Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I try not to listen. I really don’t want to hear this. I dab at the water, soaking it up, and start adjusting the contents of the table, stacking napkins, empty glasses, and a couple plates.
“I know the bitch only loves me for my money and my good dick but that’s enough, right? I mean, so long as she keeps looking like that. I threw her sister a job because she’s so fucking pathetic and I felt bad for her. Serena begged me, you know? She was all, ‘Please, Tommy, Claudia needs this and I need Claudia, I need her close to me, we’ve never been apart, please give her a job.’ Fucking pathetic.”
My spine’s on fire. I blink back tears. I didn’t know Serena said that. I just assumed Tommy gave me the job to get on her good side, but she’d gone to bat for me, she’d even said she wanted me here, like she couldn’t stand being away from me like I couldn’t stand it either. Then everything moves into focus, and the bathroom incident becomes just another night Serena was too fucked up to think straight, and I grab my little pile of napkins and plates and empty glasses and my wet towel and I dump it all onto my tray.
“I’ll check on you boys in a bit,” I say sweetly, ignoring Tommy completely, and hurry out of the room.
I don’t go back to the bar. I head straight to the nearest single bathroom, hustling like I can’t hold it anymore. I drop the tray on the counter, lock the door, and pull Tommy’s phone from the bottom of the napkin pile.
If there’s a camera in here, I’m screwed. I can’t think about that.
Serena needed me. She needed me here. Which means she still needs me, even if the drugs have her acting like a total stranger.
With shaking hands, I type in the code Serena told me about, and I feel like I’m going to be sick when the screen unlocks and I’m staring at Tommy’s apps.
Chapter 20
Claudia
For a second, I forget how to use a phone. It’s like all my countless hours of practice suddenly desert me and I can’t recall how to open anything. Do I shake the thing? Smash it screen-first on the floor? Then my fingers remember before my head catches up and I’m pulling open the message app.
There’s something sacred about a person’s texts. This is the private space and each thread is a glimpse into another slice of personality. Tommy isn’t Tommy with everyone: sometimes he’s Tommy the boss and other times he’s Tommy the friend and so on, cutting him into fine threads like a brain sliced flat onto microscope sides. Tommy with Michael Fuckface isn’t the same as Tommy with Arnold K. It’s bizarre, getting to see how different he is with each person, but also the same.
Tommy likes one-word answers. Because he’s a fucking prick. There’s a lot of “K” and “Fine” scattered throughout and more than a few emojis which is frankly disturbing. A lot of this stuff seems mundane. Texts from his bank with log-in codes, messages from friends about meeting up for dinner, about drinks this weekend, an uncle that wonders if he can come to a barbecue (answer: “Gotta check the schedule but I’ll do my best”).
I don’t know what I’m looking for. I have to stop, close my eyes, take a couple deep breaths, and force myself to remember what Angelo wants. Vito, Roc, and Serbians. I don’t see any of those names in the messages list, even when I scroll down as far as I can go. Each second that slips past is like a fear-dagger straight to my brain. Each moment I’m not back in that room returning this phone is another moment Tommy might realize his phone’s missing and start wondering where it went.
I’m about to give up when I realize something. I’m a total moron. I’ve been looking in the messages—
But he’s also got Telegram, which is apparently an encrypted fancy texting system that makes life hard for law enforcement.
If I were Tommy, and I were a scumbag criminal, I’d probably save the good stuff for there.
I open it up and new names populate the screen. Some of them are familiar from the main messages app, but a lot of these are different. There are fewer jokey nicknames. Chats seem much more business-like, and although he’s not outright saying stuff like “I’m selling drugs,” there are plenty of shady interactions.
I pull out my phone and start taking pictures of Tommy’s screen. I get anything that seems suspect, especially if the name looks even remotely foreign. There’s a few from a Vlad, some more from a Nikola and from a Luka. Ivan was blowing up his DMs approximately six months ago.