, I don’t need anyone to see me.
I really wish I had a fucking weapon right now.
On the sixth floor stairwell, I yank the heavy fire escape door open and enter a small landing, barely big enough for me to stand in, another door in front of me marked with a six. Weird-ass old buildings. I shove the key the diner girl gave me into the lock and turn it, but nothing happens. Fuck. This is apartment six, and this is the right address. I’m certain I haven’t misunderstood anything.
I try to pull the key back out. It’s stuck.
Jesus Christ. This day is going from bad to worse. When I’m done here, I’m going to burn down Cucino Diavola , snort a whole bunch of coke, and probably fuck Ray in the back of his limo while I watch the flames devour the Barbieriss.
One can only hope.
I’m trying to jiggle the key in the lock when the door flies open, and I stumble, letting go of the key as it’s wrenched away. I’m immediately suspicious, but this is the right apartment –apartment six, like the key says—and this guy looks harmless enough.
I still wish I had a gun right about now, but Gracie always fucking takes mine away when we’re flying. Says I’m too eager to shoot somebody to be trusted on a plane with a loaded weapon. She kind of has a point. I still fucking hate her, though.
The guy looks about thirty, six foot, his brown eyes intense and kind of weird-looking, like he’s permanently squinting, even when he’s not. He’s wearing a checked shirt and sporting three days worth of facial hair – which is a shame, because if he tidied himself up, he’d be fucking hot, even with the serious-frowny-eyes thing he’s got going on. But right now, he just looks… below average. I guess above average people don’t live in falling-down, piece of shit apartment buildings like this.
I plaster on a smile as I look past him to the apartment within. The chick never mentioned someone being in her apartment, but I’m not worried. The years Gracie has spent teaching me self defense are something I always keep in my back pocket, and besides, this guy looks like an average Joe.
“Can I help you, sweetheart?” he asks, leaning one shoulder against the door frame as he looks me up and down in a similar fashion.
“I’m a friend of Scarlett’s,” I say, thankful I remembered the bitch’s name. “She said I could hang here until she gets back.”
Something flashes in the dude’s eyes. Lust, pure and simple. I smirk at him. I tend to have that effect on men.
“Well come in,” he says. “Any friend of Scarlett’s is a friend of mine.”
I step into the apartment, feeling relieved as the door shuts behind me.