The Woman in the Trunk

I could run.

I could give up my entire life.

I could live in fear that Arturo's ego might mean he would look for me.

I could do that.

But why should I have to?

Why should I—the only person in this entire situation who was innocent in every way—have to settle for that?

Why did Arturo, the guiltiest of all of us, get to get off Scot-free?

This man with blood on his hands?

This man who would look the other way when he had a rapist on his payroll?

This man who would ruthlessly stick a gun in his son's face and pull the trigger?

The answer was simple.

He shouldn't.

He shouldn't get away with it.

I couldn't let him get away with it.

Really, I had very little left to live for.

So while there was a lot of risk in trying to take down a man like Arturo Costa, it wasn't like I had a husband or kids or even a pet to leave behind that might miss me. And even if I died, I'd have done so taking out one of the worst human beings anyone had ever had the displeasure of crossing paths with.

That was a legacy worth leaving behind.

Lives would be spared.

Businesses like the bakery would get a reprieve while the family scrambled to figure out the new power dynamic with the boss and the underboss dead.

Yeah.

I could take an eternity of punishment in hell with a smile on my face for making this one final decision, doing this one thing that would positively impact so many lives, that would bring the scales of justice back into alignment.

Killing the Capo dei Capi of New York City.

With the fucking peanuts in a Snickers bar taken from one of his men.

It was almost poetic, really.

I just had to figure out how to get the peanuts into his system.

And, of course, how to get out of the...

Wait.

Nice shoes.

That was what Brio had said.

I'd forgotten about them until that moment. Chris had taken them off of me, and I'd never needed them again since most of our trips upstairs were in secret.

I remember when I had opened the box back in Lorenzo's apartment—something that suddenly felt like a lifetime ago; I swear I'd been a different woman then—that they were a weird choice. With their clunky Mary Jane strap with an oversize buckle. But, then again, I hadn't seen a fashion magazine since before my mother died, so what did I know about fashion trends?

But, yes, a buckle.

A real metal buckle.

Stretching my leg out, I carefully grabbed the edge of one heel with my bare toes, pulling it closed, inspecting the buckle, pulling at it, feeling a sense of satisfaction when the edges of the metal weren't soldered together, just curled against each other, letting the whole thing pull apart to one long metal piece.

If I had the shoe, I had everything I needed to get the shackle off.

At least I hoped.

From there, I just had to find a way out.

With Brio standing guard, I knew there was no way out there unless he left his station.

But there was another side of this unfinished half of the basement. And chances were, there had to be a window out.

Most people couldn't fit through a standard basement window, the type that wasn't an egress. But this was one of the very few times where being small truly came in handy. Maybe I had never been allowed on certain rides at the theme park, but I had always been the one who could crawl in air ducts to save abandoned baby opossums, who could climb inside the storage cabinets every week at work to wipe them out properly.

I could fit through a basement window.

If I could get something to climb to get close to it.

And then I could get inside. Carefully. And slip the peanuts into something I knew Arturo consumed every day, pray he didn't see or taste them. Then get back in the basement, get back in my shackles, make it look like I'd never left. No one could ever suspect me.

Then, during all the confusion with police and such, I could slip right back out, disappear for a short period of time, then possibly get back to my old life.

Free.

For the first time in my entire life.

Yeah, that seemed worth all the risk.

Decision made, I hid my makeshift lock picks just in case someone came in, and I set to eating my candy bar, but spitting out the peanuts, piling them on the floor, then crushing them under the heel of my shoe into a fine powder before scooping the dust up and hiding it in the candy bar wrapper, shoving that in the toe of my shoe before tucking them a few feet away again.

Then I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Arturo came home, went upstairs, the guard ordered the food on his way back outside. Then, finally, the house quieted down.