Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
"Your freedom."
"Right. Because anyone who has come down to this basement has made it back out."
"Actually, no one's been in this basement."
"Just like you're not a boss of the mob."
"I'm not the boss of the mob," he corrected, and there was a ring of truth in his words.
"An underboss then," I told him, summoning up some lingo I'd picked up from a mob movie I'd seen years before. I knew I got it right when he didn't respond to that. "Why is there a fresh coat of paint if you haven't spilled some innocent person's blood here before?"
"Because there was water damage from a burst pipe," he told me, smirking. "And I think we established that you aren't innocent here, Romy."
"I'm not the kind of guilty you seem to think I am. I'm not a threat to you."
"Anyone snooping around my docks is a threat to me."
This was the part where I had to seriously consider what my next move was.
There was a lie, of course. But a part of me instinctively knew that I wouldn't get away with that, that this man would be able to smell dishonesty on me.
But what would happen if I gave him the truth?
Could he be trusted with it?
Would he let me look for what I needed to find?
Or was he in on it?
Did he not give a damn?
No one wanted to believe the person who was currently in control of their freedom was a ruthless, evil person.
But what would it mean for me if I gave him the benefit of the doubt, and it backfired on me?
"Romy," he called, pulling me out of my swirling thoughts. "Make this easy. Talk."
"And what do I get out of that? What happens if you don't like what I have to say?"
"No offense, sweetheart, but you don't exactly seem like a hardened criminal to me. Which makes me think someone is making you do this. Which means I am after them, not you."
"And what if who I am involved with and what I am looking for is something that is related to you, that you have been a part of? What then? Do you really want me to think that you will just let me walk away?"
"I guess I can't answer that until you start talking."
"And I'm afraid I can't start talking until you answer that."
"Christ," he grumbled, raking a hand down his face. "Fine. You can sit here and think it over for a couple hours. See what you come up with," he said, getting up, and making his way up the stairs.
The door closed.
And locked.
I didn't know anything about picking locks, but I might have given it a try after a while.
But then I heard footsteps and voices, making it clear it wasn't just a lock.
I had an armed guard as well.
On a sigh, I looked around my makeshift prison.
Barred windows.
No door.
Nothing that could be used as a weapon unless I decided to wield a chair or a paint can.
Maybe Luca Grassi was right.
I needed to use this time to think, to decide who to trust, what my best move might be.
Because I had to get out of this basement.
I had to get back to work.
So I had to hedge my bets, figure out which story was the most likely to grant me my freedom, then toss that story at Luca Grassi.
If he found me sometime down the line, after all this was over, after I got what I came to New Jersey to get, well, that was okay.
I would deal with those consequences when they came.
And there was not—absolutely not—a small thrill of excitement at the idea of him tracking me down some day.
Nope.
Because that would have been absolutely insane.
Chapter Five
Luca
"What are you smirking at?" I grumbled at Lucky as I paced the small kitchen with its tan linoleum floor, white tile countertops, and pine cabinets. There was a small, forgotten Easter egg window cling stuck to the side of the window over the sink overlooking the mostly wooded backyard.
The house was mostly empty save for a few pieces of furniture the owner had left behind when my father requested it. There was a full-size bed in each of the two bedrooms, towels in the bathroom, an old couch in the living room, and a small card table under a brass chandelier in the dining space. That was it. The cabinets were empty as were all the closets. The only reason we had bottled water was because we'd left some behind the last time we'd used the house.
"She's got a mouth on her, huh?" he asked, leaning back against the counter, tucking his hands into his pockets.
"This is the part where I am supposed to tell you that you can't eavesdrop on my conversations."
"Yet you won't because you know it is a waste of breath."