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“Wake up, we’re here,” he said, checking his phone.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me everything,” I insisted, eyes on him.
He sighed heavily, setting his phone aside, eyes still on the road.
“It’s complicated,” he admitted, rubbing his temples. “Damn, I need a massage.”
“Alexsei…”
With a resigned sigh, he finally relented. “Alright. Volk asked me to keep an eye on you.”
Confusion creased my brow. “Why? He’s the one who told me to leave and start a new life away from him.”
Alexsei turned to face me, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “We’re talking about Volk here. When he becomes fixated on something, he doesn’t easily let it go.”
I stared back, utterly perplexed. His gaze held mine, and he pursed his lips, as if holding back more.
“He just—” Alexsei’s sentence was abruptly cut off by his ringing phone.
Annoyed, he picked it up, gesturing for me to give him a moment.
Frustrated, I shook my head and grabbed my purse, opening the door to step out.
“Angelo, you’re a pain in the ass,” Alexsei grumbled into the phone.
I slammed the car door shut and turned to face him, flipping him, which only made him laugh.
With that, he drove away, leaving me alone on the dimly lit streets of New York City.
Surrounded by the city’s bustling nightlife, I felt completely disconnected.
The idea of returning home offered no solace.
Lost in contemplation, I wandered through the busy streets, each step distancing me further from my condo.
My heart ached for clarity, for … love.
Neon lights and distant laughter seemed like echoes, unable to break through my thoughts.
Then, an eerie feeling washed over me, as if someone’s gaze was fixated on me, making my skin crawl.
I turned around swiftly, eyes darting in every direction, but the street was deserted, save for wisps of smoke swirling around the glowing sign of “Carlo’s Bar.”
The hairs on my neck stood on end, a shiver running down my spine, yet no one was in sight.
What if Marina was after me?
No, that’s impossible.
Feeling a sudden rush of fear, I made the decision to head home.
Passing by the bar, I stole a glance inside. It was nearly deserted, save for an elderly man in an apron, polishing a glass with a toothpick in his teeth, his gaze fixed on The Godfather playing on the TV.
The barman, cheeks flushed, wiped his tears with his apron just as Michael Corleone visits his father, Vito Corleone, in the hospital after he has been shot.
The sound of an ambulance whizzing by startled me, and I had to laugh at myself for unintentionally stalking the poor guy who was just having his emotional breakdown of the day.
Taking a deep breath out, I felt completely exhausted, yearning to crawl into bed and leave the night behind.
