Page 75 of He Should Be Mine

My heartbeat quickens. It always does when Molly gives me a real smile.

“I’ll just get changed quickly, and then we can work out our cunning plan.”

I watch him go until he is out of sight. Then I stand motionless for a little longer. Finally, I manage to rouse myself. I unlock my phone to delete Isabella’s message.

As it flashes on the screen, the last line gives me pause. I was too caught up in the horror of the first part of the message to register it before.

But now it is hitting me. Low, heavy and profound.

Warn your boy.

Your boy.

I like that. I like it an awful lot. It is the most pleasing two words I have ever seen.

Does she even mean anything by it? Isabella is incredibly perceptive and shrewd, but she was here for all of five minutes. Was that long enough for her to see right through me? Does she know?

A strange tingling sensation washes over me. I think I like the thought that someone knows. It feels like proof.Validation. If she can see it, it’s not all in my head. It is the truth.

Mollyismy boy.

I just need to make sure the right people know it.

Iswear I have never been so on edge in all my life. Not even when I was preparing for that meeting with the Russians, the one I was ninety percent sure was going to end in a gunfight.

Perhaps the stakes seemed lower then, it was only my life, after all. Now it is Molly’s safety.

I swirl the whisky in my glass. I need to strike the right balance between calming my nerves and keeping my wits about me.

Molly has been in his room for hours, playing sick. I’m out here, on the sofa, alone. It’s Tuesday. Riccardo has a habit of coming on a Tuesday. Molly and I both noticed that, so here we are. As prepared as possible, and it is nowhere near enough.

As if on cue, the front door of the apartment beeps open. Riccardo is here. My spine stiffens and my shoulders tense.

Riccardo strolls into the living area with the air of a man surveying all that he possesses. He is wearing an ugly white suit. The top three buttons of his black shirt are undone, revealing a coiling tattoo. His father must be so disappointed in him.

“Where’s Molly?” he asks.

I get to my feet slowly, as if I don’t have a care in the world. “In his room, sick.”

Riccardo frowns.

“Whiskey?” I offer, before he can say anything.

He nods, but I’m already at the drinks cabinet. I pick up the good stuff, angling my body so he can see. His immense ego loves shit like this. He loves being pandered to, and people believing that only the very best is good enough for him.

Molly’s footsteps sound in the hallway. My stomach flips all the way over. I turn to watch his entrance.

He is wearing a slinky, shimmery red dressing gown. It’s clinging to all the right places. It really does look like he is trying. His hair looks amazing too. Glossy and sleek. Begging to be tucked behind his ears.

His face, however, is painting a different picture. He is ghastly pale with dark circles under his eyes. His eyes are bloodshot and watery and my heart flutters. What did he do to himself to create that effect?

He smiles broadly and flings his arms open.

“Rick!”

Then he coughs. A deep, wet sounding gurgling cough that he catches in a white silk handkerchief.

Riccardo visibly recoils. He takes a step backwards, away from Molly.