Page 6 of The Mafia Assassin’s Redemption (Mafia Obsession #2)

When it does, she can’t stop looking at me. She’s probably deciding whether to run at the last minute and wait for the next train, or to get on and hopefully lose me in the cars.

The doors open and she pushes through the people getting off. She’s in the car right in front of the one I’m about to board. I get on but I don’t go after her.

Not yet .

The truth is, as we take off for Manhattan, she could get off at any stop, she could go anywhere in the city. But it must occur to her that she needs to go home. And then there’s the church.

Where she gets off doesn’t matter. So I patiently wait, watching for her to make a move. Once we hit Canal Street, I see her dash off the train, her coat slung over her arm.

I jump out just in time.

Canal Street is a madhouse. She makes it to a nearby corner and hails a cab. That’s when I know where she’s heading.

I start walking to her destination.

The church would be a place of comfort. Unless, of course, you’d just been told that you had to marry under some ancient ceremony that involved blood.

Which it does. So I don’t think she’s going there.

I make my way to St. Mark’s Place, then down to Avenue A where I lurk in a funky bookshop, watching over the top of a book for a sign of her.

She might go home, but she likes the coffee place across the street.

I know.

It’s my business to keep an eye on her.

To make sure she’s safe.

I never spy. I only observe.

She might see it as stalking, but whatever the fuck.

I keep her safe from a distance.

The coffee place is smart because she can do what I’m doing. Watch. She can make sure the coast is clear before she hops to the next hiding spot.

Too fucking bad it isn’t.

The blue of her coat isn’t a special blue, but somehow, it’s woven itself into something more because of her. I associate it with Harry. The bold color stands out in my mind like the ferocity of the woman wearing it.

Finally, I see her darting down the street and into the coffee shop.

I count the minutes until she’s outside again, holding a steaming to-go cup.

When she starts off down Avenue A, I follow.

We head down East Seventh, then past Avenue B, and at Avenue C, she cuts across to East Fifth.

I pause, taking in my surroundings as my senses start to spark.

The chase isn’t much as I know her destination, but it still has power to light me up from the inside.

Deep down, she knows I’m on the hunt.

And that ignites all sorts of things that I know better than to let flare.

Then she suddenly cuts into the community garden, El Jardin del Paraiso, which is locked but easy enough to get into.

I follow.

For such a religious woman, I find it interesting that she went to her uncle’s on a Sunday without going to church first, and she didn’t hesitate about where to go, church or home, when she got off the train.

It tells me more about her anger and fear and that there’s way more to her than just a simple churchgoing girl.

It tells me she is, at her core, Harry the survivor.

“Stop,” I growl once I’m close enough so she can hear me.

She hesitates and then breaks into a run. I grab her and pull her into me, right up against me.

“Do you get your rocks off over little girls?” she rasps, struggling in my tight grasp.

“Is that really how you see yourself? As a kid?”

Her eyes narrow and she tugs, trying to break free. I tighten my hold, subversively liking her body against mine. “No, asshole, I think there’s something wrong with you and there’s no way in hell I’m marrying you. ”

“You’re not a little kid. You’re an adult. You understand doing things for your survival.”

“Is that what you tell yourself, Quinn? To sleep at night? You had to do it?”

Every instinct in me jangles alarms.

And Quinn?

Shit.

I let it slide. Quinn, Torin, monster. To her, they’re all the same.

She hit on something, though. Something dark and agonizing, and I could hate her for it.

Because she’s right. Maybe I do tell myself I had to go back for Shiv, that I had to do it.

But no, it doesn’t help me sleep. Not at all.

“Can we discuss this somewhere else?”

“This is fine,” she says. “An empty par?—”

Her words are swallowed by the whiz of a bullet. It lodges into the tree next to her.

I don’t think. I tackle her down to the ground, covering her with my body.

Our lips are close, and all that softness is now mine to covet. Her lips call to me, the bow of them, generous and unmarred by makeup, look sweet and delicious.

Fuck.

I shove that thought down, even as it throbs hard in me.

“Do you have a gun?” I ask her quietly.

“No. Don’t you?”

I close my eyes. Breathe as I listen. The rustle of the breeze in the leaves, the sound of traffic and voices all around the oasis we’re in.

Then a twig snaps.

I pull out my knife and flick it open.

Harry gasps, her eyes widening.

A crunch of leaves underfoot follows. And another.

Whoever it is wants to get in close for the kill.

In my periphery, I see the guy on our right. I hurl the knife as he raises the gun.

It hits its bullseye, right in his eye. The man crumples to the ground.

“Stay the fuck here,” I say through clenched teeth and roll off her completely. I run over to him, low to the ground. After patting him down and finding nothing, I pull out my knife, wipe it off, and pocket his gun.

I turn to tell her it’s safe to move and my fingers ball into fists.

Fuck my life.

Harry’s gone.

Again.