Page 57 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption
She took me aside and said if anything happens to call a number and ask for Isabella. And then she said one more thing.
“You can trust her. And back in New York, you can turn to Olivia… Sutton’s mom. Just her. If you’re in trouble, she can help.”
The memory pulps and disintegrates like waterlogged paper, but that part is clear as day.
Shit, it’s worth a try. Anything is.
The more I think, the more running seems, at least for a while, smart. I can still help with the network, just somewhere else in the chain. I can get away from New York. Away from Salvatore and his hit and… away from the man they made me marry.
Who scares the hell out of me.
I know I said I wouldn’t run, but… maybe I need to.
“I’dlove that,” I say.
Now all I have to do is get away from Lucie.
A while later at the animal shelter, I realize getting away from her is easier than I thought. All I do is tell her I need the restroom. Guilt streaks through me at the thought because Lucie is so damn nice, it’s unbelievable. But she’s also so knee-deep in dogs and cats that I doubt she’ll notice me gone for at least an hour.
I dart out the door and hustle down side streets, skirting our private car. When I make my way to West Seventy-Seventh and Amsterdam Avenue, my mistake smacks me in the face.
The Toscanos are rich, like socialite New York rich, but they live in an apartment complex. A triplex, I think. With a doorman.
Should I go up there? I hover at the corner when my breath stilts at the sight of a man I recognize. He saunters out of the Toscano’s building with a familiar-looking girl.
And girl is definitely the right word. She’s no more than fifteen or sixteen, dressed in leather pants and a halter, showing off her pierced belly button.
She also has on a tiny, short coat.
Dear Lord, she must be freezing.
But I know her.
It’s Londyn.
My blood ices in my veins and I tremble, pulling my coat tighter around me. But I also can’t pull myself away. I follow at a distance as they head down to Central Park. I’m so caught up in following them, moving from pretzel cart to hot dog cart, my chest tight and head throbbing, that I don’t notice anything else.
She looks like Sutton. Like their mom. And she’s so young.
I want to throw up when he takes her hand. They enter the park and head down one of the winding paths, the windscattering leaves from the trees. I keep moving until it’s only joggers who pass us by.
Then they sit on a park bench. In fucking broad daylight. He’s older than her. Disgustingly so. Sure, he’s handsome, but fuck that. She’s a child. He leans in, kissing her.
Bile rises in my throat.
That’s when I feel something hard against my side.
The gun in my pocket.
I slowly pull it out of my dress pocket and stare at it.
This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever thought of doing.
But I want to shoot him.
Too many girls are trapped this way, mafia born or adjacent, and then they’re kept, used, groomed by a man—or several men. And I have to smuggle them away to give them their freedom back.
How much easier would it be to kill him now and fix her lifeandmine.
