Page 36 of His Passerotta

“I have three options… I could kill you. I could hand you over to my brother. Or I could let you go.”

He squeezes my shoulders, as if to remind me to breathe. I hadn’t realized I’d stopped.

“None of these are good for me. If I kill you, I look like I was too indecisive and weak to do it last night. If I hand you over, it’s even worse. If I let you go, I, again, look weak, but I can at least attempt to save face by claiming that I’m getting something out of you being alive… Which of these options is best for you?”

Point taken.

“Go, passerotta.” He nods to the door.

I turn that way, overtaken by a mixture of fear and gratitude but stop when I’m a few steps away. I look at Anthony who watches me with a face of uncertainty. Like he isn’t sure if he’s making the right call.

I think he’s lying. I think it’d be best for him if he killed me.

But he won’t. He can’t.

He isn’t the stone-cold man I thought he might be. He isn’t evil. He’s… He’s the man I thought he was all along.

I hurry to him, wrapping my arms around his neck before crashing my lips to his. He seems startled for a moment, but then his hands wrap around my hips, and he leans into the kiss.

When I pull away, I see lust brewing in his eyes.

“Thank you,” I whisper, slowly unwrapping my arms from his neck.

He gives me a small nod before stepping back, giving me the silent signal to walk away.

I look over my shoulder the entire way home.

8

BAILEY

TWO DAYS LATER…

I’m camped out beneath the covers when the voices sound, followed by my brother’s front door slamming.

I’ve been hiding out in his apartment for two days, barely sleeping, barely eating, staying away from the windows despite being hidden by sheets tacked over them (Corey isn’t one for curtains). All the while just waiting for someone to come through that door, gun in hand, ready to kill me.

It isn’t that I don’t trust Anthony. I do. Even when I shouldn’t, my mind can’t help but give him the benefit of the doubt, treating him like he’s the idealized version I dreamt up.

It’s that I don’t trust his judgment. I don’t trust Maksim or Finn or Lorenzo or literally every other gun-toting criminal in Anthony’s world. I know better than to do that. My world isn’t all that different from his.

And now, as I shiver beneath my brother’s musty comforter, I can say it was a good call not trusting his judgment. But a bad call not leaving the city. If Corey had been here to go with me, I would’ve.

Corey.

It could be Corey.

Carefully, I lift the comforter off me and creep to the bedroom door, pressing my ear against the wood once I’m there. Several voices boom from the living room, but none seem angry or determined like they’re here on a mission. No footsteps sound this way.

My hand slowly wraps around the knob, and when my breath shakes, I close my eyes.

It’s probably Corey and his roommates. He said he’d be back in a few days. It’s been a few days.

It’s him.

Not Lorenzo. Not Finn. Not Maksim. Corey.

Still, my hand doesn’t twist the knob.

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