Page 141 of My Mafia King

Oh… Things don’t look that great. What is this?

Black SUVs block the exit with their lights flashing. Is this the police?

Or is it the FBI?

A cold shiver sweeps my back, a strong feeling of dread swirling inside my chest.

Is this why Damaso left in a hurry and ordered me to go upstairs?

This is serious.

I freeze by the door and jolt out of my paralysis when someone’s shoulder brushes mine.

The woman tosses an apology in my direction, and I mumble something back, not knowing what to do.

The wise thing to do would be to go back.

On the other hand, I feel like getting out of here and never looking back. That’s probably not the best course of action.

First off, I have no idea what kind of mess I might be getting myself into. And secondly, all my stuff is upstairs.

I’m not seriously planning to get away, am I?

Then I remember the woman’s words about me being lucky and not being targeted. She must’ve meant by the police. That’s good and bad news at the same time.

It’s fantastic that I’m not a target. It’s not that great that Damaso Salla is a target. If he goes down, everything else goes down with him, and I’d be easy picking for his enemies.

I move away from the side door, my eyes on the cars, and later, I slide past the concierge, where a girl with a tight bun at the back of her neck keeps her eye on what is happening outside.

No one pays attention to me as I walk straight to the pool where Damaso had lunch today with his men. I don’t know what I’m hoping to find here.

For sure, not answers.

The more I move away from the front of the hotel, the quieter it gets. Lights glow along the hallway, taking me to the large event room that is now empty.

I walk across, heading to the kitchen. The place is clean, with only a few dim lights glowing around.

I easily spot a back exit, which must be regularly used by the employees, and luckily, I open it and walk out without setting off the alarm.

Fresh air greets me outside, and a starry sky above.

Mmm… This is nice.

It’s a nice change, and my body de-tenses somewhat.

A few cars are parked in the back, a swift reminder I don’t know where my ride is.

I walk onto the narrow concrete slabs and look around, hoping for a miracle.

It wouldn’t happen to find my car here, would it?

I know it’s been repaired and stored away, but I’ve never been told where. My eyes go over the cars parked here before I notice the stairs at the end of the parking lot.

I reach that spot and look back, making sure I’ve scanned all the cars. And then I notice a few more parked farther away in the back.

Why would they park their cars over there when there is so much space next to the exit?

I go there, having a hard time with my heels.

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