Page 102 of The Gangster King

Or his people did.

I paid with my freedom.

It’s all left behind in New York.

I unpack my new wardrobe and hang the sundresses with the same care someone would an exquisite Versace or Chanel piece.

Well, now Gap and Target are my new look.

In fact, I’m getting a whole new identity.

Last night I went into LA to a supplier who is making me one. For over two years, I’ve been pulling out cash and tucking it away for this reason. Ten thousand dollars. That was my budget.

I knew I would have to do two things yesterday. Tell them who I was to ensure my safety. It did. The building was down an alley and rough. I was scared as hell.

But I had my SMALL gun and my name.

When I walked in and the gold-toothed man at the front sneered at me, running his eyes the length of my body, I introduced myself.

“My name is Adelina Maria Angela Baldoni. I am here to see Jamal.”

His face dropped. Everyone knows who Carlos Baldoni is. And they also know who Leo and I are.

When he glanced behind me, I played on that.

“Tell him I need to speak to him immediately and nobody will get hurt.”

I almost snorted.

No one was coming to save me. Especially not Dante Baldassare. My eyes had dipped when the man had disappeared to get Jamal.

Dante.

My heart clenched.

I hadn’t stopped thinking of him since leaving. I tried, but I missed his touch. I missed his overwhelmingly large body and presence stalking toward me or pressing me up against a wall.

His deep blue eyes watching me. Consuming me.

I missed the way his husky voice told me that I belonged to him and, strangely, made me feel safe.

Trapped, but safe.

When a large Black man stepped through the door wearing shades and smoking a joint, I almost faltered. I might be changing my name, but Iama Baldoni, so I straightened my shoulders and kept my feet solidly on the ground.

I don’t think it hid the way my body trembled.

He blew smoke in my face and glared at me.

“You trying to get me killed?” he asked in a deep voice.

“No,” I squeaked, then cleared my voice and said it again, less...dumb.

“You have thirty seconds.”

“I need a new identification. I have five thousand dollars. It needs to be the highest quality you have.”

“Twenty K.” Jamal had said, sucking in more of the joint.

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