Page 17 of The Enforcer

8Zoe

“The Aunties are goingto hear about this,” I tell Zahra.

Zahra sighs in frustration. “Fine. I get it. I should have just sent an email or texted.”

We’re walking down a narrow alley between two dark gray apartment buildings that are so damn close together I can’t even believe there’s a walkway here at all. I look up at the sliver of sky partially occluded by hanging clothes and sheets. I feel like I’m in a shitty alternate universe of my life and not just on another continent.

“Hell, a carrier pigeon would have been good, too,” I tell Zahra.

“Next time.”

“Next time? Do you plan to run away to another foreign country and shack up with a strange man again?”

“She does not,” the dark-haired one calls from behind us.

My sister turns to look around me. She gives him another one of those smiles Ryan never inspired in her. “We’ll see.”

He says something in Italian that I can guess at by the thick fog of his voice and the way my sister licks her lips at him.

“Gross,” I say.

She rolls her eyes at me.

“In here,” the big one says, opening a heavy metal door I would have missed.

The gray-haired one — God, I really need to learn these people’s names — ushers Shae inside ahead of him and then follows her, their hands clasped together.

“If I had called,” Zahra whispers, “we wouldn’t have brought those two back together.”

“We?” I shriek, before leaning forward to whisper, “And when are we going to talk about whatever the fuck that is?”

“Not now,” the big one says, moving his hands to get us inside faster.

“Excuse you,” I say.

He lifts his eyebrows and then winks at me.

I roll my eyes in return.

We follow Shae and the gray-haired man into an unassuming apartment building. I can hear someone yelling. They sound like they’re cursing someone all the way out behind one door, children are laughing and singing behind another, and the smell of some kind of simmering sauce seems like a really great stereotype, but it makes my stomach rumble all the same.

“I’m hungry,” Zahra whines just as I’m wondering if these men will feed us.

“I’ll order something,” the dark-haired man calls immediately.

“Okay,” I concede. “I can see why you stayed.”

“Sorry, can you say that louder?” my annoying ass sister practically yells.

“No. And lower your voice.”

“Please,” the big one says. “We are trying to keep a low profile.”

The dark-haired one grunts as if he wants to tell his friend off, even though he’s clearly correct. That makes me smile smugly at the back of my sister’s head.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she whines again.

“Maybe we should all stop speaking,” the gray-haired one says in a strained voice.

---