Page 7 of Unhinged Little Angel

“Nah. Go home and get in bed with your wife while it’s still dark out.” I lean forward to stuff a twenty-dollar tip into the cupholder for his trouble, then get out of the car.

He waits for a minute before pulling away. I head down the sidewalk, confident in every step of my well-trodden route. I reach a familiar building and dip into the alley. Climbing a fireescape in chinos isn’t ideal, but it’s doable. The metal staircase rattles and groans as I make my way up to the roof.

Dante’s shift ended nearly two hours ago, so he should be fast asleep by now, but just as I reach the roof and look across the street, his lights flicker on like he’s just getting home. My heart creeps into my throat and my skin heats the same way it did when he got in my face earlier. He comes into view, shrugging off an oversized hooded sweatshirt and stopping to run his hands over his face. It’s hard to tell from across the street, but I could swear there’s blood on his knuckles. Is it his or someone else's?

Protective rage swells inside me. If anyone hurt him, it’ll be the last fucking thing they do. Dante may not know it yet, but he’s mine, and I protect what’s mine. Always.

Chapter 4

DANTE

There’s a distinct feeling that comes with being watched. Not just looked at butwatched, followed, stalked. It’s that animal instinct that raises the hairs on the back of your neck and puts all of your senses on edge as you wait to spot the telltale flicker of a lion hiding in the underbrush or a crocodile disguising itself as a log to get close enough to drag you into the water and drown you. I rub the back of my neck and glance over my shoulder for the third time since leaving my apartment this morning.

Nothing looks out of the ordinary though. No mysterious cars driving too slowly behind me, no hint of anyone trying hard to blend into the crowd, nothing. Of course, that doesn’t mean they’re not there, just that they’re better at hiding in plain sight than I am at picking out someone suspicious. I curl my hands into fists and scan the bustling street one more time. My knuckles still ache days after theincidentin the alley, but the slight twinge is a comfort, a reminder of what I’m capable of when someone thinks they can turn me into a victim. Maybe I am being paranoid this morning. Not that I don’t have reason tobe, but he’s not supposed to be released for nearly a month still, so there’s no reason to waste my energy snapping at shadows in the meantime. I’m still not convinced that letter was anything more than his way of trying to gain the upper hand, with no real intent behind it other than to take some joy in scaring me when I can’t do a damn thing about it.

And if anyone is following me, it’s not like they’re going to attack me in broad daylight in the shopping district. I shake the tension out of my shoulders and step inside my favorite store, Ricco’s. I’m dressed perfectly respectably in a pair of black slacks and a plum blouse, but I get a few lingering looks anyway as the doors swing closed behind me, cutting off the hum of street noise and replacing it with soft piano music. Maybe it’s my few visible tattoos, or that the shirt I’m wearing was displayed on a female mannequin when I bought it and that’s somehow supposed to dictate who’s allowed to wear it. Small people putting themselves into even smaller boxes are not my problem though.

I ignore the glances and start to browse, gravitating towards a gorgeous white lace top with intricate pearl beading that I’m sure is out of my price range even without looking at the tag. I pick it up and hold it up to myself, imagining the way it would drape over my skin and make me look like a goddess in an oil painting. I flip the tag over and sigh. Maybe I’ll save up for a few weeks and buy it for myself as a birthday present.

It might be my last one, after all.

I immediately shake off the thought. He doesn’t have the balls. And if he does, I’ll happily separate them from his body and then show him what happens to people who fuck with me. Ideally, without landing my pretty ass back in prison. That’s the part I’m still working out. How to defend myself without ruining my own life. Strangers are one thing—there’s nothing tying me to any of them, even if they’re stupid enough to go to thepolice to complain about being attacked by someone they were attempting to victimize. But I’ve already seen how this one plays out. I did my time behind bars for it, and I’d rather not gamble my life on a murder charge if I can help it, even in self-defense.

“Hey, Dante.”

I nearly startle straight out of my skin, my heart leaping in my chest as I jump a foot in the air and spin around to face whoever managed to sneak up on me, my hands raised defensively. The fighting stance earns me a few more odd looks from the WASP-y customers who were already sure I didn’t belong in here and are now probably seconds from digging their phones out of their Gucci bags to call the police. I barely notice though, my attention focused on the grinning man behind me. He’s no taller than I am, but that’s where the similarity in our appearance ends. He’s pretty in a rugged kind of way, blond hair hanging messily over his forehead, his green eyes glinting with confidence and mischief.

“Jesus fuck, Sparrow, don’t scare me like that.” I put a hand over my chest and glare at him. “Are you stalking me or something?” I look him up and down. He’s wearing a pair of jeans with holes in both knees and the same ratty leather jacket he always seems to have on. He definitely didn’t come into a store like this one to shop.

He snorts and arches an eyebrow at me. “Paranoid?”

I bristle and deepen my glare. “Usually not without reason.”

He smiles wider, seemingly unbothered by my suspicion. I can’t think of a good reason for him to be following me, but I’m sure if I had a little time to get creative with it, I could come up with something. Like maybe Lorenzo hired him to keep an eye on me for some reason.

“Relax, I was just on my way to meet Xav for lunch down the street and spotted you in the window. I figured I’d pop in and say hi.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I like you, Dante. You’ve got sharp teeth and you aren’t afraid to use them. Because sometimes it gets fucking old hanging around with a bunch of mafiosos.”

I’m not sure that explanation puts me at ease at all. If anything, it raises my hackles a little more.

“I don’t need friends. Thanks though.”

I realize I’m still holding the shirt, and I put it back down with one last wistful look, promising myself I’ll come back and treat myself later. Then I walk past Sparrow and out of the store without a backward glance. Being out of my apartment has suddenly lost its appeal.

I hail a cab and tell the driver my address, keeping an eye out for any cars following on the way back, but just like earlier, I don’t spot anything out of place. The car rolls to a stop in front of my building and I hand him enough cash to cover the fare and a tip.

I climb the stairs to the second floor, considering how I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon. Maybe I’ll finish the needlepoint I’ve been working on—a cheeky drawing of a Molotov cocktail and the words ‘be the light you want to see in the world.’ My apartment comes into view, and I stop in my tracks, my pulse immediately skyrocketing.

I didn’t leave my door open. I would never be that careless. My hands shake and my muscles tense, readying my body for fight or flight. Maybe it didn’t catch for some reason and then the force of someone else closing their door nudged mine open? Did I lock it? I always do, but I can’t actually picture myself doing it. It’s one of those mindless, automatic actions that you do every day and isn’t important enough for your brain to actually hang on to once it’s over. I flex my hands and wish like hell I’d thought to keep a weapon with me.

I take a cautious step forward, taking measured breaths, my eyes fixed on the small crack in the door, watching for any sign of movement on the other side. As far as I can tell, everything is still and quiet. Once I’m close enough, I put my hand on the door and ease it open, standing to the side in case someone is right on the other side with a gun. But no one’s there. I hold my breath as I step over the threshold and still nothing, no sign of anyone inside, nothing out of place that I can see.

Okay, so maybe I was just careless. It’s not like me, but it’s not impossible either. My fingertips tingle with unspent adrenaline as I cautiously check the rest of the apartment, looking for any signs that anyone was here. My bedroom looks exactly the way I left it, with the bed messy and the drapes closed, and the bathroom is clear too. I loop back around to the main living space and my gaze finally lands on something that I’m sure wasn’t here when I left. There’s a large envelope right in the center of my coffee table, nothing written on it and no sign whatsoever of where orwhoit came from.

Fear and rage swirl in my chest, feeding each other in an endless cycle. I’m pissed that someone would dare to come into my apartment and try to scare me, and fucking terrified of what might be inside the envelope. I stare at it like it’s a rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike, then turn to grab my laptop off the chair where I left it charging earlier.

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