storm out of the diner.
I can’t do this anymore.
24
Bianca
Higgins: I’m sorry, Beautiful.
Chewing on my lower lip, I read the cryptic message on my burner a few more times. Mayor Higgins couldn’t work his magic despite the guillotine I’d placed over his head by threatening to tell his wife about his affair. But if that’s true, then Dominic isn’t coming home like he’d anticipated. And when things don’t go according to plan for my brother, then heads start to roll. And I’m afraid I’ll be the first on the docket.
My breathing is ragged as I press Dominic’s number. It rings a few times before his familiar voice greets me through the speaker.
“Took you long enough.”
Pacing the bedroom floor, I tuck my hair behind my ear when my reflection catches my attention from the vanity mirror and makes me pause. My makeup-free complexion stares back at me, the birthmark being the star of the show as I take in my marred cheekbone. But the shame that usually accompanies it has yet to bring me to my knees.
“Bianca,” Dominic snaps. “I don’t have all day.”
I blink slowly and tear my gaze away from the mirror. “I’ve, uh, I’ve got some bad news––”
“I suggest you choose your next words very wisely, Bianca.” The words come out like a snake’s. Smooth, yet sharp at the same time, making me flinch.
With my eyes squeezed shut, I gulp. “Listen––”
“Did you contact your friend the way I instructed?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“And did you tell him how difficult his life is going to be if he refuses to rectify my current situation?”
“Yes.”
“And you made it clear––”
“I’m not an idiot, Dominic,” I bite out. “I told him exactly what you would’ve wanted me to.”
“And?” he growls.
“And he said he’d do the best he could. Unfortunately, with the media covering an FBI agent’s association with human trafficking and all the strings that come along with it, he isn’t exactly able to let the star witness run free without the reporters jumping down his throat. This is a Federal case, not state.”
“Bullshit. If you don’t convince him––”
“I can’t convince him! There’s nothing he can do!”
“Then you better figure out another angle, Bianca,” Dominic tells me. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to air out every single skeleton in your closet until your little husband sees the whore that you really are. We clear?”
A tear slides down my cheek as my fear threatens to suffocate me. “Dominic, please––”
There’s a crash on the other end of the call. Then it goes dead. I drop the phone to my side. Defeated. Overwhelmed. And terrified out of my freaking mind.
“Fuck!” I scream, throwing it against the wall. It clatters to the ground near the bathroom before I slide onto my ass and pull my knees to my chest.
I can’t…I can’t do this. Jack will never forgive me. And I can’t blame him. I can’t forgive me, either. I just want to run away. Pack up and leave with Jack to a place that doesn’t have cell service or the internet. A place where my secrets can stay hidden from the one man who looks at me like I’m worth something. I want to be worth something. I want to look in the mirror without hating myself. Without seeing a dirty whore who spread her legs for money.
My lower lip quivers as the tears continue to fall, dripping off my chin in rivulets. I don’t remember the last time I cried, but it’s been decades. I just wish I could make it stop. Make all of it stop.
The front door slams, jarring me from my self-pity as my neck snaps in its direction. There’s no way Dominic has already reached out to him. It’s not possible, but I can feel his fury spreading across the apartment like a filthy haze. Pushing myself up from the floor, I run my fingers through my hair, then look for the concealer on my vanity. But I don’t have time to put on my armor. My mask, as Jack likes to call it. Oh, the irony. A breath of laughter escapes me, but there isn’t any humor in it. It’s pathetic and weak. Like me.
His heavy footsteps echo through the entire apartment, stalking closer before the bedroom door is shoved open and slams against the wall. I jerk back, hitting my head on the wall behind me before staring at the hole that’s been made in the sheetrock from the door handle.
He knows. He has to know. But there’s no way––
“Tell me