Page 3 of Delicious

Without thinking, I’m barreling through the back door and into the dining room, where my aunt is still sitting with her eyes now pinned on the front door.

“Someone’s here,” she says without turning my way, and the chill from outside follows me as I march to the foyer, leaning over to peek through the leaded glass side window flanking the front door.

“Fuck,” I snap, shooting Jess a tight smile over my shoulder.

“Lemme guess, black Lincoln?”

I nod, noting the slight tremble in her chin.

My stomach drops to the floor as I sprint back through the dining room to the kitchen, tugging on the drawer next to the stove.

It sticks as I curse, give it a kick with the heel of my boot, then try again. With another tug, it squeaks open, revealing a disorganized drawer of kitchen utensils.

Although I moved Jess out and into the apartment a year ago, so she could be closer to the medical center and not have to worry about the house falling down around her, she insisted on leaving the house as is, with all the contents still in place. Her way of telling me the move was only temporary, no matter what the writing on the wall was spelling out. So there are still knives inside the drawer, and knowing who is coming to the door, I’m glad there’s a good selection.

I grab the longest, sharpest one I see, tightening my fingers around the wooden grip, and manage to make it back to the dining room to stand in front of my aunt before a single hard knock hits the front door.

In the space of a breath, the knock is followed by a loud boom and a crack as the assholes don’t even try the handle. Instead, they choose intimidation, with one enormous thick-browed goon slamming through the door and into the foyer with two more men in tow.

“I’m calling the police!” Jess screams, as I spin to find her already poking at her phone.

Her eyes widen as the smaller of the three men, with gray at his temples and a stupid diamond pinky ring, starts walking around the room, inspecting the furniture with a single finger, tsking as he pulls it up covered with dust.

“There’s no police coming.” He chuckles, turning to face us, as the muscle twins flank him on either side. He steps forward, waving a hand toward the ceiling, and smiles on a sympathetic shake of his head. His eyes are fixed on Jess, whose own gaze is darting from me to the men, and back to her phone. “Let me guess, no signal out here?”

He shakes his head as Jess holds my gaze, her face falling white as she struggles to her feet, swaying unsteadily. I rush to her side to grab her elbow, my heart working its way into my throat.

I brandish the knife in my other hand, which only draws more laughter from all three men.

“She’s cute.” The smaller man jerks his head my way, the humor leaving his voice. “More than cute. She could use her assets to sweeten the deal, then work off the rest. She’s very marketable.”

Marketable. I’ve heard that word a lot as an aspiring model. But the way he says it sends a wave of goosebumps over my heated skin.

They move in silent unison, closing in, the heavy sense of foreboding filling the musty dining room.

“Don’t touch us,” I snap, jabbing the knife forward into the air, wishing I hadn’t put my hair into two pigtails this morning.

“Forgive me.” The boss flattens his hand over his red tie on a slight bow. “I’ve forgotten my manners. We haven’t met formally, but our lawyers have. I thought it was time we met in person. Get things sorted out once and for all. All these legal bills, they have to be a burden for someone like you.”

His humorless smile returns as he shifts his black eyes between us.

I hold steady, the tip of the knife shaking in my trembling hand.

“I’m Ernesto Buffalino. I already know who you are.” He presses his index finger to the point of the knife, raising his eyebrows toward me, then pointing to my aunt. “And, of course, I know who you are, Miss Jessica Collins. You are the thorn in my side. One I intend to remove, by any means necessary.”

He raises his hand, snapping two fingers together, and in the blink of an eye the goon to his left with the bald head reaches out, his meaty fingers encircling my forearm, squeezing so tight I wince as his other hand twists the handle of the knife free, flinging it across the room to stick in the yellowed wallpaper above the dusty sideboard, where I used to steal Aunt Jess’s famous snickerdoodle cookies every Christmas.

A scream comes from my left. I jerk my head around as the beast of a man continues to squeeze my arm, to see my aunt crumple to the floor with a hard shove from the other enforcer, lighting a fire down in my belly as I tug and slap at the hand encasing my arm, squeezing my bones until they feel like they will snap.

“Don’t touch her!” I yell, my voice breaking as Ernesto reaches into his jacket pocket, withdrawing a thick white envelope, which he places on the table, tapping two fingers on the wood.

“No one will need to be touched if only you put your signature where it belongs. You will receive fair market value for the property, which is more than you deserve.” He makes a disgusted grunt, looking around the dim room.

The hand on my arm disappears, and I have just enough time to turn my eyes on the bald-headed goon before he cocks back and delivers a full force fist into my mouth.

I’m on the floor before I can get a thought together, pain screaming up my cheek and warm wetness seeping down my chin.

My body feels like it’s pulsing, all the sound sucked from the room as I lie on my side, one hand drifting to the burst of red pain in my face, pressing my fingers into the slick blood now flowing from my broken lip.

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