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“Thanks, April.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“I will.”
We end the call and I put my phone back in my purse, then I stare out the window, getting lost in my surroundings.
I feel like a fish out of water in my own city. I grew up here and loved living here. Now that I’m back I can’t even remember why I was so desperate to leave.
Half an hour later the taxi pulls up outside my old home in Larchmont, and I freeze up. Just seeing the place makes my heart swell. Because I made it back. The thought stings the backs of my eyes, but I will the tears away.
I pay the driver and get out, then I stand on the sidewalk for a moment and just stare at the house. It looks exactly like I remember it.
It’s a Tudor-style home with four bedrooms, two living rooms, a hall Dad turned into a dance studio for me, and a garage. Mom used to play the piano back then, so we had a piano in the studio.
The house looks like a dream home with the immaculate grounds surrounding it and the cobbled path leading to the porch.
Pulling in a deep breath, I make my way up the path.
When I reach the porch I find the spare key in the flowerpot exactly where Mom always keeps it.
I open the door and walk in. The scent of roses and wooden furniture greets me.
It smells like home, which makes me smile. I hung on to that scent for years.
I make my way deeper inside, absorbing the house's familiarity and that feeling of safety wrapping invisible arms of reassurance around me.
I turn the corner by the passage to head to the living room and slow down when I catch another smell that feels out of place.It’s musky and strong, like a man’s cologne.
I walk into the living room and instantly regret it when I find myself staring at a hard-looking, bright-blue-eyed, dark-haired man sitting in my father’s armchair.
He looks so striking the hardness in his expression seems like a bad juxtaposition.
His gaze locks on me, rooting me to the spot, and I find that I can’t move. And I’m not breathing.
Another man–a Jason Momoa lookalike–moves in the corner by the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass wall.
Next to him stand five other men.
My throat closes when I realize they’re all carrying guns.
Chapter Three
Chloe
My body goes rigid. Solid as a rock.My legs will me to run but I'm anchored to the spot, my feet rooted into the ground as ice spreads through my veins.
My God, what the hell is this?
Fear races through my veins, numbing my mind with ice and heat all at the same time.
After what I’ve been through with Nate I’m well versed in the full spectrum of bad guys who exist in this world.
These are mafia men.
“Hello, Miss Chloe Ricci,” the man with the haunting blue eyes says. Hearing him call my name in his Irish accent snaps my attention back to him.
He knows me. Knows who I am.
