The Woman from the Past (Grassi Framily)

And it seemed like Massimo was someone who chose to use guns for long-distance, impersonal kills. He didn’t want to make anyone suffer. He just wanted the job done.

Unlike Colin.

Colin wanted to see someone cry. He wanted to hear them scream and beg for mercy. And then he wanted to enjoy their reactions when they realized they weren’t going to get that from him.

Maybe, in the world of criminals, there were killers and there were murderers.

Massimo would be the former, Colin the latter.

“That looked intense,” the owner, Traveler, said, as she came to retrieve Massimo’s cup.

“I think he might just be an intense kind of guy.”

“Intense isn’t bad. Better than his brother. Who is a cocky prick,” she declared.

“Does they look alike?”

“Oh, absolutely. This one has the years that kind of make a dude hotter, but the younger one will look just like him in a few years. Do you want another coffee before you head back? I bet you’ll need one to work for that witch.”

“I, ah, yeah,” I agreed, even though I was pretty sure it would make me antsy.

I already felt like I was buzzing with the possibilities of a free life on my own terms, so what did it matter if I added some more caffeine onto that?

The rest of the day was a bit of blur. Handling customers, doing side work, getting belittled at by Rizzo. All of it was made easier by my preoccupied mind, running over the events at the coffee shop.

Why my stupid brain kept wanting to circle back to him complimenting me instead of the fact that he was going to call me and work out a plan to get me out of this situation, I had no idea.

“There’s your ride,” Rizzo said, throwing an arm out toward the door. “I’ll decide if you’re coming back tomorrow when I look over your side work.”

“Okay. Thanks for the opportunity, Mrs. Geseuli,” I said, offering her the best fake smile I could muster after a long day, and heading out toward the door where one of Colin’s guards were waiting beside their car.

“Get in,” one of them barked at me, and I barely manage to hold back an eye roll at his tone.

It never ceased to amaze me sometimes how they thought of themselves as so superior to me. Because I had no freedom. The difference was, to Colin, they were all disposable. I was something he wanted to hang onto. For selfish, wicked reasons, mind you, but it did sort of put me higher in his esteem than them.

“You reek of onions and vinegar,” the same guard said as the two of them climbed in front and we started to drive back toward Colin’s house.

“Yeah, because your cheap body spray is any better,” I grumbled.

As a rule, I didn’t start shit with the guards. Not because I thought they would really do anything to me, since Colin wouldn’t allow that, but because it would make them watch me closer, look for things they could report back to Colin about.

Now was really not the time to get more scrutiny.

But the words just popped out.

“Hear that?” he asked, talking to the other guard, but glaring at me through the rearview mirror. “One day out of her prison and she’s got a mouth on her. Wonder what the boss man is going to do with that mouth later,” he added, making a sick feeling move through my stomach.

Of course they all thought he used me that way. It didn’t make any sort of logical sense that Colin genuinely just forced me to have dinner with him every night.

They didn’t understand that it didn’t have to happen, that the threat of it happening constantly hanging over my head was traumatizing enough.

Because I never did know when things were going to change, when I was going to catch him in the wrong mood, or say the wrong thing.

Then my life would become a whole new kind of hell. Because once it started, I knew it would never stop.

“Don’t be a dick,” the other guard mumbled to the driver, making me look between the two of them.

When Massimo called later, I guess I would be telling him that Larry was a dick, but Albert might be a decent guy.