Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Throwing on a robe, I padded to the kitchen, veering off when I remembered the Chinese food I’d ordered the night before. Sure enough, it was on the mat outside of my door, making the hallway smell rather rank. I deposited it in the trash chute down the hall before getting a glass of water from the kitchen.
The water reminded me of the flowers, and I picked the vase up off of the top of the fridge and set it on the counter so that I could see the lilies better. Then I remembered Cesare’s shirt.
It was still folded, but looking somewhat wrinkled, so I picked it up in order to smooth it out and refold it.
At least that was the plan until something fell out of it and hit the floor with a thud.
Light from the streetlights in the alleyway did little to illuminate the kitchen floor, so I flipped on the light over the stove.
Then my heart skipped several beats.
A black pistol was on the floor just inches from my feet.
My breathing sped up as I stared at it in horror. A gun. In my home. Cesare must’ve taken it off when he’d pulled off his shirt.
Cesare had brought a gun into my home.
My breath escaped from me in panicked little gasps. I’d never wanted this. I hated guns with a passion. It was more than the fact that they scared me. It was also that I’d seen what they did, time and time again. I couldn’t escape the knowledge at work. And I hadn’t been able to escape the knowledge at Colby’s funeral.
As I stared at the hated object, water spilled out of the glass I was holding at an angle, bringing me back to myself. I didn’t want to touch the gun, but I also didn’t want Cesare to step on it or something in the morning. What if it went off?
So I wadded up his shirt, no longer caring about it getting wrinkled, and used it to pick up the gun. I put them both on the counter and hastily made my way out of the kitchen.
Cesare was still snoring softly on my bed, but everything felt different now. I climbed in, careful not to disturb him. I settled myself at the very edge of the mattress as far as I could from him.
Then I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn’t.
When sunlight filled the apartment, Cesare woke with a start. He rolled over, facing me, and tried to pull me against him, but I buried my face in the pillow and mumbled sleepily. When he tried again, I said I needed more sleep because I’d be working the night shift again.
Which was true, but not the only reason I didn’t want to be in his arms right now.
He eventually stopped trying and got up.
I heard him moving around for a bit and then eventually, the door opened and shut. He must’ve known that I’d found his gun since it was moved, but he didn’t say anything. My sleepy act must’ve been convincing, which was good.
I needed time to deal with my conflicting feelings on my own.
11
LEONARDO
Abandoned warehouse. 6947, Amity Street. Tonight. 8pm. You’re going to want to hear this.
Matteo’s text was an inconvenience.
The address was pretty close to my building. He could have suggested a meeting there, but for some reason I couldn’t fathom, he had chosen this warehouse.
A minute after receiving this, I got a phone call from Cesare. Surprise of surprises, he was wondering about the same thing. Still, seeing as Matteo didn’t do anything without good reason, we agreed to meet him there. Our friend had to be the most anal son of a bitch on planet Earth. He loved to study situations. Every single detail was on the table. He never left anything out, and, in case he did, he would then go back to the drawing board and review his options one more time. Even if that meant spending hours or even days on the same subject, Matteo would not be rushed.
The skies over New York had opened on that cool, September night. Noticing the ripples of water drops across a paddle in front of me, I checked the street. I jogged off, focusing my attention on the meeting place. Its blue paint had to have been flaking off for years, if not decades. The sign over its entrance was in white font and missing quite a few letters.
“L vings on: Spar Par s & Ac esso r es”
In a Knicks cap to cover my features, I slid open the metal gate to the property. Well down the front yard and slightly to the right, I spotted a large, grayish door. I continued onwards at a steady pace, throwing cautious glances left and right. To my satisfaction, traffic was light. There were four vehicles on the road at the time. An old lady was rolling a cart down the sidewalk, her back to me.