Page 2 of Treachery in the Highlands
The text on screen sends a shiver up my spine: Did you really think you could get away from us, Finnegan?
Aw, shit.How did Fulvio Barbieri find me?I covered my tracks like a pro---or so I thought---but now Damiano Zanetti's enforcer has hunted me down.I wish I'd never met anyone in the Zanetti crime family.My heart pounds in my chest as I stare at the glowing screen.This can't be happening.Not now.Not when I'm so close to getting out of the Zanettis' clutches.
I hover my fingers hover over the phone, itching to reply, to tell Fulvio where he can shove his threats.But I know better.Engaging will only make things worse.I shove the device back into my pocket, trying to ignore the way it suddenly feels like it weighs a tone.
Focus, idiot.You've got a job to do.
I force myself to breathe, to push aside the panic threatening to overwhelm me.The familiar weight of my lockpicks in my hand grounds me as I move through the shop, my eyes scanning for the most valuable items.Then a glint of gold catches my attention.Jackpot.I carefully lift the delicate gold chain of the diamond necklace, removing it from its velvet nest.The way it catches the faint light is...kind of beautiful.The necklace probably cost a small fortune.Just what I need to fund my escape.
While I'm slipping the necklace into my satchel, another vibration nearly makes me drop the bag.My heart races as I fumble for the phone, dreading what I might see.
Ticktock, Finnegan.Hand over the proceeds or...
Fulvio will murder me.That's what he means.But he'll do that anyway.My pulse accelerates, and my breaths shorten.No one crosses the Zanetti family.
Another message appears on screen:I'm coming for you now, Joey boy.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and zigzag through the shop, heading for the back door with adrenaline surging through me with a sharp burn.The weight of the stolen necklace feels like a noose around my neck, but I can't afford to leave it behind.It's my ticket out of this mess.As I burst into the alley, the cool night air hits my face like a slap.I pause for a split second, ears straining for any sign of pursuit.
But I can't hear anything.
I sprint down the alley, my footsteps echoing off the brick walls.My mind races faster than my feet.How did Fulvio find me?I'd been so careful, covered my tracks like a pro.But clearly, I'd slipped up somewhere.A car engine roars to life nearby, and I instinctively duck behind a dumpster.The stench of rotting garbage assaults my nostrils, but I barely notice as I press myself against the slimy metal.
The car engine grows louder, headlights sweeping across the mouth of the alley.I hold my breath, praying to whatever god might be listening that it's just a random passerby.No such luck.The car slows to a crawl, tires crunching over broken glass and debris.I risk a peek around the edge of the dumpster---and my blood runs cold.It's a sleek black Audi.
Fulvio's ride of choice.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," a familiar voice calls, dripping with false cheer."You can't hide forever, Joey boy."
I bite back a curse.How the hell did he find me so fast?I scan the alley, desperate for an escape route.The fire escape I used earlier is too far, and there's no way I can make it without being spotted.My gaze lands on a rusty ladder leading up to the roof of the adjacent building.It's a long shot, but it's my only chance.I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come.The moment Fulvio's car passes the dumpster, I spring into action.My feet barely touch the ground as I sprint for the ladder, my heart pounding so hard I wouldn't be surprised if Fulvio can hear it.
"There you are, you fucking rat!"Fulvio's voice booms behind me, followed by the screech of tires.
I don't look back, focusing all my energy on climbing.The rusted metal bites into my palms, but I ignore the pain.I haul myself up the ladder, my muscles on fire, sweat drenching me.The sound of car doors slamming and footsteps pounding the pavement below only spurs me to go faster.
"You can't run forever, Joey boy!"Fulvio's voice echoes off the brick walls."Damiano wants his money, and I aim to collect---one way or another.You shouldn't have swiped those greenbacks from us."
Yeah, lifting that money had been dumb.But I needed cab fare to get to the pawn shop.
The moment I reach the rooftop, I sprint across it.My breaths come in ragged gasps.The cool night air whips against my face as I leap to the next building, tucking into a roll as I land.The impact jars my bones, but I can't afford to slow down.
Behind me, I hear grunts of exertion as Fulvio and his goons chase after me.They're in better shape than I expected, but I've got desperation on my side.I vault over an air conditioning unit, my feet barely touching the ground as I sprint across the rooftop and leap to the next building, my heart in my throat as I soar through the air.For a moment, I'm suspended between earth and sky, caught in the liminal space between freedom and capture.
I zigzag across the rooftops, vaulting over vents and ducking under clotheslines.I need to get off the roof.Luckily, I glance down to see an open dumpster full of garbage bags.I leap off the ledge, sailing down for a relatively soft landing.Climbing out of the dumpster, I dart down a narrow alley with my pulse pounding in my ears.The shouts of Fulvio and his goons echo behind me, growing fainter as I increase the distance between us by leaps and bounds.
As I weave through the labyrinth of back streets, my feet seem to run on autopilot.Years of navigating these urban canyons have etched the map into my psyche.Left, right, duck under a low-hanging fire escape, vault over a chain-link fence.My lungs burn, but I can't afford to slow down.
Glancing back, I can't see any evidence of my pursuers.
After a quick trip to another pawn shop, one that's actually open this late, I get rid of the necklace.Fortunately, the shop owner isn't picky about provenance.Now that I've got fifteen hundred dollars in my pocket, I huddle in another alley while I book a trip on my phone, choosing the cheapest fare available and the first available flight.That takes me across the Atlantic to...
Scotland.
That'll do just fine.
Twelve hours later, I stumble off the plane at Inverness Airport, bleary-eyed and disoriented.The cheap fare had gotten me an equally cheap, uncomfortable seat, and a bonehead beside me who shared his whole boring life story with me.
I stretch and yawn as I exit the plane.The crisp Scottish air wakes me up as I exit the terminal, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of New York City.I pull my leather jacket tighter around me, suddenly grateful for its battered warmth.
