Time slowed down when you were scared.
It was one of nature’s cruel jokes, I guess.
It dragged out the suspense and the uncertainty, giving your body a chance to really get worked up.
And mine did.
See, I’d lived a relatively safe life, considering my connection to the Costa Family.
Sure, there were issues with other organizations or even in-fighting at times. But the women and children had always been relatively insulated from it all. Especially when we moved out to live our own lives.
I was suddenly kicking myself for spending the last week being pissy and distant when I really should have been spending it trying to get to know more about the Esposito Family now that I was a part of it.
My brother and cousins had always considered the Espositos and Lombardis some of the most volatile of the Five Families. If there were going to be bouts of violence, chances were that it involved one of those two Families more so than the other three.
And instead of getting to know what those threats might be, how often they could be expected to take place, and what the risks were to me now that I was married to the boss, I’d been shopping and moping and avoiding my husband.
Smart.
Really smart.
And now there might very well be a serious threat, and I was sitting in a closet like it was any sort of protection against an invader bent on hurting the Esposito Family. Maybe even using me to do so.
I mean, sure, I had a gun.
And I was terrified enough to use it.
But even if I did, even if I killed one guy who showed up to hurt me, what were the chances that I could get away?
I mean, like Primo said, if anyone showed up other than him, I needed to shoot my way out. Well, if they got past Primo, that meant he was dead or taken. As were his guards. So even if I killed the one guy who came looking for me, there would be others.
A low whimper escaped me.
I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t seem to keep it in, either.
See, I’d been scared when I’d been taken, when hands grabbed me off the street and shoved me in a van to some unknown fate. I’d been scared of the prospect of being married to a man like Primo.
But those fears paled in comparison to the fear that was gripping my system as I sat in that closet with my mind running away with me.
If something happened to Primo and his guys, even if I managed to get away from the infiltrators, I was all alone in a borough that I knew nothing about, with no friends or family nearby, no cell phone, and no cash or cards since Primo’s brothers usually carried those around until—they claimed—my new one with my name came in the mail.
I mean, sure, I could try to find someone to help me. But I didn’t have a lot of faith in that idea seeing as this neighborhood had witnessed my initial kidnapping and had done nothing to stop it.
And, yes, the tried and true method is to run to the police station. But I had no idea where that was. I had a vague memory of passing it while running errands with Dawson and Dulles, but I couldn’t retrace the streets in my head.
If I survived this, I was going to demand to have a map and to have the guys show me around the area until I could commit some important places to memory.
I placed the gun down on the floor right at my side, drying my sweaty palms on my shirt before reaching for it again.
It felt like it was taking entirely too much time to investigate a little crashing noise.
But then, I heard a horrific sound.
Gunshots.
The steady pop-pop-pop followed by an eerie silence.
And then not a few moments later, footsteps.
Coming up the stairs.
My stomach twisted into a painful knot as my breath seemed to shake through my chest as I pulled my legs in tighter and tighter to my chest, terrified of being seen.
If it was Primo, he would be calling for me, right? So I didn’t accidentally shoot him when he came in?
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
The footsteps came up the stairs at a jog, then moved through the bedroom.
I was pretty sure my entire body was shaking violently at that point before I heard the opening and closing of cabinets.
Cabinets?
Were they looking for something?
What the hell would Primo keep in the bathroom cabinets?
Well, I guess, it was a place most people wouldn’t look, right? Like a children’s bedroom. Or in the pet supplies. No one stores valuables there.
Except, maybe Primo did. And maybe he had some kind of leak in the organization, and someone else found out about it.
If they were in the bathroom, though, it meant that Primo was either dead or incapacitated.