Page 9 of Devilish Prince

"Please, I just need a jump..." I back into the side of the car parked next to mine and he walks toward me, then swings the wrench and smashes my driver's window. It makes me yelp and jump in fear. I scream out for help, my voice echoing off the walls of the garage. I'm horrified and terrified, my heart racing as he grabs a hold of me and starts to drag me away. He's strong and I struggle against him, but it's no use.

He shoves me onto the ground and returns to the broken window and leans in. I wince and hold my arm. Pain shoots through my body from hitting the cement so hard. Then I think of my phone. I pull it out and dial 9-1-1 before he returns and kicks it right out of my hands. The phone skitters across the cement beneath a few cars and I whimper and cover my head.

"Bitch!" he shouts before smashing the back window of my car too. Glass shards rain down on me and I curl up into a ball, my heart pounding in my chest. He jumps back into his car and burns rubber as he drives away. I lie there on the ground, shaking and broken, wondering what just happened.

I'm so scared that I can't move right away. I can hear the sound of sirens in the distance, and it's then that I realize how close I was to being taken from this place forever. Tears stream down my face as I lay there, sobbing silently in fear and shock. My body trembles as the sirens get closer and closer until they finally stop near me. I push myself up, sobbing uncontrollably.

One single police cruiser is here, two cops. Both of them exit their vehicle and move toward me. “Ma’am, are you alright?” one asks, kneeling next to me. “We got a report of a 9-1-1 call from this location.”

“Dispatch, this is unit two-seventeen; we have a possible 10-21.” The other man whose voice sounds familiar stands over me too, hand on his radio. I recognize him. He is one of the cops who came to my place when those thugs tried to break in. Confused, I sit straighter and take the first officer’s hand to stand up.

“I had a dead battery and I called roadside assistance, but this guy came up and offered to help. He smashed my windows and took my purse.” I stammer out the story of what happened, but I can’t take my eyes off the taller of the two men. How is it possible that he was at my house and now here too? With the number of police officers in New York City, this is a very strange coincidence.

The men walk me through giving an oral statement, which they record, and then they wait with me until the tow truck is here. It hauls my car off to a body shop and when it’s gone, I head backinto the hospital, nearly frozen to the bone with frostbite, and with a stern warning from the police that there have been many reported muggings in this area over the past few weeks. It’s ironic to me that the man’s warning was the same three weeks ago when my home was invaded.

Shaking, I stand near the ER entrance nurses’ desk and wait for my Uber to arrive. Jen’s shift is over now, and as she passes through the ER on her way out the door, she glances at me and I grimace.

“I thought you left over an hour ago?” Moving my way, she folds her gloves in her hand and cocks her head.

“Long story…” I sigh and look over her shoulder out the door, hoping my ride is here. It’s not, and now I have to endure a lecture. Jen—very close friend and colleague—knows nothing of the Lorenzo Gatti incident and I’d like to keep it that way for now.

“I have time.” She plants an elbow on the nurses’ station counter and narrows her eyes at me, raising one eyebrow.

I huff and sigh louder, but she doesn’t get the point. It’s like she thinks she’s my mother. “I was mugged, okay? The car wouldn’t start. I called roadside, but they were an hour out. I waved down a car and he got out with cables to jump me and then smashed the hell out of my car and took my purse.”

In order to avoid her stern gaze I step toward the door so I can see more clearly the instant my Uber is here and I am saved from this pressure. I’m a grown woman and I don’t need her doting on me like I need a parent.

“Sofi, you’re literally terrifying me. From now on I walk you to your car. Got it?” She pursues me like a yapping puppy.

“Yes, Mom.” A car pulls up and my phone chimes. ”That’s my ride.”

“I’m not kidding, Sof. You have to be safe.” Jen follows me out to the Uber and watches me climb in.

“I understand. I just need to go home and rest now. Okay? I have a lot of calls to make to cancel credit cards and stuff.” I shut the door, knowing I’m being rude, but emotionally I can’t take it right now.

Jen stands there watching as the Uber pulls out and all I can think is, “Should I have taken Lorenzo up on his offer of protection?”

6

LORENZO

My tactics are working. Sofia called me yesterday, ready to make a deal. I stand in my living room next to the large picture window watching over the sprawling front lawn waiting for her to pull up. I arranged for her to come to my home and remove my stitches, now more than one month after my shooting. Most of them have dissolved, but that isn’t the reason for her to come and she knows it.

On the call she indicated she was checking on me, but when I pressed her about her reasons, she admitted that she might need my help in the protection department. I knew she’d come around, mostly because she’s running scared. Violence seems to surround her, even when it’s not focused on her. Take for instance the bank robbery that happened only seconds after she deposited her cash payment from me. Norm told me that rattled her to her core and she went home and locked herself inside for two days.

When a small red sedan pulls up, I know it’s her. No one comes to my home unannounced except my father, and he has drivers to chauffeur him wherever he wants to go. None of them drives ared car. This must be a rideshare service. I know Sofia’s car is in the shop waiting on a windshield replacement and as I suspect, the back door opens and she climbs out, looking nervous.

Her long, cream trench coat hugs her frame, cinched tightly at the waist, but revealing her bare calves and black heels. She’s come from someplace important, not a normal workday. I expected blue scrubs and a lab coat. This is a pleasant surprise.

“Norm!” I shout, and he’s here instantly, in the door and ready to do as I ask. “See to Ms. Carter and make sure she’s comfortable the instant she walks in.” I watch her mount the stairs as Norm scurries off to answer the door. When she disappears out of view from the window, I turn to the liquor cabinet and find my finest bottle of Scotch, pouring two glasses just as I hear the click of her heels on the floor outside the door.

“Sir, it’s Dr. Sofia Carter to see you.” Norm’s announcement is for her benefit only, to make it appear like I’m more civil than I am. I turn with two glasses in hand ready to welcome my frightened guest.

“Welcome, Sofia, have a seat.” I nod at the pair of burgundy leather sofas facing each other. Their Victorian charm is separated by a claw-foot coffee table, perched over an expensive rug I picked up in the Middle East after a business deal. She’s not been in this room, because I limit who I invite here. Her eyes dart around, taking everything in. It’s lavish, but that’s how a prince lives, is it not?

“Uh…” She takes a few steps in, clutching her purse to her chest. Norm has taken her coat, hung in the coat closet near the door I assume. She wears a light green blouse and dark navy skirt. Sheer panty hose make her legs glisten as she moves fartherinto the room. “This is..” Her eyes draw upward to look at the chandelier, spared no expense from Tiffany’s.

“Yes, it is, now have a seat,” I say again, this time setting her glass of Scotch on the table as I lower myself onto the sofa facing the window. Sunlight pours into the room casting its glow over everything. Every inch of this room costs more that she makes in a year, from the custom wallpaper to the tchotchkes she ogles as she shuffles over and sits in the gilt chair with its matching burgundy leather seat.

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