Page 11 of Her Dark Mafia Protector
Even though I know his dying lesson is one that I should be listening to, I know that these conflicted emotions I’m having about Elle Monroe are the first cracks in the armor of emotional isolation that I’ve built.
Once I’ve seen all that I can see, and more than I ever intended to find, I slip back out of the apartment, securing the lock again as if no one had been here in her absence.
Elle could be my undoing; she knows too much, and she’s not going to stop digging around until I either disappear or she finds the answers she’s looking for—answers that shethinksshe wants but that I can assure her she doesn’t. But can I stop myself from getting even closer to her?
The answer to that question has already been decided, and anything else would just be a lie.
As I walk down the city streets, keenly attuned to the constant thrum of motion around me, I think about the best way to handle this. Even if I continue to watch over her, and that entangles our lives even further together, how do I handle it in a way that doesn’t compromise who I am as the Ghost?
If I continue to keep her on the outside, as I’ve done with everyone since the day my brother died, Elle will continue to push further and find out more about me. Letting her do that means risking that she might put together the profile of a ruthless killer, one that she thinks she might need to expose orgo up against. As I see it, the only way to prevent that from happening if I intend to stay around is for me tolet her in. Just a little, of course. The mere thought of letting anyone into my life stirs up many past traumas that I don’t care to revisit. Being the Ghost is almost like a mask that can hide who I used to be, even from myself. I’ll choose only a few things to tell her about, a few morsels of truth that will keep her appetite for answers at bay. If she can understand me and understand where I’ve come from, then maybe that will be the start of her path towardtrueclosure. Instead of spending her days chasing me, she can focus on rooting out corruption of the likes of which herfatherbrings to this city. The Mafia has its fair share of wicked people doing wicked things, but going up against the powerful families, especially on these sorts of solo reckless ventures that Elle has a reputation for pursuing, is a slow walk toward a death sentence. Going up against people like her father, who corrupts the system from within and pulls the strings for crimes to go unseen and unpunished, is a much safer bet for her. I can protect her, as long as she stops trying to unravel my life.
The feelings rising within me are formidable. It’s as if a protective, possessive match has been lit, and I can’t snuff it out. I’ve been isolated for so long that I didn’t know that I could even feel this way, so fiercely protective of anyone else. This is going to force me into a state of emotional vulnerability that I have long since avoided, and for what? For years, I’ve chosen withdrawal rather than confrontation or personal relationships. And now, I shake my head as I realize that I’m about to risk all of it for the girl from the alley.
After thinking it through, I come up with a plan. Ialwayshave a plan, another lesson that I learned the night my brother died. Plans keep things from going sideways.
I have a safe house outside the city, a few miles out into the desert. It’s remote, secluded, and the only place that I know I can talk freely without worrying that anyone could overhear. I had the whole place outfitted with security monitoring thanks to my very tech-savvy friend, so I can be completely confident that no listening device or surveillance intrusion of any kind can get inside. That is the place where I’ll have Elle come so that I can tell her a few things and try to get her to understand what she’s been poking her nose into.
She and I have been at odds since this all began years ago in that alleyway, and the more she’s tried to poke into my life, the more trouble it’s caused me. But yet, for reasons that I can’t yet explain, I find myself becoming gradually drawn to her with an intensity that I just can’t shake.
I expect that she’ll bombard me with questions, but thankfully, I’m adept at thinking strategically and able to make quick decisions under pressure. Whatever she throws at me, I’ll be able to come up with a response to it.
I decide to leave a series of clues to guide Elle to the location. That way, there’s no message or paper trail, and no in-person meeting in public that could fall into the wrong hands or be watched by others. Elle is smart enough to follow the clues I set, and unless she proves me wrong this time, she’sbraveenough to follow them too. If she wants answers that badly, bad enough to spend years trying to sniff them out, thenshe’ll come. And when she does, I’ll be ready with at least a few portions of the truth to satiate her appetite and hopefully keep things from escalating to where she puts herself in danger or compromises my movements throughout the city. I’ll give her the hook and see if she bites.
Of course, while I go about setting up this little plan of mine, I forget about the one thing that I probably should have thought about a bit more. What if she’s not the only one walking into the little trap I’m setting for her to settle this game of evasion that we’re both playing? What ifI’mleading myself into a trap, too? I usually like to think that I’m the cleverest person in the room, but I might have met my match with Elle Monroe, and my convoluted feelings about her might blind me. I guess I’m about to find out.
CHAPTER 9
ELLE
I’m thinking that this is all some kind of twisted game that Nico Vitale is playing with me. First, he disappears from the alleyway after mysteriously savingmylife but not my mother’s. Then, he pulls me into another side street just a few days ago with no other purpose than to get me to back down from chasing the answers I seek. And now, there’sthis—clues left in random places throughout the Vegas Strip for me to find as if he and I are playing a silly game. Except that the rules in this game are ever-changing, and the consequences of playing it might provedeadly.
The first clue that I see is a note slid under my apartment door. It’s a tiny slip of paper, so small that I almost missed it. Fortunately, my eyes don’t miss much of anything. The note has a single word scribbled on it—meet.
I stare at it for a few seconds, wondering if it’s supposed to be some sort of invitation. If it is, then it’s missing all the pertinent information, like where,when, andwhoit is that I’d be meeting. Although I already know that the note is from Nico. Call it a sixth sense, but I feel uncannily connected to the Ghost, despite how much I fucking hate him for not saving my mom.
Two days have gone by since that first clue before I find another. The Ghost either enjoys making me wait, or he’s trying to buy himself more time—for what, I have no idea. I have to hand it to him, though, because the second clue is impressively done. Just as I reach for my latte on the barista counter of my favorite coffee shop on my way to do some more sleuthing around, the barista motions to a second drink next to mine.
“Oh, that one’s yours too,” she smiles.
“I only ordered one drink,” I say, confused.
“Yeah, but some handsome man paid for this one for you, too,” she says with a grin as she looks around the café, hoping to point him out. She obviously doesn’t know who she’s dealing with, because the Ghostcan’tbe found when he doesn’t want to be. “I’m not sure where he went,” she says with a wrinkled brow. “But anyway, the drink is yours. Enjoy.”
I thank her and take my two cups to a window seat and sit down. When I pop the lid off the second drink, there’s a tiny image drawn with sprinkled sugar on top of the latte foam.Clever. He must have just done this because it doesn’t take long for the sugar to sink. The fading image is a simplistic little desert scene, complete with a scorching sun and a single cactus. Who knew that the Ghost was an artist too? I chuckle to myself and then drink the latte. It’s delicious.
Meet him in the desert?Is that what the Ghost’s cryptic clues are trying to say? I guess he wants to be sure that I can’t actually trace any of this back to him—smart. But the desert outside of the city doesn’t exactly come with a roadmap, so I do not know how to find him orwhento find him—until I receive the next and final clue. The last one is the boldest by far.
I don’t even notice it at first when I get back to my apartment after a long day of working on multiple case profiles at once. I’ve been spending so much time with my obsession over Nico that I’ve barely been keeping up with the rest of my work. When I sit down at my desk inside my home office, nothing seems to be out of place. But when I glance up at my evidentiary board hanging on the wall, I see it.
There, right in the middle of the web of notes and articles and photographs, is something thatIdidn’t put there. I stand up and walk toward it, seeing before I even reach for the white envelope that it has my name on the front. When I open it, there’s a GPS location and a military time. I guess this answers the “when and where”. Now, all I need to do is decide whether I’m going to go.
The GPS pulls up a very remote location in the desert outside the city. I’ve never been out there myself, but from what I can see based on the online maps, there doesn’t appear to be very many actual structures out there. So, unless it’s something that Nico has kept off-grid for a while, or something that totally blends in with the surroundings, I’m not entirely sure what I’m walking into if I decide to go.
I look at the envelope again. I’m not the best at military time, but I’m pretty sure it lines up with tomorrow at sunset. That means that I could find myself out there in the desert after dark without anyone knowing where I am if something happens. I suppose Icouldtell someone, but if I did, I’m sure Nico would find out about it somehow, and then he might call this off. Even if it is some sort of trap that I’m walking into, it’s the closest that I’ve gotten to actually being able to meet with him. Not counting the few minutes that he pulled me off the street the other day.
I get up and pace around my apartment for a few laps as I deliberate what to do. But even though it takes me severalminutes to talk myself out of going, I already knew from the moment that I got the third clue that I’d accept this chance.
If I were listening to my professional profiling insight, then I would know better than to do something this reckless. After all, this man is a notorious, infamous assassin. The Ghost is a killer.. I know it’s dangerous, but I don’t give a damn. I need answers.
