Page 72 of Mafia and Gold Digger

They swoosh open, and the smell of cleaning products and artificial lemon greets me. The store is almost empty at this time of night. My footsteps echo on the tiles, each step feeling louder than it should.

I don’t know why but a shiver rushes up my spine.

My eyes dart around.

I take in the scene around me.

A teenage cashier leans on the counter near the front. His eyes are glued to his phone. He doesn’t even look up as I pass.

And nothing else seems out of the ordinary.

I hurry along the aisles and keep my head down.

But I’m not sure what aisle the tampons are kept.

I turn into an aisle near the center of the store and immediately feel exposed.

Rows of products line the shelves. Vitamins, cough syrups, boxes with smiling faces promising quick fixes for headaches and allergies.

I turn another corner and find the section I’ve come for.

But something feels off…

I hesitate for just a second before reaching out and snatching a box. I don’t even look at which brand it is. My only goal is to get what I need and get back out to Dario as fast as possible.

Another strange feeling skitters over me. A prickling awareness on the back of my neck. I pause with the box in my hand. And I glance over my shoulder.

A man stands at the far end of the aisle. His head is tilted slightly as if he’s reading the labels on the shelves. But he isn’t reaching for anything. He’s not moving. He’s just…there. Watching.

Watching me.

My heart stumbles in its rhythm, and I shove the box into the pocket of my coat. I tell myself to stay calm. Is he waiting for me to move so he can grab something? Is he, like me, buying something that he wants to keep private? Am I just imagining things…?

But his eyes meet mine for a split second.

And something about the look sends a jolt of panic through me.

I spin back around, gripping the edge of the shelf as I try to calm my breathing.

Just ignore him. Get to the register, pay, and leave. Simple.

But as I step out of the aisle, I catch a glimpse of him again, trailing several paces behind me. And his movements are too deliberate to be a coincidence.

My pulse quickens.

I clutch my coat tighter. Stopping at the register, standing still while he’s close, feels too risky. No! I can’t do that.

I make a sharp turn into another aisle. My boots squeak against the floor.

My plan is to lose him by winding through the aisles back to the entrance.

I hurry.

But the sense of him still crawls at the back of my neck.

I throw a look over my shoulder. He’s there. Just a few strides behind me.

He doesn’t even pretend to browse now. His eyes lock on mine.

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