Page 20 of Coerced Kiss

Iwake up groggy with an odd sensation in the pit of my belly.

Then I remember.

Jumping from the bed, I run to the bathroom and empty my stomach in the toilet.

It’s more than morning sickness. It’s the memories from last night flashing like stark pictures through my mind. The shock prevented me from fully processing the facts, but in the light of day they’re sharper and clearer, slicing through my conscience right to my soul.

Mr. Lewis is dead.

Murdered.

I’m an accomplice, an alibi to his killer no less.

The thought makes me queasy all over again. Spasms fold me double, but only bile comes out. The acid burns my throat. I grip the bowl of the toilet as dry heaves rack my body. When the attack passes, I drag in a few ragged breaths to get control of myself.

The ringtone of my alarm sounds from the bedroom, an unsavory reminder that I have to get dressed, put on a normal face, and go to work. I have no idea how I’m going to pull off the act.

Saverio was right about one thing. I’m a bad liar. The urge to come clean is huge. I contemplate telling the truth and going into hiding with Livy for all of one second before I have to admit the futility of the idea. I’d have to take my mom too, and that’s impossible. I have no doubt Saverio will hunt down my family and friends and kill every person. Besides, Livy is old and frail. Her life is here. How can I expect her to run from an organized crime syndicate?

Who am I kidding?

We won’t stay under the radar for long before they find us. They’re too resourceful. Too powerful. I’m not familiar with the crime families in the city, but I did a search on the phone Saverio gave me before going to bed. What I found wasn’t encouraging.

Saverio’s face popped up in a few articles about angel investors and startup companies. He co-owns a software company with the man I saw with him, a man called Giorgio Bianchi. He’s the one who pointed me in the right direction. Giorgio Bianchi is linked to one of the most notorious families in the city. His father, Luigi, is suspected of underhanded dealings in crime organizations, but there’s no concrete evidence to support the allegations. Long lists of felonies and murders are attributed to the family. The violence that goes hand in hand with those unlawful deeds is atrocious. I stopped browsing after a few minutes of scrolling through murder scene photos, sick to my stomach.

No, there’s only one option. I have to pull myself together and keep up the charade. If not, I’ll end up in a dark alley with my throat slit, my life bleeding out while Saverio holds me upright in a twisted act of compassion.

As long as I’m his alibi, I’m safe. It’s a terrible burden to live with, a lie that will eat away at my soul for the rest of my life, but I have more to consider than just myself. I have to think about my baby, the innocent life I created in one irresponsible night, and Livy, who literally saved me. How can I repay her kindness by getting her hurt orkilled?

Deriving strength from that thought, I push to my feet and brush my teeth. After washing my face, I dress and eat a light breakfast of yoghurt and fruit before tackling the dreaded task of going to work.

Outside, I’m rewarded with a brief moment of reprieve as I’m swallowed by the masses who are heading to work, going about their day and the business of survival. For a short while, I’m just another face in the crowd, but questions plague me on the way to the office.

Mr. Lewis always arrived early. Who will explain his absence to the employees? When he didn’t come home last night, his wife would’ve reported him missing. By now, she would’ve identified his body. I grow sick again as I consider how his family must feel, but I try not to think about that. If I do, I won’t be able to go through with the show I have to put on.

I go over my speech all the way down the block, rehearsing the story I’ll tell my colleagues in my head, the one Saverio fabricated, but I’m not prepared for the commotion that waits near the office. Police cars are parked in the street. I can’t look at the alley that’s barred with yellow police tape. The memory of what I saw is too raw. I’m afraid if I turn my head in that direction, I’d see Mr. Lewis lying on the ground on his side, staring at me with wide, accusing eyes. Somehow, without his hat and his briefcase, he looked naked.

I squeeze my eyes shut to expel the mental image, dragging air through my mouth not to throw up again. I’m shaking allover. I want to slow down until I’ve pulled myself together, but it will look strange if I’m late. I always arrive at work on time.

Pushing myself on, I put one foot in front of the other. One step at a time. One thought at a time. Survival. I focus on nothing but breathing and walking until I reach the familiar red-brick building. At the sight of it, I almost lose my composure and burst into tears, but the officer who stands next to Zack at the door sobers me.

My stomach drops. The guilt that sends a rush of adrenaline through my veins is foreign and unpleasant, but my will to live is stronger. The child I carry fuels my determination not to become Saverio’s next victim.

Forcing a smile, I greet Zack and the officer before posing my question in a tremulous voice. “What’s going on?”

“You better come inside,” Zack says, holding the door for me.

The sympathy and silent support in his gaze only make me feel worse. I don’t deserve his compassion and kindness.

The officer leads me aside and shares the news of Mr. Lewis’s violent passing in cryptic terms. As he carries on about the protocol of questioning the staff, I register the movement of his lips, but I hardly hear a word he says. I’m too frantic. I’m too worried that the truth will pour out if I open my mouth. I must appear upset, because Zack rushes over and asks if I’d like a glass of water.

Not trusting my voice to speak, I shake my head.

I’m going straight to hell.

The officer takes me upstairs to the staff room where a few employees are already gathered, all looking bewildered. He explains that we’ll be questioned individually. I flop down in one of the boardroom chairs that’s pushed against the wall, trying not to make eye contact with the others who are conversing in hushed voices. I’m too scared they’ll see the guilt on my face.

Time ticks by slowly. I peruse the room in an effort to keep busy and not to go out of my mind. Numbers are scribbled in long columns on the whiteboard in the corner.

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