Page 33 of The Last Call
I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. This is wrong. He is wrong. I’m so very wrong for calmly sitting here and participating in this late lunch meeting with him and one of his business partners. Acting like this is normal. That we’re normal. When neither of us is.
I pretend like I’m not panicking. A long sip of cool water. An understanding nod and bright smile when Julius looks up and gives me a playful wink from the paperwork taking longer to review then he thought. A robust thank you to the waiter for the trio of decadent cannolis bursting with thick cream. One each sprinkled with chopped pistachios, orange candies, or chocolate chips. The entire plate dusted with a heavy layer of powdered sugar. All to celebrate the purchase of the Victorian and me being the project manager. That I accepted before I knew how truly deadly psychotic he really is.
He thinks he loves me.
He thinks we’re engaged.
He thinks we’re going to live happily ever after.
But Iknowthat’s never going to happen. I can’t let it happen. None of his delusions are possible. Regardless of how hard he works to make me delusional too.
Somehow I was lucky enough to evade sleeping with him last night. Easy to accomplish since neither one of us slept. I spent the night freaking out, while he worked well into the morning. Until we left the mansion for this meal. But I know my luck’s running out.
And I’ve decided that so am I.
While he’s distracted, I slowly scoot back my chair from the table. Forcing my hands not to shake as I rise and point to the restaurant door. Murmuring my ‘excuse me’ and that I’ll be right back. Praying he’ll think I’m going to the ladies’ room rather than seeking an escape route. Hopefully I’ll buy at least five minutes of a head start by cutting through the building rather than just bolting off down the sidewalk, despite how much I want to.
He’s not quite as distracted as I thought. He jerks his head at one of the numerous men lining the railing. The guard quickly straightens tall and races to catch up with me. Damn. Even polite enough to open the door for me as I sweep inside and he gestures toward the back where a sign hangs that I think signifies the restrooms. Damn. Damn. Damn.
The biggest smile I can muster covers my face, and I nod my appreciation. Scurrying toward the restricted hallway, I manage a quick glance back to make sure he doesn’t plan to follow me inside the bathroom. Although I’ve squeezed through tiny windows before, and I’ll do it again if I have to.
Luckily, he sets up post between the open dining area and the end of the corridor glancing in both directions. With that bit of freedom, I scope out the doors. Beautifully intricate hand-painted figures of a woman and man grace two of them but the third includes another word I don’t know. Praying I’m correct, I slowly turn the knob and almost cry out from the discovery of stacked boxes lining the left wall with a cut out to the right side leading to the bustling kitchen. But it’s the exit ten feet in front of me that makes my heart soar.
My heels tap on the tile as I run. Blending in with the clinking of silverware against china as steaming pasta is drained and plated. Drowned in heavy red sauce from enormous ladles and loaded on trays for waiting servers. Too focused on my goal to check if any of them notice me, I shove against the cold gray metal bar and welcome the sunshine streaming across my already blazing face. Beckoning me outside. Enticing me with the opportunity for freedom. Only a gray dumpster and red scooter fill the small concrete pad. No one and nothing to stop me from running. So I do.
Across the narrow alley. Around the side of a red brick building. Toward the rows of compact cars parked nose to tail on the narrow street. Blaring horns and festive music and boisterous voices waft from the sidewalk cafes. The perfect symbol of my own celebration to be free.
Until everything goes silent. Everything goes black. Everything goes down as I’m sucked back into hell as pain explodes through my skull.
“She’ll be all right. Groggy and maybe confused at first but that should clear quickly.”
I tremble from the unfamiliar voice. The cold fingers on my wrist. The swimming of my head.
“Wait downstairs in case I need you when she wakes up.”
Julius?
His voice seems so close I feel like I can grab it. Grab him. But grogginess keeps pulling me away. I think it’s him. I want it to be him so I can have something to hold onto in my terror. Yet I touch nothing when I lift my hand.
“Leone.”
A shiver vibrates through me when he breathes my nickname close to my ear. I know for sure this time. It’s him. I have to find him. Reaching out again, I brush his shirt and clutch the fabric with what little strength I have.
He’s here.
Really here.
Thank god.
I welcome his lips on my forehead. His palms on my cheeks. His heat on my shuddering body. Murmuring beautiful yet unknown Italian words against my skin. Although I understand the meaning infused in his tone. Relief. Regret. Rejoicing.
I blink again and again. Forcing my blurry eyes open. Bringing him into view. Discovering the worry lining his face as strong fingertips brush my temples. Gentle yet possessive as he frames my face with his huge hands.
“You scared the hell out of me lion.”
So damn ironic. Now he knows how I’ve felt the past forty-eight hours. “What happened?”
“You ran.”
