Page 92 of His Black Onyx

Instead, he squeezes my hand, offering a little nod as if wanting to assure me that everything will be okay.

Will it, though?

A weak smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, but it's gone a moment later, when I notice that we're crossing the state border.

We're in Rhode Island now. The Ocean State, it reads in familiar letters. I'm torn between nostalgic joy and tense concern.

I'm back home. I'm back at the sea, surrounded by air that tastes like salt, so close to the place where I've spent my entire life up until now.

But I was brought back to kill.

I shake my head, unwilling to go down that path. Nate told me to keep that vision of my future clear in my head. He told me think about the cliff walk in Newport, the ice cream vendor, my birthday, my parents, the waves crashing against the shore as I walk along the stony path. Home.

He told me to think of these things every time I'm overcome with fear. To remind myself of the future that lies ahead and the things I'm fighting for.

And he was right, it really does calm me down.

But only until we enter the city of Providence. The car is slowing down, ready to leave the freeway and to join the busy streets of downtown Providence. We take a turn north, up to Federal Hill, a place I've always associated with great food, the best pastries on the planet and pasta dishes to die for. So cliché, but so true. And everybody knows about the mafia's involvement in all of this. Everybody knows, but no one ever sees it. At least I haven't.

I grew up joking about the 'mafia dudes on Federal Hill', when we would go there for a nice dinner. But I think I never really believed in their existence. On some level, it always seemed surreal, nothing more than an urban legend that invites you to joke about it.

We drive further, and every time the car slows down, my heart stops. But it's not until we've left the main urban core that the car actually stops in front of a gate, which is opened right away.

This time I'm the one squeezing his hand, and Nate reciprocates the gesture.

"You'll be okay," he whispers, catching my anxious gaze with his. I wish he'd look stronger right now. I wish he wouldn't look as nervous as he does.

We follow a pretty long and steep driveway up to a mansion that very much reminds me of the Covey's headquarters.

There's a man standing outside the house, right in front of the door. He's young and broad shouldered, dressed in a black suit, black tie, and—of course—sunglasses.

"We'll go out first," Daveed announces after he stops the car in front of the house. "To check the air."

Nate nods. "Go. I'll wait for your signal."

My eyes follow in confusion as all other three men get out of the car at once, while Nate stays with me. They close the doors behind them, all of them nervously fidgeting with their suits as they walk up to the man waiting to greet them at the house. They scan their surroundings, heads turning left and right nervously, as if they're expecting an attack.

Maybe they are.

"Is everything alright?" I ask breathlessly.

"Normal procedure," Nate responds without looking at me. His eyes are fixated on the front as well, anxiously moving from each guy to the other as he watches the interaction between them.

Mike starts talking to the man, while Daveed and the other guy keeping turning and looking around. I didn't even notice I was holding my breath, until I see both Daveed and the other Covey henchman reaching for their guns at the belt.

"Something is wrong," Nate exclaims, shifting in his seat and unbuckling his seat belt as he turns around to check our back.

"Fuck!"

I jump up from my seat to follow his gaze—and stiffen with fear.

"Police," I breathe.

There are about half a dozen policemen, walking up to the house at gunpoint. It looks like they're coming out of nowhere and from all directions at once. I can see more and more of them popping up around the property, but I don't see a police car anywhere.

And the gate is still open.

"Drive!" I blurt out on instinct, stunned at my own response.

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