Stolen by the Mob Boss : A Russian Mafia Romance (Bratva Hitman), Nicole Fox [best ebook reader for surface pro .txt] 📗

past me, knocking my bag from the table. It falls to the floor facedown, spilling all of the contents inside. Stuff ricochets in every direction. She looks down at my items and turns her nose up, walking away without even offering to help.

I can feel the eyes of everyone in the café on me. Not now, not today; this is all just too much. I need to get out—right this second.

I stuff everything back into my bag and pull it over my shoulder, not even checking to see if my laptop is okay after the fall. I just have to get away from here. The barista looks at me expectantly, and I’m all too aware of the burning stares from the other people in the café. Without a word, I turn and head for the door, pushing through and rounding the corner of the building.

Once I’m alone, I take a slow breath and hold back tears. I don’t consider myself shy, but the way everyone in there looked at me, like I was too poor to afford a coffee ... I haven’t wanted to disappear like that in a long time.

I don’t like to think about money any more than I have to, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. With all of Nana’s medical expenses piling up one after the next, I’ve had to make my checks spread even more than I used to. She gets disability, and that really does come in handy, but the bills keep growing more and more expensive every day.

I wish I could just take a vacation from life. Unplug, shut down, and just sleep forever. I don’t want to work anymore. I don’t want to write anymore. I don’t want to go through the same nightmare about my parents over and over again. I just want to sleep.

But I know Mom and Dad wouldn’t want that.

They’d tell me to keep my head up. Change is always coming, and things are always darkest before dawn. The sun is going to come up and I’ll be able to see my way again.

Maybe.

After a few slow breaths, I feel my heartbeat return to normal, no longer on the verge of having a full-on panic attack. There are no prying eyes, no audience waiting to see my next blunder, wondering if, for my next trick, I’ll drop my coffee or spill it on someone else. Today isn’t my day, but I’m not going to let a few embarrassing moments ruin the rest of it for me.

My phone vibrates, and I see a text from Madeline. Rudy says it’s cool if I come in and fill Tina’s shift. There we go, I tell myself. Something to look forward to. Covering for Tina will give me a little more spending money, and the next time I see that barista, I can buy a lot of drinks and rub it in his face. I can afford a latte and a cappuccino, thank you very much.

But then there’s a thunderous boom above my head, and I know immediately that today is proving not to be my day. The sky is cloudy and gray, and when I tilt my head up to look, something wet splashes down on my nose. Almost immediately, rain begins to pour down, and I shake my head.

“What did I do to offend you?” I growl at the universe. I grab my bag and put it over my head, hurrying through the alleys and trying to hug the wall. I knew I shouldn’t have walked to the café. Now I need to head home and change. On the plus side, I can grab my car. There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to get to work in this kind of weather.

Maneuvering the alleyways is like a sixth sense to me. I’ve learned all the quickest shortcuts and ways around the city, mostly to save on gas and not spend so much time waiting. New York traffic is something terrifying, and that’s coming from someone that writes about homicidal maniacs running around rural towns.

As I step around a sleeping man covering his face with a newspaper, I hear people arguing around the corner. I know that I should mind my business, but they’re getting louder and my curiosity cat needs to know what’s going on. As I approach, I walk with lighter steps, trying not to draw any unwanted attention my way.

My heart begins to race, and I clench the bag over my head tighter, my throat squeezing. Just as I reach the curve of the alley, there’s a hand on my shoulder. I spin around to find a homeless man standing there, smiling a grin filled with blackened, rotting teeth. I swallow back a scream and clamp a hand over my mouth.

“Spare change?” he asks. The way his voice sounds, I don’t think he’s asking. He’s demanding.

Rather than arguing, I hand him the change I’d planned on using for my coffee. “That’s all I have.”

“This is perfect. Thank you, miss.” He buries his hand in his pocket and hurries off towards the opposite end of the alleyway.

When my nerves are steeled and I’m not feeling so uneasy, I head back to the corner. I don’t have much time for this, so whatever their problem is, I need them to make room so I can walk through.

“Stop!” the smaller man cries, struggling in the grip of the other, taller man.

I poke my head around the corner and watch as the taller man tosses the other across the alley, slamming him into the brick wall. My heart falls to my stomach. I may love exploring true crime cases, but in real life, I’ve never been able to handle violence. Even pushing and shoving sets my teeth on edge.

Part of me considers intervening, but I stay planted where I am. If this man can throw a relatively big guy around like that, I’d be toast to him. The bigger man lifts his head, and I