Page 6 of The Mafia Heir's Obsession

She doesn’t resist as I lead her through the back exit, but I can feel the shift in her. The calculation. The moment she decides to run.

And she does. A sharp twist, a kick to my shin, and she’s gone, sprinting into the night.

Seamus leans out of the limo that just pulled up with a gun in his outstretched hand, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You lose something?”

I shove his gun down before he can lift it. "Don't shoot her."

“She a witness or a problem? And are you gonna tell us what the fuck just happened in there?”

I don’t answer. I’m already moving, already hunting.

Because I need to know who she is.

Why she was there.

And why the mere touch of her, the feel of her against me, felt so fucking right.

I will find her again.

And when I do, she’ll have nowhere left to run.

TWO

lucie

My lungs burnas I run, clutching a shoe in each hand. Terror tears through me as I dart from one shadowy pool to another in this cemetery of roller doors and brick. The streetlights do nothing but illuminate my path while giving a clear view to the slow-moving party limo that remains silent yet keeps pace behind me.

I hear a soft footfall on the pavement behind me, and if I let myself think about it, the terror will swell and swallow me whole. I know I’ve gone the wrong way—I should have turned left a block back instead of right, which would have led me to a street with some life. But no, my instincts and god-awful sense of direction have taken me into a freaking warehouse graveyard.

Off in the distance, opposite where I am, the dull thump of music, sirens, and even a train can be heard. Yet here I am, without any people around—aside from the maniacs I somehow managed to flee.

“Come on, stop running,” a voice shouts from the party limo as it rumbles behind me. I only have the crazies I’ve runfrom for company. How fabulous for me. I bite down on a shriek as the limo guns its motor.

It suddenly screeches to a halt, tires crunching on the road. Seizing the moment of possible freedom, I dart across the road and down another street, squinting to catch sight of a street sign. Fuck Queens and its weird street sign system. I need to get out of here, to the edge of Long Island City, and then to the next nightclub where I’m supposed to meet my sister.

I spot an alley and race past it—wasn’t there some rule about not hiding in the first alley you see when you’re trying to escape some psychopath? Jesus, I don’t know, and I don’t care. My father might be steeped in crime, but I’m not. I don’t even dabble—unless you count by association, but I can’t help the family I was born into.

Ugh, focus!

There’s another alley, but I pass it, then turn, running down a street. I duck into a space between two warehouses. I guess it’s another alley—a dead end full of crates and God knows what else. I spot a dumpster and wedge myself behind it, pressing as close as I can.

Holy crap, the stench makes my stomach roil and I hold my breath until it feels like my eyes are about to pop out of my skull.

Calm down and think,I tell myself, squeezing into a smaller space, trying not to notice the furry thing that brushes past me.

Not a rat, not a rat, not a rat.

Please, not a rat!

The party limo starts up again, this time blasting music as it reaches the end of the street I was on before driving off. I cling to my hiding spot. Dad’s going to murder me if these people don’t—so I try comforting myself with the thought of him taking out all of them, though it brings little peace.

I wrap my arms tightly around my legs, shoes still hanging from my fingers. “What the fuck just happened?” I silently mouth, then almost choke on the pungent stink of rotting trash.

I’m not the oldest daughter, but as a child of a mafia crime lord, I’m still supposed to be protected. So what really happened? From the ill-advised meetup to being slapped around with a gun to my face, getting spattered with blood, then getting manhandled and nearly kidnapped by a psycho killer—the whole night blends into fucking insanity soup.

A chill slithers down my back.

What if the crazy murderous guy doesn’t stop looking for me?

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