Vengeance: DARK MAFIA ROMANCE

Seven

Natalia

I nearly drop a dusty ceramic angel as my phone rings, disturbing the hushed atmosphere of Barbara's shop. Several of the customers browsing shoot me dirty looks as I hurry out the front door, phone to my ear. "Hello? Who is this?" I didn't recognize the number on the screen.

"Ms. Fiore?" a man's voice asks. "My name is Peter, and I'm calling from Chase Bank?" I freeze, wishing I had let the call go to voicemail.

"I... I don't..." Are they calling to complain about the three-cent balance on my account or the constant overdrafts? Or maybe federal loan debt collectors start calling the bank when their debtors won't answer the phone anymore.

The banker sounds casual and polite as he continues, like he's talking to an actual valuable customer. "I'm calling for a security check on your safe deposit box, Ms. Fiore." My heart starts to pound immediately. When they didn't let me close the accursed box, I did my best to forget about it. No one else should even know it exists. As he continues to explain, the world around me tilts slightly. I sway and lean against the side of the building, struggling to breathe deeply.

"I have a customer here who has your name, date of birth, social security number, and account numbers. He says that you sent him to fetch an item from the box. Since he doesn't share your last name, it is customary to place a confirmation call. Can I confirm that—"

"No," I manage to whimper, clutching the phone in both hands. I want nothing more than to let him in, with the hope that he will leave me alone at last. But for all that I have walked away from my past and my heritage, I can't abandon my last duty. "I don't give him permission to open the box."

"Oh..." Peter sounds perturbed. "Is there a problem, ma'am? Should I contact the authorities?"

If the police come around, my uncle will probably have them seizing the box and delivering it to him within sixty seconds. He has ties all through the force, one of the reasons I duck my head and turn the other way if I pass a cop on the street. "No, tell him there was a misunderstanding. The item he wants is not in the box." This is a lie that holds a grain of sick truth. It will amuse him enough to abandon his brazen attempt to get around me.

My head spins as I hang up, sliding down the wall until I'm sitting on the cold concrete. I need to think this through clearly instead of panicking. Was the man in the tan coat following me after all, or was it just a coincidence? Surely my uncle wouldn't need a schmuck who's bad at tailing to find my address. He's toying with me, trying to get me to expose myself. The thought makes me want to vomit.

Realizing that I'm still holding the angel figurine, I walk slowly back into the shop. Barbara glances at my pale face and squeezes my hand in a vague, grandmother-y way, but doesn't speak. After I finish my dusting, she hands me another five-dollar bill. I look carefully up and down the street, watching for any tan coats or suspicious-looking men. I can only see some moms with strollers and a retired couple, so I take a steadying breath and head for the grocery store.

My crumpled five-dollar bills buy me some rice, beans, and a small packet of Reese's pieces. It's not exactly fine cuisine, but the hearty, hot food brings back some of my strength, and the peanut butter cheers me up.

I look around the small apartment as I eat, mentally adding up the two or three items that don't belong to Celeste— the things I will need to pack or leave behind when I go on the run again. A couple of DVDs, a macrame wall hanging that my college friend made me, my bathrobe. I need to leave Chicago as soon as possible, but I can't afford to take the L for two blocks, let alone a bus or train to a different state. I'm trapped, exactly where my uncle wants me. I wouldn't be surprised if he was somehow sabotaging my attempts to get a job.