Page 31 of The Wages of Sin

God only knew what would happen to me then.

A sharp pain tugged at my scalp, and I opened my eyes to realize that the son of a bitch was pulling my head back to force me to look at him. Not that it mattered since my vision stubbornly refused to focus.

“Nobody hits Carlo Costa. Fucking nobody. You got that, bitch?” he screamed in my face.

“Ghot et,” I slurred through a mouthful of blood.

Then, before he could say or do anything else, I slammed my knee as hard as I could between his legs.

The slimy prick howled in pain, doubling over before hitting the floor with a thud.

I wanted to run like hell. Every instinct inside me told me to fly out of there and never look back...but I couldn’t.

Carlo might have been a slimy bastard, but he was also an incredibly strong one. That punch had messed me up bad. My eyes still refused to focus, and my sense of balance was all out of whack.

I couldn’t make it a single step without teetering badly. At least I was able to grab onto the bookcase against the wall to steady myself. I took a deep breath, begging God to let me regain my balance sooner rather than later.

But it wasn’t soon enough.

Before I could even exhale, thick fingers wrapped around my ankle, biting into my skin.

“You fucking whore,” Carlo shrieked. “I’m gonna kill you for that. I’m gonna peel the fucking skin off your body and leave you in the street.”

Yanking hard on my leg, he pulled me down onto the floor. I landed with a hard thud on my back, knocking the wind out of my lungs.

That’s when the real panic sank in.

A second wave of adrenaline surged through me, snapping me back into survival mode as Carlo started to climb on top of me.

I reached out toward the bottom shelf of the bookcase, desperate for anything I could use as a weapon. I almost cried with relief when my hand wrapped around something hard and heavy.

My eyes still weren’t completely focused when I swung what looked suspiciously like a bowling trophy at his head.

The marble base of the trophy hit with a solid thunk against Carlo’s skull. His eyes rolled back, and he instantly collapsed on top of me, unconscious.

Unfortunately, I knew he wouldn’t stay that way for long.

Using the last of my strength, I rolled his limp body off me and pulled myself up off the floor. Even though time was of the essence, I still couldn’t resist spitting a mouthful of blood in his face before limping toward the front door.

I was still in rough shape as I stumbled out of Carlo’s building and onto the street. My vision was still fuzzy and my balance wobbly, but I was able to make the two-block trek to the subway station by leaning against the sides of the buildings.

Everyone I passed no doubt wrote me off as a drunk stumbling home. I was just grateful that the city had chosen this moment to live up to its cold and uncaring reputation. The last thing I needed was anyone deciding to play the good samaritan and call the paramedics...or, God forbid, the cops.

It wasn’t ideal, but I’d just have to take care of myself. There was no other choice.

The good news was I didn’t think I’d sustained any injuries I couldn’t handle. The blow to the head had left me with a concussion, but a few days of quiet rest would heal my vision and balance. And fortunately, nothing seemed broken—no orbital fractures, no busted septum.

There was no avoiding the massive black eye I could already feel forming, but that was just a cosmetic issue. I had bigger problems to deal with.

Much bigger.

My ears still rang with the echoes of Carlo screaming he was going to kill me.

That hadn’t been an empty threat.

As careful as I’d been the last year and a half, I’d just screwed up big time. Now, it wasn’t just the FBI that was on my trail. There was a mobster who wanted me dead.

I wrapped my arms around myself, literally trying to hold myself together as I started to shake.

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