Page 23 of Merciless Attraction

“So can I, Antonio. Natalie and I share a car. We keep it parked in a garage not too far from here. When she leaves for Vegas, we’ll figure out what to do. For now, I can get around. I use public transportation most of the time because it’s a nightmare trying to find parking that close to the pier.”

“I don’t know how I feel about that. Until things settle down, you should drive to work. How many people know about where you park?” He asks.

“I have no idea, Antonio. Please don’t start acting like my brothers did in New York.”

“This isn’t New York, Gemma. You have to pay attention. Do you work the same hours every week?”

“For the most part, yes. Monday through Wednesday, I work early mornings and leave after the lunch rush. Thursday and Fridays, I work lunch to close. I’m surprised I even had enough energy to go out with Natalie last night. Fridays are rough but she insisted we check out Trips. I alternate weekends and I’m not working this weekend”

Antonio and I continue to hash out our schedules and by the time we gather my stuff, the moon is high in the night sky. We walk to my car where Antonio scopes out the small garage. It’s nothing like the garages in Manhattan where there’s one every other block, but Natalie and I split the costs to rent a permanent parking space.

We’ve been looking out for each other since we met nearly six years ago. Natalie’s like the sister I wish I had growing up with three brothers. We’re sharing a car because I don’t want to ask my brothers for the help, and she doesn’t want to involve her parents any more than they already are. We just wanted to show our families we can make it on our own.

Once Antonio’s certain everything is safe, I follow him in my car to his house where we order food and end up fast asleep from pure exhaustion. The next morning, I turn over with the hope of starting my day the way we did yesterday, but Antonio’s not there.

I sit up and notice it’s after ten. There’s a message pleading for me to come into work. For a sense of delusional normalcy, I agree to go in. I need to get going if I’m going to make it to work, but I can’t ignore that I’m in Antonio’s condo. The loft bedroom is amazing, letting me look over the railing at the living room and kitchen. I can see a note on the counter that brings me downstairs.

Morning Gem,

Breakfast is in the oven. Coffee’s in the pot. Had to go to work and didn’t want to wake you.

Later love

A handwritten note from my fiancé. This is how life would be for us. Get rid of a dead body, have sex, and back to our regularly scheduled routines. I had no idea that this would be a repeated snapshot of my life. Well, getting rid of the body and getting back to life are a repeat. Having earth-shattering orgasmic sex with the hot doctor I’ve been crushing on since my tweens ... that’s new.

I don’t want our engagement to end. I want to see what it would be like for us to stay together, but the last time I opened myself up to love, it bit me in the ass and turned me into a criminal. Love, or what I thought was love, made me into the same type of monster people claim my brothers to be.

The splash of a body sinking beneath the waves off the shores of New York City play randomly in my mind. I can never forget the look of my ex’s bloody face disappearing under the lid of a trunk and the trunk sinking into the darkness of the water. A shiver shakes me back to reality where I eat the breakfast left for me, drink the coffee and leave a message on Antonio’s voicemail when I leave his condo.

Antonio’s voice whispers through my thoughts to pay attention and do my best to take in my surroundings with caution. So far so good. My heart races as I walk to my car and head into the bright afternoon toward Pier 39.

I hate driving down here because it’s such a hot spot for tourists and the average San Francisco resident. It’s impossible to find a free parking space for the entirety of my shift, but this isn’t the time to be frugal. I need to get to work, so opting to put my car in the multilevel garage across from the pier’s main entrance is a no-brainer. I’m fifteen minutes late for my shift after finding one of the deepest parking spots in the garage.

Booked and Boozy is a book shop cafe that serves mostly finger foods, pastries, and an assortment of drinks from macchiatos to martinis. Being a server is easy enough as the crowd isn’t rowdy since it’s Sunday. The time passes quickly as the place doesn’t stay open later than ten.

I’m counting down the minutes until I can clock out, but I appreciate the distraction from the chaos waiting outside the cafe’s doors. With only twenty minutes left to my shift, the bell chimes above the door and someone walks up to the bar which spans two-thirds of the left wall. The right wall is made up of mostly glass to let patrons seated at the zigzag placed tables look out at the boats in the marina.

There’s a stage in the back corner for live performers whenever the cafe hosts book signings or up-and-coming musicians. It sits in the dimly lit rear corner as the cafe opts to play smooth jazz on this particularly quiet Sunday night.

The person sitting at the bar stands out as most patrons are closing out their tabs. I start wiping down tables and straightening up to passively suggest they hurry up and leave, but something feels off.

Three shots are lined up in front of the stranger when he slides cash across the bar to the bartender. The tattoos on the back of their hands gives me pause. My chest tightens as flashes of my ex’s tattoo ram into my mind like a freight train.

The wilting rose is easy to spot, and while it’s not a popular tattoo, it’s not exactly a custom design. The one thing that puts me at ease is seeing a cross behind the rose. Steve didn’t have that on the back of his hand last I remember.

I approach the stranger whose long hair falls to one side of his face. The bartender is already closing the register after serving the last drink of the night.

“You made it right on time. We’re about to close soon,” I say with a smile. I put on my most chipper tone so I can persuade him to leave the bar, and we can finish closing. I hate when customers walk out with us. It makes me uneasy. I’d hazard a guess that’s the New Yorker in me because why are you staying this late? Is it a setup to rob us?

“Iamright on time, aren’t I, Gemma?” His voice is gravelly, unfamiliar, but my name coming off his lips sets me on edge. I take a step back but catch my reflection in the glass backsplash of the bar. My nametag sits above my breast pocket. It doesn’t give me much relief.

“That’s not fair. You know my name and I don’t know yours. How about you—”

The stranger spins around to face me before I can finish my question. There’s a jagged scar down his face that’s hidden behind a thick beard and mustache. The scar has shades of dark pink, red, and peach that look like a splotchy stain over his right eye. It trails down to a thin path through his facial hair. Black hair falls in his face over his left eye and his abrasive demeanor doesn’t make him any easier to look at.

“I’ll see you around, Gemma. Verducci sends his best.” The man winks at me and pushes away from the bar. He knocks twice on the countertop, thanks us, and leaves.

The mention of Verducci’s name cements Damian’s idea that he has people watching me to be sure I’m truly engaged to Antonio. Goosebumps of anxiety and fear trail down my arms as I hope to never see that guy again.

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