Page 12 of Soulmate of the Mafia King (Kings of Philly #8)

PAIGE

T he sun sat well below the horizon by the time I mustered myself enough to get up and rejoin my guards in the common area. Something heavy had taken up residence on my ribs, making every breath just a little shallower than I needed, and I couldn’t get it to go away.

“Hey.” Sam leaned away from the table my security team was gathered around, revealing the pile of weapons and technology on top. “You want to play some more cards?”

That couldn’t possibly be worse than sitting in the dark alone.

I nodded and walked over to the low table that still held the remains of our poker game.

Rico, Sam, and Eddie joined me. Thankfully, I’d already hustled Eddie.

I didn’t have that in me now. Harry remained at the supply table, bent over a laptop that I didn’t want to ask about.

Sam shuffled the cards. I checked the time on my phone: 9:02. Prayer call would be soon. Sam dealt the cards, two apiece.

“Ante two,” he said. “And no dinosaur arms.”

I tossed in two candied nuts and looked at my cards. The three and jack of clubs. Crap. I could go for a flush, but?—

I checked the time. 9:04. Shit.

Sam flipped over the first three community cards. The queen of clubs and the seven and eight of diamonds. The bet wound around the table slowly. One from Rico. One from Eddie. My bet.

“All in,” I found myself saying.

Sam whistled. “Shit, I guess you’re really not playing us anymore.”

I nodded absently. Would Tom be at the house by now? Would he be on the way to the bastard’s, already loaded with the guns and armor that would hopefully save his life?

“I’m out,” Eddie said.

Rico tossed his cards in the middle and frowned. I looked at the time: 9:08.

“I’ll match it,” Sam said. “I have to see your cards.”

He shoved his whole pile into the middle and flipped over the final two cards. Not a club to be seen. Just the three of spades. I had one pair.

Sam crowed. “Three queens, if you can beat that.”

I blinked. Yep, the other community card he’d flipped over was the queen of hearts, and he had the spade in his hand.

“No.” I dropped my cards on the table. “I think I want to watch TV.”

9:15. I turned on the massive television as my guards drifted back to the supply table. Tom had to at least be at the rented house by now, right? I imagined him waltzing in by himself, and Killian congratulating him on finally convincing me to be a good mafia girlfriend. The dick.

I flipped through channels. Arabic, Arabic, something that definitely wasn’t Arabic, but wasn’t a language I spoke.

The first English program I found was a soap opera I’d never heard of, clearly in the middle of a late season episode.

One woman pushed another down the stairs.

9:22. Another woman announced to a man that she was pregnant, and they could finally start the family they’d always dreamed of.

On the screen, the man took on Tom’s dark curls and green eyes as he seized the woman and spun her around.

“You’ve made me the happiest man in the world,” Not-Tom said. “Now, let me make you the happiest woman.”

He set the woman down and got on one knee, then held out a jewelry box. The woman grew my red hair as her brown eyes teared.

“Yes!” Not-Me said. “A million times yes.”

They embraced. I let my eyes go blurry and spun the rest of their lives out.

I pictured Not-Me in the hospital, screaming and clinging onto her Tom’s hand hard enough to break bones.

Her—my beautiful smile as they laid my baby on my chest for the first time.

The quiet way Tom would ask to hold her, and care in every muscle as he lifted her, like he was afraid one wrong move would break her in half.

She’d be his world, of course, until the twins came along a few years later.

I’d split my time between the shelter and home, maybe open a children’s wing so I could bring them in with me when they got old enough.

When the kids grew up and moved out, maybe we’d foster more.

We had such a big house to fill, after all.

I sent a silent prayer up to who—or what—ever might be listening to bring Tom home safe. I wanted the future I imagined so bad I could taste it.

A fourth woman pushed Not-Me down the stairs. 9:27. I stood.

“I’m gonna go…do something.” I marched back into the room I’d shared with Tom, though this time I left the door open. I needed to hear the voices outside, remind myself I was real.

I opened the suitcase of supplies back up and resumed sorting them.

I was supposed to be there with Tom. The plan was to bring the suitcase, to get the women fixed up at the house, but what was I supposed to do now?

Was I just supposed to meet Tom and the rest of them at the airport?

Abandon these women to the company of only men until we were leaving the country?

Tom probably had a plan, and he just forgot to tell me. He had more back-up plans than I gave him credit for. Just after he walked out, I’d heard him talking to Sam outside. He probably gave the plan to Sam then, and I could just walk outside and ask him for it. Perfectly normal.

I checked my phone: 9:28. It wouldn’t be a bad thing if I just texted Tom, though, right? A quick plan confirmation certainly wouldn’t be trouble. The prayer began, and I did my best to shut it out.

In my mind’s eye, I saw Tom sneaking up to the outside of the bastard’s palace, his phone ringing loudly, and a million searchlights targeting him in the second before he was riddled with bullets. He wouldn’t make a mistake like that. But better safe.

I finished sorting all of the supplies. 9:38. There was nothing left to do. I walked back out into the common room, stood next to one of the windows, and waited.