Gian (Trassato Crime Family Book 1)(19)

“I don’t know.” His nearly black eyes narrowed, and then he nodded. “I think there’s a Marriott near the Brooklyn Bridge.”

I leaned forward, a small burst of excitement rushing through me. “Perfect. Take me there.”

“You got it.”

Rubbing the frayed hem of my shirt, I stared at the parade of people, all faceless and nameless. A few stared at their phones, some chatted with their companions, and others walked with purpose as though their whole life depended on them making it to their destination.

Meanwhile, I sat in frozen horror while my actions caught up with me. Gian wasn’t Kevin. He wouldn’t accept my defiance with nothing more than a few well-aimed barbs calculated to trash my self-esteem. The dead guy on the floor of his office said enough about his capacity for violence to have me regretting my impulsive actions.

Gian, for some unknown reason, had decided to protect me when he should have put a bullet in my head and dumped me in the nearest body of water. My finger hovered over my phone as I considered calling Carmela for the hundredth time in the past week to spill the truth. I didn’t know if she could protect me from her brother—though, if anyone could, it’d be her. Then again, maybe I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did. She couldn’t have grown up with Gian and remained blind to the reality of who he really was. Who her family really was.

The driver cleared his throat. “We’re here.”

“Right.” Nodding absently, I opened the door. The brisk wind whipped around me, transforming my shirt into a billowing sail. “Thanks. Have a good night.”

I jogged into the two-story lobby and stepped onto the escalator, my heart still beating erratically from both my run and the fear building inside of my chest with every additional inch of distance between Gian’s home and me.

Standing in front of the honey-colored wood check-in desk I typed a text to Gian.



I’m fine. I needed some space. I’ll be back in a few days.



My shaky index finger hovered over the send button, debating the pros and cons of contacting Gian. A woman interrupted my musings, and I shoved my phone back into my pocket without sending the text.

“Can I help you?” she asked, a practiced look of interest on her face.

“Yes.” I dug my driver’s license and credit card out of my wallet and slid them across the speckled solid countertop. “I need a room. Only for a night or two. Anything will work. It’s just me.”

“Let me see,” she answered, her hands flying over the keyboard. A minute later, her eyebrows raised expectantly. “We have a standard room or a suite. Do you have a preference?”

I tapped my chipped pale pink fingernails on the counter and blew out a strangled breath. “The standard room will work fine.”

I pulled out my phone and deleted the unsent text. Gian could wait.





CHAPTER TEN





Gian



“What the fuck do you mean ‘she’s gone’?” I growled, my impatience multiplying with every passing second.

Tony interlaced his fingers and inverted them, the cracking noise booming in the tight hallway of my house. “I don’t know, G. She told me she wanted to go out. Then she got mad that I was going with her, and she went to the bathroom. When she didn’t come out after twenty minutes, I knocked on the door. She didn’t answer, and I kicked it open.” He lifted and dropped one of his gorilla shoulders. “She was gone.”

“Obviously.” I glared at the still open window, the white shade flapping in the breeze. “What time did she go into the bathroom?”

“Around 9:30.”

I glanced at my watch. “That was an hour ago. She could be anywhere by now.”

He frowned. “She’s your fiancée. What’s the big fucking deal? She’ll be back. I think she’s got her panties in a bunch because you’ve been ignoring her.”

I clenched my teeth. “I’m not ignoring her. I’ve been busy. We have a lot of shit going on right now no thanks to you and your trigger happy finger.”

Dominick had lost his mind when Tommy Calvo turned up dead. As I suspected, the whole thing fell on my head despite the fact Tony had pulled the trigger. Of course, Carlo had been whispering in Dominick’s ear for the past three days, feeding him a pile of half-truths meant to take me down a notch.

He smirked. “Yeah, I’ve heard exactly how busy you’ve been with that new bartender at the club. Carlo told me she’s been glued to your dick for days.”

I rolled my shoulders, tamping down my anger. Tony needed to back the hell off. “I’m training her.”

“Right,” he scoffed, waggling his eyebrows like a circus clown. “Training her to suck your dick. I heard you took her back to—”