A Minor Technicality [Completed] *Slowly Editing*

Chapter 1 - Getting Out of Dodge

Friday, June 21st

8:47 pm

Hell's Kitchen, New York City

Blythe's POV

It was the beginning of the end for me. I knew it the moment I rounded the corner of the restaurant and saw Michael pull the gun out of a hidden holster beneath his dark Armani jacket, shattering my idealistic view of our world. Shock couldn't begin to describe what I was feeling as my muscles seized, and, in spite of the warm summer night, ice cold prickles tingled through my body with a fierceness that stole my breath. My belly roiled with a sudden need to relieve itself of the coq au vin I had just consumed, and my grip tightened on Michael's phone, the sole reason I had followed him from the restaurant into this intimidating backstreet.

I didn't even know my "gentle giant" boyfriend carried a gun, much less knew how to use one. He was just a businessman. He worked in the hotel industry, for cripes sake. Headed The Waterford, one of the most prestigious hotel chains in the world, actually. He spent his evenings and weekends attending charity dinners, rubbing elbows with politicians and celebrities, and hobnobbing with royalty. His gorgeous face was splashed across every major newspaper and tabloid in the U.S., where he was touted constantly as one of New York's most eligible bachelors. I'd always wondered what he saw in me. I was nothing but a farm girl from the Midwest, and he was so proper and refined. But there he stood, several feet in front of me, aiming the weapon at a frightened man, as nonchalantly as if he were ordering our dessert. Which is precisely where he should be at this moment, instead of devastating my dreams for our future. I had no idea how we had ended our evening in this dark and dingy alley, but I knew my life would never be the same.

"Please, Mikey. Just tell them I'll get them the money. I just need a little more time," the man in front of him pleaded, his voice reminiscent of a squealing pig.

Michael just sneered at the man and laughed, an empty chuckle missing the warmth and affection usually evident in his laughter. I stared wide-eyed at the pudgy, balding man, who now had fat tears streaming down his face. His dirty blue t-shirt had been torn, and he was sporting a yellowing black eye and a fat lip, but it appeared Michael had yet to touch him physically. Yellow light spilled from nearby streetlamps in shafts across the man's face, lending him a jaundiced complexion.

"We've given you enough time, Lou," Michael spat from the shadows, his dark suit and dark hair blending into his surroundings. "Now I've taken time from my busy schedule to deal with this myself. It's time to send your brother a message from the Fitzgeralds."

"Please! I have a wife and kids, Mikey," the man begged, his voice wavering. My stomach churned again, though I wasn't sure if the credit should go to my terror or the wafting fragrances of mildew, urine, and French cuisine. "Brianne is due with our fourth baby next week. Have some mercy, Mikey. Don't you have family?"

Michael's face remained neutral, his posture relaxed, but his jaw ticked involuntarily. His eyes narrowed as he aimed his gun. I took a hesitant step forward, my legs uncharacteristically wobbly in my stilettos.

"Family is for pussies, Lou," he growled before the click of the safety echoed through the empty alley. Lou whimpered, holding back a sob.

Horrified, I stood frozen as Michael lifted the gun once more, a knot stuck in my throat. I'd thought nothing just minutes before when Michael had excused himself from the restaurant to take a phone call from Jimmy. But he had left his phone at the table. In the six months we'd been dating, he hadn't given me a single reason to doubt him, but when I realized that he had lied to me, I'd followed him naively, hoping that he'd just forgotten his phone in his haste. Big mistake.