Page 34 of Dangerous Secrets

I return to my car after the brief stint here to say goodbye. There isn’t much point in sticking around for anything. The nurses and Brewster will handle Dad’s body. The arrangements for Dad’s burial have been made already. We knew this was coming. And my brothers will all head home to their respective houses to grieve or drink, or whatever it is they’ll do, but I have a target to find and question.

It's raining so hard the streets are flooding. I drive through a few inches of rain, which makes me slow down. New York is awful at times with flash flooding and the sewers getting inundated, so I take my time. I roll past the few clubs I know Bianca frequents hoping she hasn’t hidden out at the Flatiron where my presence is banned, but there is no sign of her, so I head across town. I find her car parked a few blocks away and shake my head. She knows they’ve kicked me out of this place more than once. It’s likely the reason she’s chosen to hide here.

I try to wait the rain out, but after checking the radar on my phone and realizing this isn’t going to let up any time soon, I decide to head in even though it means I’ll be soaked. I bypass the front door on purpose. I’d get about five steps into the place before they came charging at me with guns blazing this time. I’ve roughed up enough of their muscle to know I don’t play nice.

The back door is where I’m headed, though I’m under no illusion that it’s unlocked. I have to bang on it for ten straight minutes in order to garner any attention. A stout man with a full mustache opens the door and scowls into the darkness and I put my foot in the door to make sure he can’t shut me out.

“I’m looking for Bianca.” I try not to sound intimidating, but I’m shivering and soaked. I’m frustrated and I just want to get this over with so I can sleep tonight. Whether she confesses to plotting against my family or denies everything, I know I can’t kill her. My heart would never let me do that unless she pushed me to it. It was shocking to hear her voice earlier in the bookstore. Shook me to my core.

“She ain’t here, buddy.” The man tries to slam the door but it catches on my boot.

“I need to see her. I know she’s here. I parked right by her car.” I try to pry it open but the man is too strong.

“I said she ain’t here. Now get lost before I call the cops.”

I’m not one to back down, so I keep pushing. “Look, I just need to talk to her. Please, it’s important.” This being polite shit is for the birds. If he doesn't just show me in, we are going to go to the mats.

He grunts and shakes his head. “I ain’t lettin’ no wet rat into my house. Now scram before I call the cops."

He tries to slam the door again, but my foot still blocks it. I yank the door open, nearly pulling him off his feet into the rain. His shoulder connects to my gut as I push past him, but I shove him down. I don’t feel even a bit of remorse. This piece of trash stands between me and my target.

"I’m not going to hurt her. I just need to talk to her.” I can see his face turn pale. He realizes just how out of his league he is and I’m not going to show him any mercy. He knows I’ll break his arms if he comes at me.

“She ain’t here. I swear.” he says through clenched teeth. He rises with fists ready, but I'm ready too.

"Get out of my way," I order, bracing myself as he takes a swing. I dodge his punch with ease and throw a solid blow to his stomach. He doubles over, gasping for air, and I take the opportunity to grab him by the collar and drag him out of the way. He falls to the ground, groaning in pain, but I don't look back. I have a job to do.

I make my way through the dimly lit hallway, my heart pounding in my chest. I can hear the muffled sounds of voices coming from one of the rooms. I approach the door and press my ear against it, trying to make out what they're saying. It's not Bianca; it's a man and a woman with a nasally voice. So I move on toward her dressing room.

The idiot comes up from behind me and knocks the back of my knee, almost taking me to the ground before his arm shoots around my neck and puts me in a choke hold. I struggle, my vision starting to blur as I try to break free. But he’s too strong. I can feel myself starting to lose consciousness and know if I don't do something I'm done. He'll call his bouncers back here and that will be the end of me. I dig deep and muster every ounce of strength I have, pulling hard as I lurch forward.

The man's body rolls over my shoulder and slams into the floor in front of me. His eyes are wide, a gush of air escaping his mouth. I pull him up by the collar, my knuckles becoming white as I curl my fingers into a fist. He stares up at me, pleading with his eyes, but I don't hear anything. All I see is the red mist of fury covering my vision.

“You gonna try and stop me now?” I growl in his face, making him flinch. “You’re going to force me to hurt you.”

I see the fear in his eyes and let go, his lanky form hitting the floor with a thud. One hard punch is all it takes and the man is out cold. There's nowhere to put him but I'm not interested in covering up a crime. I came for Bianca, and I won't leave until I have her. I turn back toward her room and see the door is slightly ajar.

I need a drink so bad, but if I had stopped to do that, this man would be dead and maybe Bianca too. I straighten my jacket and step over the guy's body, then head toward the dressing room. I've walked down this hallway a dozen times, each of them with a different feeling in my chest. Tonight I don't feel excited or aroused to be rendezvousing with her. I don't feel a need to see her face or hear her tinkling laughter. Tonight I need the truth, and I need to know who she is.

Standing outside the door, I listen for a moment to see if I can hear any movement. There is nothing but the sound of running water. She’s in there, just a few feet away from my grasp, the assassin I’ve been hunting for months. If I had only known who she was in the beginning none of this would have happened. Then again, I wouldn’t know the threat to my family was so real. I’d be believing that having her dead meant we were safe, when in reality, I know now, we’ll never be safe, so long as Mickey is hunting us.

I push the door open and walk in. If she can’t give me information on how to kill Mickey, Dominic will kill her. So I pray to God she’s willing to talk.

22

BIANCA

The hot water is relaxing, warming my bones. Though, I’m going to have to walk back to my car in a slinky dress and get soaked again if the rains don’t let up. I’ve already scrubbed myself clean, but I can’t bear to pull myself away from the heat of the shower. The water hitting my skin is therapy, distracting my nervous system from the world-shattering truth. I am skipping town tonight and leaving behind everything I know.

My shoulders sink and I turn my face to the flow, rinsing myself. If only this water could wash away my guilt. Guilt over how many people I’ve killed, guilt over hiding my truth from the only man I’ve ever loved, guilt over leaving town knowing I’m carrying his unborn child and he may never meet them. But nothing washes a conscience the way hot water and soap can wash away blood from your skin.

I look down at the scab on my side. The stitches should be cut out by a professional but I’ll wait another week and snip them myself. It will leave a scar, maybe the only visible reminder that Roman touched me. I’ll have his baby and I’ll look into those eyes every day the rest of my life but I won’t have him. That thought makes the confined space of the shower stall unbearable. I turn the water off and step out, reaching for the towel.

It feels cooler in here than it did, though maybe it’s because I was just in scorching water. I shiver as I dry off and wind my hair into another towel, piling it on top of my head. I select a soft white robe from the hook on the back of the door and look at my face in the mirror. My mascara has runs, not fully washed away. I don’t even feel like wiping them away. I’ll just cry again and make it worse.

There is no sense in prolonging the inevitable. I head out of the shower and into my dressing room and freeze in place as the room comes into view. Rome sits at my vanity relaxed back in the chair. A stream of smoke winds toward the ceiling from his cigarette, and he puffs out a large breath. He says nothing, just watches as I stare at him. My heart feels like a jackhammer. I’ve done my confessing to him; there’s nothing left to say because I can’t tell him I’m carrying his child. It will only make things worse.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest. I tuck my hands safely beneath my armpits, but the shivering grows worse. Now, it’s not due to cold but because of fear. In a one-to-one match, Rome will slaughter me, and I have no way to defend myself, no gun, no darts, no heart even.

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