Page 143 of Silas

"Not that simple."

"Sure it is. It's a big world. Toss your phone, pay cash, and go live in the Maldives or something."

"You don't understand," he repeats. "They saw you. With me."

"And?" I look up at him, a certain discomfort taking shape in my gut.

"And…they will kill anyone and everyone even remotely connected to me. Your mom, your dad, your friends Tom and Emily, your dog, your hamster, your grandma. And they won't just shoot you to make a point to me—they'll torture you and send me the video."

"Well Jesus fucking Christ on a bicycle!" I shout. "What the fuck did you do to piss them off that bad?"

"I refused to kill an innocent woman."

"Who?"

"Camilla Marccione."

"Oh. Fuck."

Camilla Marccione is the daughter of the most dangerous Italian mafia gangster on the entire East Coast. She's heir to that fortune, and by all reports, takes after her father in terms of cold-blooded calculation.

"Who would want her dead? Who could…And why did they want you to kill her? Shit, I have a million questions."

"All you need to know is that you're up shit's creek with me now."

"I don't like shit's creek," I say. "It stinks." I glance up at him. "Do you have a paddle?"

"A paddle?"

The doors open and I haul him toward the conference room where the wedding and reception are taking place.

"Yeah, big boy, a paddle. Since we're up shit's creek and all?"

He laughs, a bark of amusement that seems to burst out of him despite his best efforts. "Oh. Maybe."

"Maybe. Reassuring." I yank him to a stop outside the doors; I shiver since the hotel is kept at a damn near Antarctic temperature. "Well, since you got me in this mess, can you at least protect me from the four horsemen of the apocalypse?"

He stares down at me. "Those four aren't the problem."

"Then what is?"

"The rest of them."

"How many are there?"

"A fuckin' lot."

I run my eyes up and down his huge hard frame. "Well, you look like you can handle yourself." I pat his chest. "Come on. Let's get Em hitched, and then we can figure out the rest of the plan."

"You need to run."

"Run?"

He gestures toward the exit sign marking the stairwell. "Yes, Terra. Run. Literally." The elevator dings. "Now. Runnow.”

I hesitate.

He growls like a cornered bear and spins around, jogging back toward the elevator.