Page 31 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
I don’t think he’s checking me out, nor do I think he’s checking to make sure I’m okay. He’s just staring at me. Studying me. Evaluating me. Judging me. And when we make eye contact, there’s an unspoken agreement that we won’t call the cops.
I know why I won’t. I can’t bring any unfavorable attention to me, not when I’m so close to filing for custody over Mina. Any step backwards is a step I can’t afford to take.
But I don’t know why he won’t.
After all, he didn’t do anything wrong.
This was classic self-defense.
It was hardcore and over the top, but it was self-defense nonetheless. Perhaps his weapons are unregistered? I look at the expensive brownstone homes behind him and immediately dismiss the thought. Possession of unregistered weapons wouldn’t be a problem for someone who can afford to live here.
Or perhaps it’s the mafia connections I suspect he has. But wouldn’t it be better to call the police if nothing shady is going on, rather than hide it and actually break the law and risk garnering the attention of the police?
I wouldn’t know, nor do I care.
Because honestly?
His reasoning doesn’t matter. As long as the cops don’t start paying attention to my life, I’m content. I have enough to deal with when it comes to Social Services, and I suspect this man feels the same, only with the mafia and police.
After a brief moment of contemplative silence, he says, “You can leave if you want, but there may be more of them.”
My jaw drops, because there’s so much wrong with this situation right now. First, we were shot at. Then, he shot our attacker. Now, he’s dragging the guy to his home with one hand, like he’s Thor and it’s the easiest thing in the world.
He even has his phone out in one hand, casually sending a text.
And on top of that, he just gave me permission to leave.
As if I need it.
If it’s even possible, I hate him more.
Yet, I follow after him, because he’s right. There may be more attackers, and he looks like he can handle them. Then again, the attacker didn’t shoot at me, did he? I wince. He was either shooting at me, or he had really bad aim. It’s likely the latter.
Either way, John’s neighbor saved me.
So, what should I do?
I was planning on walking back to the dorms. It’s a twenty five minute walk, but after what just happened? Fat chance. Instead, I pull out my phone, call an Uber, and continue to follow after John’s neighbor.
I pick up my pace and settle beside him, where I plan to be until my Uber arrives and I feel safe. Averting my eyes from the man he’s dragging, I focus on my phone. An alert pings, letting me know that the driver is on his way.
I wince when I see the estimated cost of the trip, though my Uber account is still linked to John’s black American Express card. I suppose this will be the last time I use it. It’s not the first time I’ve been tempted to book two one-way plane tickets to Fiji and run away with Mina, but I know she deserves better than a life on the run.
I sigh, and for the first time in a while, I wonder if that’s me.
If I’m better than what she has right now.
Maybe I’m not.
After all, I just left my sugar daddy’s home after catching him having sex with my older look-a-like, and my sugar daddy’s hot neighbor followed me outside, saved me from a bullet that was probably meant for him, and is currently dragging a wounded attacker back to his $40 million brownstone.
You can’t make this type of crazy up.
And I doubt Social Services would approve of any of this.
“How’s your day been?”
I swivel my head to John’s neighbor, and my mouth drops in shock. “Are you for real?”
