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 inhales, slowly shakes her head back and forth and then blinks. “What the actual fuck is going on, Mira? I didn’t want to say anything inside the Uber, but you have a cop on speed dial and we’re at his house and he’s watching us from the cameras?”
“Kind of,” I say with a wince and turn the TV volume up. “That guy I went on a fake date with is actually in the mafia and I’m working with the FBI to try and get info that could lead to a ground breaking arrest because they think he’s one of the guys involved with those really gruesome murders that involve bodies found with like a lot of broken bones and left out in public places.”
She stares at me for a good ten seconds and then holds up her hands. “I heard you, but what?”
“The guy I was talking to,” I start, “is an FBI agent and kind of blackmailed me but I mostly agreed because, well, you know how I enjoy stuff like this.”
Slowly inhaling, she puts her hands together and brings them to her face. “What? No, why? The mafia? That guy? Really?”
“I know. He doesn’t give off 365 Days vibes at all.”
“That’s almost as disappointing as the fact that most billionaires are old, fat, white men.”
“It’s a cruel, cruel world.”
She laughs and leans back, eyes still wide. “I’m gonna repeat my question: are we safe?”
“You are perfectly safe,” I tell her, not wanting to lie. I feel bad enough that I withheld the truth.
“And what about you?” she asks pointedly. “Are you safe?”
“Yeah,” I say, telling myself I am. “He thinks my name is Mya and he has my fake number and everything. He’s interested because I’m probably one of the first women in a long time who hasn’t fawned all over him for money. He doesn’t strike me as a man who’s actually got game so he eats up the gold diggers.”
“Like literally eats them.”
I make a face. “No, they just dismember and maim. They’re not total savages. Look.” I get out my phone and pull up an article on the Moretti family. Elsie follows one of the cousins on TikTok and like a lot of the general public, wasn’t sure if the mafia rumors were true or not.
Not long after, Mason texts me to tell me he’s at the door. He’s just doing his job, I know, but the man is considerate. Elsie and I both train our gazes to the door, waiting for him to come in. And when he does, Elsie elbows me and raises her eyebrows.
“Now that’s what I imagined a mobster to look like,” she whispers. I just shake my head, not wanting to agree with her. What’s even worse is that my body reacts to the sight of that muscular man standing before us in gray sweatpants and a tight white t-shirt that shows off his biceps and tattoos.
“Did anyone follow you?” I ask, lips curving into a small smile.
Mason raises one eyebrow, clearly not finding any humor in my question. “No.” His eyes flit from me to Elsie then back again. “What does she know?”
“The truth,” I offer with a shrug and Mason just slowly inhales, crossing the little entryway and going to the windows on the other side of the living room. The curtains are drawn, not letting any light in or out. “I’m waiting for someone to get eyes on the target and then your friend is good to go home.”
“Am I safe?” Elsie asks again and annoyance crosses Mason’s face. He’s not annoyed with her, but with me for getting her involved. Though it’s not like I planned it.
We sit in awkward silence for a few minutes, pretending to watch the news. Then I get out my phone—my real one—and start looking through photos I took of the four of us tonight. Elsie is scared and needs a distraction.
“You take better pictures than me,” she laughs, swiping past one of them where her eyes are closed.
“Oh please. You have that classic American beauty thing about you with your blonde hair and blue eyes.”
“Funny since I got that from my Swedish mother.”
We laugh and keep looking at pictures. I pretend to be looking at the four of us besties, but really, I’m inspecting the crowd around us to see if Enzo was there. A while later, we pick the best group photo, do a little editing to enhance the lighting and brighten our eyes, and I post it to my Instagram stories. My latest reel talking about how Karen, my former mother in law, hid Cory and Noel’s affair, went viral. Which is amazing, of course, but now a little bit of dread is starting to form in the pit of my stomach.
Because out of the two million viewers, who’s to say one isn’t Enzo? Yeah, he gave me a fake name and a totally made up persona, but something tells me he won’t like it if—or when—he finds out I did the same.