Page 182 of Rosetti Family New York
I try to keep my voice steady. "What was she doing for the Callahans? What do you know about her?"
He grins. It’s mean and crooked. "A lot. None of it you want to hear."
His hand is on my arm, tight, closing around my wrist.
"Let go," I say, yanking back. It’s not very convincing, and even less successful.
He drags me off my stool toward the back of the room, moving fast through the crowd. I’m struggling to keep up, tottering on my spiked heels and trying to keep my balance.
“Where are you taking me?”
He sneers. “Just out back for a personal conversation. Your friend stuck her nose in Callahan business too," the man says, like we're having a friendly chat. "Ask me real nice, and maybe I’ll tell you why it got her killed."
"Tell me here," I say.
"Nah." He jerks me around. "Private conversation."
We’re at the back of the room, right next to the bathrooms. A door with a gun decal, and another with a pink lipstick kiss. His and hers, I guess.
The man slams me into the wall. Pain shoots through me, and my vision blurs at the edges. How did I get myself into this? My mind races as fast as my pulse, and my legs feel like spaghetti. He’s stronger than I expected, and I’m starting to think this was a very bad idea. I should’ve waited, maybe come with Lucas. But waiting means doing nothing, and doing nothing never got anyone anywhere.
I try to focus. His grip shifts lower. His hand reaches under my shirt, in slow motion, his sweaty palm running around my hip. Everything goes white with rage.
I wrestle to get free, picturing Maddy, how this might have been her last moments, too. No way am I letting that happen. My wrist’s still caught in his vice-grip of a hand, and I gasp when he jerks me closer, the sharpness of his movement rattling my teeth. I’m in over my head, sinking fast, but I refuse to drown.
I need a plan, some way out, but my options are shrinking as fast as my breath. I clench my teeth. I should’ve brought back-up. Now I’m going to end up as a chalk outline, and the only one to blame is me.
“What are you doing?” I shout, my voice cracking. I'm overwhelmed and desperate, but I won't let him hear that. "Let me go!"
“What do you think, sweetheart?” He towers over me, every word oozing with threat and cheap cologne. “Callahan doesn’t like company. Doesn’t like nosy girls poking around.”
We’re past the bathrooms, edging toward the alley exit. I’m running out of time, running out of straws to grasp at. I twist, trying to get loose, trying to think on my feet.
He cuts off my escape routes, one by one.
I plant my foot and yank back with all the force my noodle arms can muster.
He laughs, like this is a game we’re playing. Then he’s on me again, holding my wrists so I can’t move. Panic is screaming at me to do something, do anything, when suddenly he’s the one against the wall.
Rafe’s got him by the throat. It happens so fast I almost miss it, one second I’m about to be fertilizer and the next this angry avenging angel’s snarling at my attacker, shoving him hard into the cinderblock wall.
The guy’s sputtering, eyes bulging, caught completely off guard. I am, too. I’d convinced myself that Rafe wanted nothing to do with me, that he was letting me fall on my face, or get my face smashed in.
The guy loses his grip on my arm, but Rafe doesn’t lose his on him. Not for a second. He pinches his windpipe like a soda straw, and the guy looks terrified. I don’t blame him. I feel pretty terrified myself, but I won’t let that show.
"Touch her again," Rafe says, his voice calm. "I fucking dare you."
My heart stops. Everything stops.
The man doesn’t get a chance to reply before Rafe kicks him to the floor.
Then he’s got his gun out and trained on the entire bar. Everyone's really interested in their drinks now. A couple of them stand up, like they’re going to do something, but Rafe doesn’t look worried.
"She walks in here, you show respect," Rafe says. "She breathes near you, you shut your fucking mouths. You see her again, you better pray it’s with me."
No one speaks. No one moves. He hauls me out of there like I’m the next thing he’s going to kill. His grip on my elbow is iron, and I’m tottering and praying for balance as I chase after him, getting a strong sense of deja vu.
Outside, I stumble into the biting cold, and my legs are jelly. I shiver uncontrollably, half from fear, half from relief. Thank god he showed up. I slump against the wall, struggling to catch my breath as Rafe watches like I'm about to explode. I meet his eyes, and anger flares up above my embarrassment. I feel small. Exposed. But mostly confused.
