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Just as my heart rate is coming down, a blacked-out SUV screeches to stop in front of me. The driver hops out and opens the back door. “Get in.” He motions.
“Me?” I ask, looking around.
“Yes, you,” he says impatiently. “Let’s go.”
“No thanks, stranger danger.” I turn around and walk briskly in the opposite direction.
Glancing over my shoulder, the guy’s following me. Christ, I was halfway kidding about the stranger danger. I take off in a sprint, but I can feel him hot on my heels as I round the corner of the building.
Stopping abruptly, I spin around and swing my gym bag with all my might. It connects with his cute baby face, and he curses, cupping his nose. “Lady, if you broke my nose, I’m gonna be pissed,” he says, holding his nose with both hands. “What do you have in that bag?”
Not sticking around long enough to tell him it was my stainless steel water bottle, I sprint down the alley, but it’s not long before I reach a dead end. Spinning around, the guy’s already caught up with me, looking like he wants to break my nose. I get into a fighting stance, remembering I’ve only had one boxing lesson. Shit, my nose is about to get broken. “Why are you chasing me?” I demand.
“Romeo Parisi needs to speak to you.”
All the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Being summoned by the mob boss can’t be good. Unless it’s about the offer Fabio made about working in the family’s poker rooms? That eases my nerves a bit, but I keep my fists up just in case. “How do I know you work for Mr. Parisi?”
The guy pauses for a moment, as if my question threw him. “Because I said so?”
He surprises me by charging, and before I can take a swing, I’m being hoisted over his shoulder. My bag falls to the ground as I futilely pound at his back. “Put me down!” I shriek.
He mutters something in Italian, grabbing my bag before walking me out of the alley and tossing me in the back of the SUV. He slams the door, and I lunge for the handle, but it’s locked.
He slides behind the wheel, placing my bag in a large black bag and zipping it before tossing the thing on the floorboard. His eyes find mine in the rearview as he slides behind the wheel. “Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m Enzo.”
“The Kid, right?” I say, having heard of him in passing.
“Hate that fucking nickname,” he mutters.
“Sorry. Why does Mr. Parisi want to see me?”
Silence.
“No need to keep me in suspense,” I press him.
He ignores me, flipping on the radio.
“Does Darius know about this?”
“You think name-dropping is gonna get you out of this?” Enzo snorts.
“Out of what?” I ask, but he doesn’t elaborate.
I nervously look out the window as we make our way to Newark. Things could always be worse, I keep telling myself. Mr. Parisi could have sent Sammy “The Knife” to fetch me. Sure, everyone’s afraid of Diávolos, but I know deep down my cousin’s a softie for the people he cares about. Even if Sammy cared about anyone—I’m not sure he does—I wouldn’t make the shortlist. Hell, I’m not even on the long list. Just as long as I’m not on the hit list.
“Can I have my phone, please? I need to text my boss at work that I’ll be late,” I lie, wanting to text Fabio to see if he knows what’s going on.
Enzo snorts a laugh. “Does it look like I was born yesterday?”
“Kind of. How old are you?” I wonder.
“I’m old enough, alright,” he grumbles.
The vehicle slows, and Enzo pulls into a vacant lot. “What are we doing?” I ask in a panic.
“I’m sorry about this, but you’re gonna have to ride in the trunk for the rest of the trip.”
