I send a quick reply.
Who is this?
Will the mystery caller tell me if it’s the Caruso’s or just continue to threaten and harass me?
What if Jace sees my phone? I have to be careful. I can’t let anyone know that I’m dealing with the mafia. The last thing I want is for him to get hurt.
Your payment is late.
Confirmed. It’s Luka or one of his goons. It doesn’t matter much to me. Whether it’s him or a soldier, they all scare me. The fact they have their talons in me is already painful. Anywhere I go in the city, they always find me.
I’ve done what you asked.
They had insisted that I get hired by Jace Barone. I managed to work for his company. I’ve been waiting for the day for them to collect.
What will they want? Information? Access? Whatever it is could get me fired, or worse, land in jail.
We’re just getting started.
My stomach sinks. I’m going to vomit. I rush off to the bathroom and flip the lid off the toilet.
Nothing comes up. Maybe I should be grateful, but the pit at the bottom of my stomach sits like an anvil, and doesn’t go away.
Nausea sweeps over me.
Will it ever end?
I shut off my phone. I don’t want to receive another text from Caruso. I’m done with them. I pull out the battery and disconnect my phone. Maybe they know where I live, but they can’t reach me.
I won’t let them contact me.
If I don’t have a phone, then maybe they’ll leave me alone.
This place is a fortress. Jace won’t let them inside his home, and the gates outside and alarm system should be enough to keep them out.
* * *
We head into work separately. No one needs to be privy to the fact that I’m living with my boss and having his baby. Surrogate or not, there are rumors that I don’t want to get around.
Jace seems to have the same thought on the matter. Besides, our hours aren’t necessarily the same. He’s the owner, the boss. He can work whenever he wants.
I have set hours to handle the reception desk upstairs.
I grab a cup of coffee and sit at my desk, moving the mouse to wake up the computer.
Jace is already in this morning. The office light was on, but he wasn’t in his office when I casually strolled by to get a cup of coffee.
I sip the hot liquid. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them it’s decaf, and by anyone, I mean Jace. No one else knows I’m pregnant. And no one else would care what I’m drinking as long as it’s not spiked and affecting my job.
There’s a package on my desk, a manilla bubble folder, with something inside. It’s addressed to me.
That’s highly suspect.
I don’t get much mail sent to me, let alone at the office. What I do receive tends to be junk mail, catalogs for picking out office equipment, stuff of that nature.
This doesn’t feel like that.
There’s no return label.