Page 39 of Shadowman

Pfftt. Pathetic. I lasted like four times longer.

Snapping out of it, I made a quick decision to climb down from the fire escape and jog over to my bike. As soon as the fucker came out of her building, without a moment’s hesitation, I followed him.

He drove a black Mercedes AMG… I’m sure that made him feel superior to a lot of people. Having a car, especially a nice one, is a flex in New York City, due to how expensive it is. He was probably some rich boy, a theory that was confirmed when he drove that thing all the way up to Harlem and parked it in front of a townhouse. He hopped out of the car and went inside, like the obvious narcissist he was.

As if I wasn’t smoldering enough already, when I strolled inconspicuously over to his car, I found it parked in front of a sign that readCity Government Permit Parking Only.

What the fuck?? Either he works for the city, or he’s so entitled that he just parks wherever…

But sure enough, there was aCity of New York Govparking pass sticker on the inside of his windshield. Plus, he had special license plates.

Bemused, I peered at his building.Who the hell was this guy?He didn’t look old enough to be working for the government… Unless he was an intern? Or maybe someone from the mayor’s office?

I was beyond confused anditchingfor details. The dude clearly had money, and some sort of important job, two things I didn’t. We were comfortable because of my grandfather, but that didn’t exactly equal townhouses on St. Nicholas Ave.

A ping on my phone snapped me out of my thoughts. It was an alert for a DoorDash order in my area. OneMichelangelo Russohad ordered from the Just Salad on Columbus, to be delivered to—

I blinked at the address on the screen, my gaze lifting to the building before me.

119 St. Nicholas and 126th.

Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle…

My lips twitched with a pure, serendipitous thrill as I accepted the delivery order.

The entire way to pick up the food, my head was swirling. I wasn’tpositivethat the person I was about to deliver to wasthe guy. It seemed too good to be true. Still, even getting into the building would be helpful. I began concocting a story, making up things to say in the event that there was a doorman or something.

With Michelangelo’s crispy chicken poblano in tow, I whipped Raph back into Harlem, all the while fizzling with nervous excitement. I couldn’t stop wondering if this could be him… Michelangelo. I really hoped it wasn’t. The fuckface who’d been screwing my girlfriend didn’t deserve a cool name likeMichelangelo.

The silliest of the Ninja Turtles, but an integral part of the team.He’s a party dude. Can’t blame him for being the jester of the group.

Scoffing at my thoughts, I turned onto his block, contemplating what I would do if itwashim. Would I confront him for sleeping with Rey? Maybe punch him in the face?

I wasn’t sure, but I was allowing the adrenaline to fuel me. It felt good. Something about this was a hell of a lot more exciting than my usual stalking game. Maybe it was the idea of revenge…

Sucking in a breath, I grabbed the takeout bag and stomped up the stoop. When I checked the intercom system at the door, it had only one name…Russo.

Son of a bitch… He owns the whole place?? How??

Lifting the visor on my helmet, I pressed the call button. And the next thing I knew, the door was buzzing. I pushed through the front door, stopping at a second. A thin pane of glass allowed me to see inside the extremely fancy apartment of opulent decor and wide-open space. Just… amassivetownhouse, indicative of old New York. Old money.

That toolbag can’t possibly own this place.

But sure enough, there he was. Padding over, barefoot and bare-chested, wearing only gray sweatpants, his dark hair the same manner of tousled it had been when he left Rey’s.

My teeth ground together as he pulled open the door, wrath clouding my brain and tightening muscles all over my body. I felt pretty confident that I might attack him…

Until he smiled.

“Hey, thanks so much,” the dude rumbled politely.

His voice was deep and sort of raspy, those few words spoken in the tone and perfect diction of an actor on Broadway or something. He certainly looked the part…

Blinking myself out of whatever had just frozen me solid, I extended the arm holding his food, and he took it. Our eyes met through the small opening in my helmet, and it was the strangest, most insane thing I’d ever felt… As if my lungs were shriveling.

All the air justwhooshedright out of me.

His head cocked, and it took me a moment to realize I was still holding the bag. His blue eyes fell to my hand, fingertips exposed by my fingerless gloves.