Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
"Definitely not just you. I just confessed that my mobster boyfriend murdered my dead husband. People still do this stuff and face no repercussions for it. No, not only does he lie about it, and hide it, but he…" I stop myself. I don't need to recount all of this for her. I need to get inside the house and find my daughter. We run up the steps, but Jason's front door is locked.
Shit.
I call him as Sarah knocks on the door, knowing even as his phone rings that he's not going to answer. He's freaking me out.
And a part of me, right then in that moment, when I’m afraid my friend and daughter are in danger, wants to call Ricco. I hate that my thoughts go there.
"Where the hell is he?" I say. "Do you see any signs of a break-in or something?" I don't even know what we should be looking for. This isn't my field of expertise. I'm a family law lawyer, and a massage therapist, for Christ’s sake. I know about divorce settlements and how to get knots out of strained limbs and muscles. I don't know what to do here.
"There's a light on in the garage,” Sarah says. “Is this the part where the aliens land?”
I smile in spite of myself. I knock on the door, louder this time.
"If there is someone in there, yelling at the door and knocking on it probably isn't the right thing to do," I say, biting my lip.
"I've been taking Tae Kwon Do,” Sarah says out of nowhere.
“What?"
"I'm just saying, I can defend us if there is a bad guy or something."
"That's great," I say, looking at my sister’s five foot tall, one-hundred-pound frame. "I'll keep that in mind."
“Wait a minute. I know he has a key here somewhere. Doesn't he have a key here somewhere? Isn't there like a fake rock or something?"
"Yes! The boulder by the front door." I run over to it and lift it, my fingers finding and clasping the cold metal of the spare front door key. Oh, thank God.
When I open the door, Jason’s tiny terrier is barking her little head off, but that's nothing out of the ordinary. I give her a little placating pat to the head. "Where’s your daddy, baby?”
She runs into the living room, and Sarah and I follow.
The TV is on.
Jason is dead asleep on the couch, Emmy snuggled up to him. There’s a blanket strewn over them, and they’re both snoring softly.
They’re fine. Unharmed. Safe.
I sink into an overstuffed chair, lay my head on my knees, and sob.
CHAPTER TWENTY
PANIC
Dani
The next few days I keep Emmy out of school. I sobbed on Jason's couch until two o'clock in the morning, until my head hurt and my eyes were red. After getting Emmy tucked into the guest room bed, Jason had hugged and reassured me, and promised that he would help bury the body after Sarah murdered Ricco.
They're very good to me, but even their reassurances and sympathy don't soothe the ache in my heart.
The next night, I sleep in bed next to Emmy. I don't want to sleep alone, and I need to assure myself every time I roll over and wake up that she’s still okay. That she's safe, and unharmed.
The man that I love killed her father, and I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for bringing Ricco into her life.
After a couple of days with her playing hooky from school, with me taking her all over creation, checking out different zoos, buying ice cream cones, going shopping to distract myself, and very dutifully ignoring every message that comes from Ricco, I finally decide she needs to go back to school.
I wish that when I was with Ricco, I would've at least asked him to show me how to hold a gun.
I don't trust people anymore.
And I fear for my daughter.
I fear for me.
I can't help thinking about what Sarah said, that mobsters may be understandably using surveillance cameras for the people they care about, or love… and coming to the conclusion that it also makes sense he’d fight Nick to defend Timeo.
But then I wonder if I’m only justifying things. If I’m ignoring the cold, hard reality and changing the narrative to suit my needs.
It's also so surreal, so outside of my own value system and experience, that it does feel like something out of a movie.
My heart, though. My heart hurts, and I can only hope that it remembers how to heal from it.
I look at my list of clients, a much bigger list than usual because of the days I took off, but the name that's missing is the only one I hope to see.
Ricco Montavio.
Of course, I was the one that told him not to contact me. He’s only doing what I told him.