Never let it.
My car is parked in the back private lot of Cobalt, down the alley that runs beside the social club. I stroll toward it, in no rush, not sure what to do or say when I face Karissa again.
I hit the lot, walking toward my car parked beneath a glowing streetlight, pressing the button on my keys to unlock the doors when I hear a noise behind me. It's quiet, and restrained, the kicking of loose gravel, a rustling in a non-existent breeze. The hair on my arms prickles in alarm, my back stiffening as every inch of me goes on high alert.
Somebody's there.
My heart pounds rapidly in anticipation, my mind working fast to strategize. I don't keep a gun on me unless I know I'll need it. I can't even carry a Swiss Army knife into the city without the NYPD calling it a deadly weapon. My eyes dart around in the darkness, looking for something I can use in defense, but nothing stands out.
Hands it is, I guess.
I was blessed with tough ones.
As long as I have my hands, I'm not defenseless.
The noise creeps closer—ten feet away at most. Steeling myself, I spin around, prepared to attack before they can make a move, when I catch sight of the face, familiar wide brown eyes catching me off guard for a few seconds, long enough for the barrel of a gun to be aimed right at my chest.
Carmela Rita.
She stands just beyond the reach of the light, her hands shaking the small caliber handgun, her finger on the trigger. I freeze in spot, making no sudden movements so not to set her off prematurely.
Because she'll shoot.
I know she will.
The look in her eyes tells me so.
"Hello, Carmela," I say calmly, keeping my voice steady as I greet her. "Nice to see you again."
"Don't even… don't you dare talk to me like that!" she grinds out, her voice shaking. "Don't talk to me like we're friends!"
She grips the gun tightly with both hands now, yet it still shakes, unsteady. She's crazed, more so than I've ever seen someone before. She's a feral cat backed into a corner, ready to claw my fucking face.
Pity for her, her daughter beat her to that.
Slowly, I raise my hands in the air to show her I mean no harm. Not now, anyway. I have no intention of hurting her today.
"Fair enough," I say. "Why don't you tell me why you're here?"
"You killed him!" she says. "You killed Johnny! You took everything from me, and I want it back! I need it, and you're going to give it to me!"
Karissa, I think. She wants Karissa.
She's not going to get her, though.
I won't let her.
I can't.
I can't let Karissa become collateral damage.
My mind works fast, trying to come up with something to say, some way to distract her, to throw her off for long enough to give me the upper hand. I don't think she knows where I live, not unless Karissa told her before they lost contact. Few people know where my house is for this reason. "You want—"
"I want my daughter," she interjects. "But I need money right now."
My brow furrows. "Money?"
"Johnny was keeping me afloat. I have nowhere to go without him. I have nothing left! I need money, I need a way out of this, and you're going to give it to me."
She takes a step closer, into the light. She's more of a mess than I originally thought—dirty and deranged. I wonder how she's sustained herself these past few weeks without Johnny, but it's clear whatever she had set aside has dried up if she's desperate enough to try to strong-arm me.
"I don't have money on me. I'll have to go get you some."
"Liar!" She waves the gun at my face. "Give me your wallet."
I hesitate before slowly lowering one of my hands, reaching into my back pocket for my wallet. I pull it out and open it, deciding to placate her by voluntarily handing over a bit of cash, but that's not good enough for her.
"Toss the whole thing to me," she demands. "And don't try anything funny, Vitale. I'll shoot you."
Shit.
I toss the wallet across the lot. It lands a few inches from her feet, and she carefully leans down to pick it up, making sure to keep the shaky gun aimed toward me, her finger still on the trigger. She struggles to keep it pointed my direction while she looks in the wallet, just a glance confirming I lied right to her face.
There's over a thousand bucks in there.
I'm hoping she'll swipe the cash and toss the wallet aside, but instead she pockets the whole thing before focusing on me again. "Now give me your keys."
"My keys."
"Yes."
"You're stealing my car, too, Carmela? I thought you were smarter than that. You know new cars are equipped with GPS. You won't get far."
"You're lying again," she says. "If anyone would have a car that couldn't be traced, it would be you. You'd never let anyone track your movements."