Page 63 of Sin & Secrets

The next day starts the same as any other. However, knowing that Rocco won’t return that evening already sets a sour tone.

It’s not until I leave the bathroom that I decide to check my phone.

As usual, there are about a hundred notifications from Mia. But something else catches my eye.

One New Message. Claudio Lazzaro.

My heart begins to thump wildly in my chest. It must be almost a month since the day he signed me away to Rocco. This entire time, I haven’t heard a thing from him. No message of remorse, no goading email calling me a slut.

Not even the pile of personal items he’d promised to send over.

With a shaking hand, I unlock my phone and read it.

“This is shit, Cas. I want to see you.”

A glance at the timestamp tells me everything I need to know about how sober he was when he messaged.

I think about ignoring it, letting him stew in the realization that he’d fucked up for as long as possible. He deserves it, after all.

But…

But Rocco doesn’t have any other leads. He hasn’t been able to get anything out of him so far, and we’re already a third of the way through our time together.

What would any of this be for if the hundred and one days pass without anything happening? I would go back to Ohio, closing this weird chapter as a fever dream.

I might not be a super-rich mafioso, but there is one thing I know how to do better than anyone else.

I can make Claudio talk endlessly about himself.

A plan begins to take root as I type back my response.

Donatella knocks on my door a moment later. “Breakfast!”

“I’m not feeling good today,” I call back, forcing my voice to sound gravelly. “I think I’m going to stay in bed and sleep it off.”

“You should still eat something.”

“I’ll eat later,” I insist.

I can almost hear her rolling her eyes through the door. “Call me if you need any medication.”

As soon as I hear her footsteps disappear, I spring into action.

In my first few days here, I’d contemplated how difficult it would be to escape out the window. I even fashioned a rope out of some of the men’s shirts from the closet. I retrieve it now, stashed in one of the drawers Donatella never bothers to look in.

Within seconds, I’m crouched on the damp ground outside. The years of sneaking out to perform at bars were finally working in my favor. And with one quick vault over the fence, I make it into the yard of the neighboring brownstone.

After so many weeks of being cooped up, I try not to spend much time reveling in the fresh air.

I don’t know where the brownstone is in Brooklyn. But as long as I can find a main road, I’ll be able to summon a cab. The jingle of too few coins in my purse reminds me to pray I’m not too far away.

There, only a few blocks away, seems to be a busier road.

I stride toward it, focused on my goal.

So much so that I don’t hear anyone approaching behind me.

“What thehellare you doing?”

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