Page 79 of The Mafia Heir's Obsession

I’m not about to let her come here.I’ll meet you in Union Square.

We have a spot where we’d always meet, on the East side, a fancy bar and eatery. It’s perfect.

Where?she texts.

The usual place. Seven o’clock.

And with that, I take my bag, open the door, and carefully pull it shut. After shoving my feet into my shoes, I take off down the street as fast as I can.

Dusk settles in when I get to Union Square, which is ridiculously busy as usual. The commuters hustle past me to get into the subway station. I walk past a music group busking on a corner. We’re close to NYU, so I feel overdressed as I cross to the east side of the square. I hover, scouring the sea of faces for my sister.

I don’t want to head to the restaurant immediately since it’s only six forty-five. I’m early, and Viviana’s perpetually late, so I want to see what direction she comes from.

Ice drips down my spine.

Ifshe comes, that is.

Because… what if it wasn’t her who texted?

With shaking hands, I pull my phone from my bag and call the number. It just rings and rings. Nobody picks up.

Viv’s not an idiot, but she also does first andthinks later. So a burner isn’t a choice she’d consciously make, but I also can’t see her getting a new phone if she’s hiding from Dad.

Would Headley know to get her a burner?

Because I’m positive she ran off with him.

I shift, my heels clicking along the sidewalk as I approach a hot dog vendor. Not that I’m getting one. But I feel a little better not standing by myself and standing out like a sore thumb on the street. I busy myself reading the sign for what he has.

Sodas, bottled water, and dirty water dogs, basically.

Maybe I should just go into the bar because I feel like I’m being watched.

I’m in Union Square. Of course someone’s watching me.

But not even a tiny pep talk helps alleviate the feeling that whoever has me in their sights is on the malevolent side.

I press the button at the crosswalk and when the light changes, I cross.

My heart stops when I see him.

Leaning against a light post.

Smoking.

Utterly devastating in black pants and shirt rolled up at the sleeves to show off those tattoos, his suit jacket slung casually over his shoulder by one finger.

Only the intensity of his indigo gaze gives any emotion away, the rest of him is neutral, unreadable.

But I know with certainty he wants to strangle me.

I take one step back.

“I wouldn’t,” Callahan says, not moving. “Come the fuck here, Lucie.”

People move past us, and I cast a glance away from him, but no one’s paying him attention. Rather, everyone’s doing their best not to catch his.

It’s like they know who and what he is. What he can and will do.

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