Page 2 of Texting My Mafia Savior

“She clearly doesn’t want to,” I hiss.

The man smirks up at me. “You know who you’re talking to, doll? I’m the owner of this joint.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed? Lilly, you want to go?” I take her hand and guide her to her feet.

She nods, looking almost like she did when I left her all those years ago, a decade melting away as she becomes childlike. “Yes, I think I’d like that.”

“The party’s just getting started,” the sleazeball says, standing and then moving his arm as if he’s going to wrap it around her waist.

I guide Lilly out of his way. “You seriously need to stop. She doesn’t want your drugs, and she doesn’t wantyou. Jeez. What’s wrong with you?”

Suddenly, he darts at Lilly. He moves quickly, violently. I think he’s going to hit her. Instead, he grabs her handbag and snakes his hand inside. He takes out her wallet. “Lilly Fitzgerald. What a name. And look—your address is here too.”

A chill creeps over me. “What the hell are you doing?” I snap. “Just take the rejection. Stop being weird.”

“What about you, hmm?”

When he moves toward me, I take a step back.

“Little lady, I’m going to seriously hurt you if you don’t give me your license.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes it sound genuine. Lilly whimpers beside me as tears stream down her cheeks. I feel a surreal sensation as if someone had drugged me and I’m not here. I’m still in the club, people-watching. There’s no way this is really happening.

“I don’t have a license,” I snap. “Not with my current address on it, so take your intimidation tactics and stick them where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Such a brave girl.” The man leers. “License. Now. I won’t ask again.” I back away toward the door, but the man just laughs. “My man won’t let you go unless I tell him to.”

“Why are you doing this? Just find somebody else, somebody who wants to be here.”

“Don’t ask me why.” His eyes are wild, almost like he’s getting off on frightening us. “Just ask mehowyou can please me.”

My hands tremble as I reach into my handbag and take out my license. I don’t like the idea of this creep knowing my name or address. But what other choice do I have? I just need to get my friend out of here.

He takes the license and mutters, “Arriana Romano.” Shaking his head almost as if in disbelief, he laughs and throws his head back. “Do you believe in God?”

“Are we done?” I hiss.

Then I do something stupid. I snatch the license from him. His demeanor changes. No more laughter. He steps forward and raises his hand. “We’re done when I say we’re?—”

Panic grips me instantly. I just need to make enough room for us to open the door. I take the chance and lurch forward, driving my hand against his chest. He gasps and stumbles back. I don’t have time to register the look of pure rage on his face.

I spin, open the door, and drag Lilly after me. We rush across the club, run out into the icy air, and sprint for the nearest cab. Lilly is still crying and I feel like I might have a panic attack, but I need to keep moving.

Why was he laughing? Did he ask me if I believed in God? Why did we even come out tonight? We should’ve stayed at home, discussed traveling, made plans for the future. My gut twists with anxiety all the way home.

CHAPTER 2

NICO

“Thank you, Nico,” Georgie says, already looking healthier and more positive than the last time I saw him. We’re at the edge of the community’s basketball court, in the projects, with kids running laps. Until a few weeks ago, Georgie was a drug runner for a two-bit operation in the city. Now, he’s helping to teach kids basketball and has a job as a food-delivery driver.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” I tell him. “Just stay on the path. That’s all I ask.”

“I promise I will,” he says.

I clap him on the shoulder. “Good lad. I’m proud of you.”

“I’m going to pay you back one day.”

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