Page 13 of Wicked Rivals

Still, I kept a stash of money hidden in my apartment, along with current passports for Enzo and me. Better to have them and never need them than to go without and end up wishing that somewhere down the line I had been more prepared.

We crossed the street, and Con Amore was in sight.

“Mama, I’ll go get my uniform. Be right back,” Enzo said.

“Sure. Go on upstairs and get changed.”

I let go of his hand, and he ran inside the café, heading straight for the hidden staircase behind the kitchen that led to our second-floor apartment.

Plenty of empty cups and plates covered with crumbs sat around for me to clean up once I got inside. More dishes than usual, but not so many that I couldn’t have the place cleaned up before the next rush of customers came through the door.

As I stood in front of the large picture window overlooking the street, an icy chill crept up my spine and settled on the back of my neck, refusing to let me go.

I couldn’t put my finger on it just yet, but something didn’t feel right.

The street looked the same as always, with cars parked along either side, neighbors walking their dogs, students hustling back and forth with their bulging backpacks and laughing with their friends.

Nothing stood out as dangerous or even oddly curious.

But the eerie sensation stuck with me.

The same one I’d had for weeks now after living quietly for so many years, believing like a complete idiot that everything might really be okay.

I was wrong.

Someone out there was watching me again.

Following me.

CHAPTER 3

VAL

I really disliked all the in-between moments at the café.

The lull in rushes, the minutes before the first customer arrived, the minutes after the last one went out the door. It was just too damn quiet, and those moments left so much space for intrusive thoughts to prowl through my mind.

You aren’t good enough.

They will find you.

He will take his son.

They know you’re alive.

After I’d locked all the doors, Enzo and I had a simple pasta dish for dinner and finished our evening chores. I lifted the last chair onto the table, and he wiped down the back counters, then we were officially done for the night.

I dreaded being done almost as much as the quiet.

Because with nothing left to keep me mindlessly busy, the thoughts would come back.

They always came back.

“So what are we reading tonight, kiddo?” I asked, hoping Enzo would take the bait and be the distraction I needed.

When he’d been about two, our nightly ritual became the best part of my day. Every night after closing the café, we went to the big leather couch in front of the picture window to read.

The streetlamp outside the window cast just enough light.

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