Page 38 of Not Mine to Keep

I reread the last few messages I’d exchanged with Gabriel, reminding myself he had her six. He’d told me she was safe in her bedroom and just fine—fine enough not to feel the need to check in with me, dammit.

I went outside to the balcony, catching sight of the afternoon sun unobscured by clouds, pouring light down overFontana dell’Acqua Felice, also known as the Fountain of Moses.Felice. Luck. I could use some of that today.

Enzo, Izzy, and Hudson were caught in traffic and running late, so I was on edge for that reason, too. Well, that was what I was trying to tell myself as to why I was so anxious.

I looked at my phone again, feeling like it was a ticking time bomb and maybe I had to bite the bullet and message first. To not take a criminal’s word she was fine.

Me:Are you okay?

The relief I felt at her instant response, and the fact I knew it was her and not someone else pretending to be her just by how she’d answered, had me hanging my head for a second.

Little Miss Tennessee Whiskey:Define “okay.”

Not sure why I’d gone with that contact name, but it bothered me to type in Callie when that was what everyone called her. Everyone except Braden.

Me:Alive. Untouched. Hydrated.

Little Miss Tennessee Whiskey:Hydrated? (that’s cute). Well, I’m hiding in my room currently, so I’m safe. But now that you mention it, a little thirsty. No appetite, though.

Me:Yeah, I’m not exactly hungry, either. But you should eat. (And hydrate.)

No clue why I decided to copy her and throw in some parentheses in my text back, but I wasn’t exactly acting like myself. Hence the borderline panic attack at waiting on someone to text me.

Also, that was probably the first time the wordcutehad been tossed my way for any reason.

Little Miss Tennessee Whiskey:Why aren’t you hungry? You need your strength to do ... “the thing” tomorrow.

“On to quotation marks now, huh?” And now I was talking to myself. Enzo and Izzy would have a field day with this. My balls would be on the chopping block.

Me:I’ll be sure to load up on food tomorrow before “the thing.”

And now I was smiling while discussing murdering the head of a crime family.

Little Miss Tennessee Whiskey:For a songwriter, I have a way with words, don’t I? “The thing” sounds like the perfect song title.

Damn, my smile stretched to the point my cheeks fucking hurt.I need help.

Me:You write, too? I didn’t realize.

I went back inside the room and dropped down on the bed, the agonizing pain that’d planted roots in my chest dissipating now that I was in touch with her.

Little Miss Tennessee Whiskey:I did before I found out I was the spawn of Satan. Writer’s block now.

Me:Sorry on both accounts. Being Satan’s daughter and the writing issue.

Little Miss Tennessee Whiskey:There’s that sweet side of you again.

Before I could figure out what to say to that, she sent me a few more messages.

Little Miss Tennessee Whiskey:Gabriel showed me a live video of Aunt Tia to let me know she’s living her best life and okay. But the fact Armani has eyes (and a camera) on her has me in knots. (But oddly, somehow more at ease knowing I can see her at any time for proof of life, too.)

Little Miss Tennessee Whiskey:Gabriel is too nice to be bad.

Little Miss Tennessee Whiskey:Does that make sense?

Me:Total sense.

I considered whether to keep the conversation going or to stop it now. I knew she was safe, so mission accomplished. No sense in talking.But maybe I should reassure her everything would be fine?

---