Page 56 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption
I start opening the drawers, and then a low whistle slips through my lips.
A Glock with a full magazine.
I slide it into the pocket of my oversize dress and then drift back to the flowers.
They’d be prettier with some greens, creams, a touch of pink. But…
This is a man’s office. It smells like a man, and the roses are fresh. Did he buy them, whichever brother’s office this is? If so, he probably didn’t get them for himself.
Then I see a picture, the red-gold hair, the smiling face of the woman at my horrifying wedding.
Oh God. It’s Callahan’s office, and these must befor?—
“Hi. I’m Lucie.”
I spin.
She’s definitely mafia. She’s got the mafia-born princess aura around her. It’s an air they can’t eradicate.
But her frank curiosity as she stares at me, along with her bright, welcoming smile is like nothing I’ve met before. And I’ve met plenty of mafia women.
She glances past me and nods at the roses. “What does the card say?”
For a moment I don’t move, and the German shepherd trots up to her, rubbing against her leg. The black cat follows and plops on the floor at her feet, exposing his belly. I assume for her to admire. I don’t really know animals.
I never had them.
But her eager air infects, and I fumble around until I find the white card. I stare at the words. “Um…”
“Give me that.” She steps over the cat and takes the card, before dropping a moment to scratch that belly. Then she laughs. “Joy.” She turns it. “Love, Frank.”
“I guess he got them this morning.” Lucie crosses back over and buries her nose in them. “Divine. God, Callahan, what am I going to do with you?”
I start to edge out of the room. I need to go. I don’t need to witness some weird love thing with a killer and his bride. I’ve got my own killer to contend with.
But Lucie is sharp, and she shoots me a look. “It’s not that bad, you know.”
“Being married to?—”
“Torin’s a good guy. They all are, and they’ll protect you.”
Until they get whatever they’re after from me.
I just smile and nod. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Hey, Hazel?” she asks as I reach the door. “I’mvolunteering for a couple of hours, if you want to come. It’s uptown, and we can get cake and coffee afterward.”
Uptown. Something sparks in my head. Old friends of Mom’s—the Toscano family— live there. I know because I look them up regularly to keep tabs. I catch glimpses of their whereabouts on social media.
I know what each of them look like. The father, the wife, the girls.
The eldest girl, Sutton, was my friend when we were little. She has a baby sister, Londyn, who is a teen now. They don’t know I’m alive as I’ve never been desperate enough to reach out, but…
Maybe the mom will help me.
Maybe there’s another underground escape I can take.
Because one vivid memory I have of Mom is when we were in that house in Ireland and Dad was on the phone talking about being out, new names, passports. Those things I remember. But only as background to Mom’s words.
