“I’m turning around. Stay there. Lock the door. I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Saul.”
“Just wait for me. Please.”
He hangs up.
I stare at my phone. I should clean up the chocolates. Should flip the sign to closed. Should do something productive instead of sitting here falling apart.
Instead, I pick up the note. Read it again.
Are you okay? - D
Am I?
I don’t know anymore. But the fact that three very different men care enough to ask might mean I’m not as lost as I feel. Or it might mean my life is a romantic thriller with baked goods.
Unclear.
Saul makes it in fifty-one minutes.
He comes through the door like a man preparing for battle. Eyes scanning. Body tense. Hand near his hip where his weapon sits. His gaze lands on the scattered chocolates. The empty box. The note in my hand.
“Are you hurt?” His voice is sharp. Professional. “Is anyone else here? Did you see anyone watching? Any cars you didn’t recognize?”
“What? No, I.”
“Show me the package.” He’s already moving. Checking the windows. The back door. “Now, Stevie.”
I hand him the box. The note.
He reads it. Once. His jaw tightens. Then he’s on his phone. Typing. Pulling up something. His marshal face fully locked in.
“Saul, what…”
“How long ago did this arrive?”
“Maybe forty minutes? The courier…”
“Legitimate courier or someone dressed as one?”
“I... I don’t know. He had a uniform. A clipboard. He didn’t seem…”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” He’s still on his phone. Checking something. “Dario Marchetti sent this. Which means either he found you himself or his enforcer found you. Either way, they know where you are.”
“I know. That’s why I called you.”
“Do you understand what this means?” He finally looks at me. And there’s something in his eyes. Fear. Real fear. “I relocated you because the family wanted you dead. And now Dario’s sending you chocolates.”
“Dario wouldn’t hurt me.”
“You don’t know that. You testified against him. Against his family. People have been killed for less. You don’t know if Sal’s still looking. If this,” he holds up the note, “is Dario acting alone or if the whole family knows where you are.”
“He’s not going to hurt me.”
“Stevie.”
“He’s asking if I’m okay!” My voice rises. “It’s what we used to say to each other. It’s how.” I stop. “It’s not a threat. It’s him checking on me.”
