The Woman in the Trunk

But I knew the smartest thing to do was run.

The only thing to do was run.

So it was better not to know.

At least that was what I spent the next several hours trying to convince myself of between little snippets of boredom-induced sleep while the house was quiet.

I think I heard it the second Arturo's feet hit the floorboards, though. I knew I heard the water running down the pipes as he brushed his teeth. I heard his footsteps on the stairs as he made his way into the kitchen. I heard the bleep of the coffee pot, the sound of the fridge opening and shutting.

I heard him move over toward the top of the stairs, felt my breath catch in my chest.

"Who is down there?"

"Chris," Chris answered, and I couldn't imagine how tired he must have been. I had been catching little cap naps on and off. I had a feeling he didn't.

"Bring her up to use the john. Toss some food at her. Then stick her back down there. I have shit to do today."

Thank God.

I nearly cried in relief.

With that, Chris made his way in, undoing my ankle, giving me raised brows.

"You have to be exhausted," I observed.

"I'll be fine."

"Once we come back down, you should try to sleep. Even just right outside the door if you don't want to leave."

"I'm not going to leave. Not until there is someone I trust to replace me."

Was it good or bad that Emilio hadn't shown up?

"But you have to sleep."

"I'll figure it out," he insisted as we heard the door slam upstairs.

"Was that him leaving?"

"Probably. Come on. Let's stretch those legs. I think we need to scrounge up some triple antibiotic for that ankle too. It's getting raw. Those shackles are filthy."

I felt a shudder move through me, thinking of the sweat and blood and who knew what else from an unknown number of men were on those cuffs.

"Why doesn't he just deal with me now?" I asked as we sat at the kitchen table, a spare blanket wrapped around my shoulders as I ate plain oatmeal and tried to pretend it wasn't disgusting. It was food. That was all that mattered.

"He probably isn't sure yet how to handle it."

"Because he wants to keep making money off the bakery?"

"Seems like it might be part of it."

"I can run the business with the owner in absentia," I told Christopher, getting a raised brow from him. "I've looked into it. It seemed smart to know my rights when my father was involved with people who frequently make people go missing. There are all kinds of loopholes about how if I have a key and access to the accounts and such, I can keep it running until he returns."

"Doesn't seem like a forever sort of plan."

"No. When someone is missing for ten years, you can file for them to be declared dead. After another ten years from then, they will do so if they never show up. So that's a twenty-year plan."

"And after twenty years?"

"After twenty years, I am the sole beneficiary to my father's will." I knew that because my mother had insisted on him drawing up the documents when she'd been alive still. Just in case.

"Well, that sounds like a good plan then. Tell that to the boss like you told that to me. He might be hot-tempered, but he is all about the money."

Right.

The money.

The money that would likely be doubled just because of the hassle I caused.

Money I would never be able to produce.

Not without Lorenzo and his deal.

Even then, though, I would be looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next minion of Arturo Costa's to catch me alone and accost me simply because he could.

As much as a big part of me wanted to stay, wanted to work it out, wanted to be able to continue the legacy my family had created, the other part of me knew I would never feel safe, would never feel comfortable with the arrangement.

I had to go.

But it would make everything easier if I could have that meeting with Arturo, give him my reassurances, spout off all these facts I knew, agree to his terms.

Then walk out of this house a free woman.

No trying to find a way to escape.

Then, once I was sure I wasn't being followed, hop on a bus or train and get the hell out of here.

Sure, I had the same problem as I did when I had tried to escape the last time. No money. No cards. No nothing. Unless one of them was willing to go into Lorenzo's apartment to grab them for me. Let's face it, the chances of that weren't great.

Still, this time, the possibility of living on a street sounded preferable to being under the thumb of a ruthless mob boss.

I would figure it out.