Page 58 of Craving Danger

Why would the mafia want to kill Mr. Vitale? Did he do something to piss them off?

When he drives through a pair of large black gates, my eyes widen at the sight of all the men.

“No,” I whisper.

Mr. Vitale hits the brakes, then picks up his phone again and makes a call. “Have everyone go to the guesthouse until I have Miss Blakely inside.”

Within seconds, all the men head to the side of the property and soon I can’t see them anymore.

Mr. Vitale drives to where other cars are parked, and when he gets out, I don’t move a muscle.

He opens the passenger side door and orders, “Come, Miss Blakely.”

It’s only then I realize he called me Samantha while we were being attacked. Now I’m Miss Blakely again.

Despite feeling reluctant, I climb out of the G-Wagon and follow Mr. Vitale into the house, which I recognize from when I dropped off his dry cleaning.

He walks to a liquor stand and pours a glass of whiskey. Bringing the tumbler to me, he says, “Drink it all.”

Yeah, I don’t think alcohol is going to make me feel better.

Still, I take the drink and swallow the burning liquid.

His eyes lock with mine, and then he says, “You can’t tell anyone at the office.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s going to be all over the news,” I mutter.

“It won’t.”

I set the tumbler down on the stand and notice the dried blood on my hands.

My mind recoils, refusing to process the death and violence I saw.

Mr. Vitale takes hold of my wrist, and I’m pulled to a restroom, where he shoves my hands into the sink. Turning on a faucet, cool water runs over my skin, and I watch as the blood swirls down the drain.

My mind begins to race, and I’m bombarded with gruesome images.

Jessica being shot in the neck. The blood squirting from her. Her lifeless eyes.

The gunshots.

Being hunted.

The terror.

The hopelessness when I realized I might die.

Mr. Vitale killing all those men.

The bodies.

The blood.

My shoulders shudder, and a silent cry is torn from my chest.

Mr. Vitale places a hand on my shoulder, and before I know what I’m doing, I move closer and bury my face against his chest.

Maybe the trauma I suffered today is bigger than my fear of men.

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