was quiet. And she’d thought fast in the room, getting the wise guys into the bedroom so she could flee with Danny and Bernard. She’d been understandably frightened by Ricky when he’d gotten her alone and cornered her—he was bigger than her and probably had a gun or two—but once she’d seen an escape, she’d taken charge and conjured a plan. Because of her, all three of them had made it out of the room undetected and unharmed.
Any chance you want to join a crew of Irish boys who like to steal?
Somehow he doubted that.
After more twists and turns than he could count, something clanged into place. The door to the service elevator, he thought. The movements were nauseating. Or perhaps that was the fear. Guilt, maybe? Ricky had been threatening the woman, but Danny had killed him, and Danny had never killed anyone before. That wasn’t what he and his boys had come here to do, but now there was a dead body—a dead gangster’s body—in a luxury suite, blood soaking into the ugly carpet, and he didn’t know quite what to make of that.
The cart finally lurched to an abrupt stop. The linens piled on top of them were suddenly gone, and both Danny and the woman took in big gulps of the fresh, cooler air. With Mathew’s help, they climbed out of the cart.
The woman looked around, straightening her dress and beaded headband. “Where are we?”
“Ground floor.” Mathew motioned toward a steel door not far away. “That’ll take you outside. Right turn, and you’ll be at Fifth Avenue.”
Danny looked around. “What about—”
“No time,” Mathew shoved an overcoat into Danny’s hands. “Put this on and get out of here.”
“But I—”
“Go!” Mathew grabbed Danny’s arm and shoved him toward the door. “Get out, and we’ll meet you tomorrow.”
Danny didn’t argue. He pulled on the coat, covering his stolen hotel uniform, and then he and the woman slipped outside. The bitterly cold air was a shock, stinging his eyes and cheeks, but it was also a relief—they were safely out of the confines of the luxurious labyrinth that now contained the body of a gangster named Ricky. Not home free, but damn closer than they were minutes ago.
“This way.” He was still breathing hard as he gestured toward Fifth Avenue. “We can go through—”
The woman grabbed his arm and brought him up short. Small as she was, she was strong as an ox, pulling him to such an abrupt halt he nearly slipped on the frozen ground. “You have to get out of here,” she panted. “Fast.”
“I know.” He motioned toward Fifth again. “So let’s go.”
“No.” Hugging herself against the cold, she shook her head vigorously, the beads on her headband swinging with the motion and twinkling in the glow of a nearby streetlamp. “I need to stay. You have to go, and you need to get far, far away from here.”
He blinked. “No one saw a thing. You got us out before anyone saw my face.” He held up his gloved hands. “And my fingerprints won’t even be—”
“They’ll figure out it’s you, and when they do, they’ll kill you.” She shifted, frustration etched all over her face. “The man you killed? That was—”
“Yeah, I know. A gangster.” Danny shuddered. “I—”
“No, you idiot.” She grabbed his collar and looked him straight in the eyes. “Listen to me. That wasn’t just a gangster. That was Enrico il Sacchi.”
Danny’s knees buckled, and his blood was instantly colder than the wind biting at his face. “Enrico… No. Bushwa!”
“It’s true. And they’ve probably already figured out that whoever killed him got away, and they’ll be looking for you. So you need to get as far from this hotel as you can get. Now.”
Danny couldn’t even be insulted that she hadn’t taken a moment to thank him for helping her—they both understood the urgency of this situation. Gratitude could wait. A man who’d just killed a notorious Sicilian underboss? He couldn’t wait.
So he didn’t.
Without another word or even another look, he darted away from her. He dodged cars and carriages alike, slipped and slid on the icy cobbles, and nearly broke his neck half-running, half-sliding down the stone stairs into Central Park. Down here, away from blinding lights and prying eyes, he paused to glance back at the Plaza Hotel.
He’d just killed a man.
He’d just killed Enrico il Sacchi.
What in God’s name should he do now?
Finally, Danny did the only thing a man in his position could do:
He ran like hell into the night.
Chapter 2
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