Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
She gets up to leave and he grabs her wrist. I’m about to jump up though I don’t know why. I don’t know this woman, nor does she appear to be in any danger. Yet for some reason, I have the urge to protect her. It must be because I know what kind of scumbag Enzo is. It makes my blood boil to see him sitting here, enjoying a drink at an upscale bar like any other person.
I know the things that he’s done and the things that he’s still capable of doing. This woman, though she is just a stranger, seems way too innocent to get mixed up with someone like him. I take another picture of his hand on her wrist and then look back down in my book, pretending to be reading while watching out of my peripheral vision.
Green Dress thanks him and winces slightly when he puts his hand on her shoulder, rubbing her arm more intimately than she’s comfortable with. Then she gets up and starts to cross the lobby. She reaches for her purse, probably to grab her phone, and then stops herself, hurrying to the women’s restroom.
Enzo finishes his drink and picks up his phone, firing off a text. Then he gets up and walks towards the elevator. I follow him, seeing him take his room card from his pocket as he presses the elevator button. If he’s going back to his room, there’s nothing else to gather right now. But the woman in the green dress…
There’s something off about her and I need to figure out why she was secretly recording Lorenzo Moretti.
Chapter
Six
MIRA
“Holy shit,” I whisper, eyes going wide. I knew the guy looked familiar. No wonder he got weird when Whitni mentioned wanting to bring him to a work event. Because Matthew Baker isn’t Matthew Baker.
He’s Lorenzo Moretti, of the Moretti family, as in a mafia family. What the hell has Whitni gotten herself into? Do I tell her Matthew’s true identity or just tell her that he’s not loyal? What if she breaks up with him and he tries to get even by taking her out—mobster style?
My mind is going a million miles an hour and I don’t know what to do. I want to text in the group chat but maybe I shouldn’t put anything in writing? Thank goodness I gave him a fake name…though I did give him my number.
It’s not the number to the cell phone I use everyday, but a track phone I bought just for occasions like this. He shouldn’t be able to find any sort of info with that number and I’ll go home and save his number under “DO NOT PICK UP UNLESS YOU WANT TO DIE” along with a bunch of red flag emojis too.
Shaking my head, I look at my reflection in the mirror. It’s over. Done. I have proof he wasn’t loyal and I should tell Whitni that he was a little flirty but not overtly, yet still not someone she should waste her time with. Maybe she’ll break up with him in a less screaming-match sort of way that’ll keep her safer. It’s not like I can go to the police with this.
Or can I?
The guy didn’t commit a crime by buying me a drink. He’s allowed to use a fake name and hell, I did too. Stepping to the side of the sink, I lean against the wall and text Kat.
Me: You’re never going to guess how my night went.
Kat: Hmmm…he hit on you.
Me: Of course. But he’s not who he says he is.
Kat: Spill the tea!
I send her the article about the Moretti family I had just glanced through.
Me: The one in the gray suit in the back left of the first pic.
Kat: OMG!
Me: I know…
Kat: He’s not even good looking. That is so disappointing.
Me: Right? I thought all mafia men were supposed to be 6’2 at least with dark hair, brooding eyes, and tattoos
Kat: I hate it when real life isn’t BookTok.
Me: hahaha same! But seriously…wtf
Kat: Are you safe?
Me: Yeah. I’m about to head home.
Kat: I’ll watch your location KEEP ME POSTED
Me: I will.
Taking a deep breath, I shake my head again and then laugh. I didn’t think my life would be so thrilling when I started my degree in psychology, set out to be a therapist. And to be fair, it wasn’t until I woke up, realized I had been buried alive by my abusive husband, and started to slowly claw my way out of the grave I’d laid down in.
It took me a while to realize I was thankful for the dark. Without it, I wouldn’t have known how good it feels to have the sun shine down on you, and to know that the warmth and light is never promised.
I put my phone away and remind myself life isn’t a dark romance novel—even if Lorenzo, or Enzo as he prefers—was a towering hunk of man meat. Though I can’t help but let my mind wander as I leave the bathroom, pausing for just a second to scan the bar. Enzo is gone, and I let out a sigh of relief. Wanting to put some distance between myself and the hotel bar, I head toward Monroe Street before I put in for an Uber.