Chapter 8

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The room kept going around and around and around. I held onto the sink, staring down at the drain, as my body kept trembling.

Mafia.

After the word came out of Elina's mouth I got up and locked myself in the bathroom. I'd been in there for over an hour, and Elina had only knocked once, asking if I needed anything, or if she could do anything to help.

Why did I ask?

I could've waited until this one thing was over, and then never see or talk to either of these people ever again. Instead, I absolutely had to be nosy. I'd never felt bigger regret than I did in that hour—that day. The first time I truly knew what it was like to want to go back in time and change my actions. Or, better yet, have my future self appear in front of me and tell me to, under no circumstances, ask what Damian did for a living.

The city was nothing like I thought it was before. The hotels were either owned by a mob boss, or another mob boss, or, in two percent of the times, by an honest man who wanted to own hotels. Elina didn't even get a chance to explain to me the difference between Michael Strac and his competition, or whatever reputation his father had ruined, before I ran off.

I turned on the tap, leaning down to drink some water, before I sunk down on the floor and put my arms around my knees.

I was just a wedding photographer in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn't have to be involved in any of this. So I wouldn't.

After sitting a few minutes, I got back up and walked out to the living room, to see Elina getting up from her seat on the couch, hope shining in her eyes.

"I don't want any part of this," I said, "not after this thing with your wedding is finished."

"Of course," she replied, nodding instantly. She held her hands out to me, and I took them, staring down at the wooden floor. "We're gonna make sure you can stay as far away from us as possible," she then said, rubbing her thumbs up and down on the backs of my hands, "even if I sort of hoped we could be friends."

A laugh escaped my tight throat, and I looked away from her. I looked anywhere but at her. The white walls, the lonely, half-dead plant in the corner, the ceiling fan with a broken bulb...until I couldn't keep myself from looking at the kind woman in front of me. I was half a head taller, but she was bigger than me in any other senses—she opened her arms and heart for me, even when living in a world of crime and murder and torture.

"I hoped so too." My voice cracked a little at my honesty. She was absolutely someone I would've wanted to have as my friend. "But...we can at least be friends—for now."

Her arms wrapped around my neck in another crushing hug. For being so petite, she was very strong, and a part of me wondered whether James made her train with him to be able to hold her own in their world, if she could hit a target with a gun, if her kind eyes had ever witnessed the light in someone else's disappear..

Happily unaware of all of this, I lived for twenty five years, I made a career and worked my ass off to get by, and eventually thrive. How many nights did I sleep close to a criminal, without knowing? How many of the hotels and venues I'd visited was owned by bad people? How many pictures had I taken of said bad people, not knowing about the darkness behind the curtains?

My mind was spinning again, but I tried not to care, and rather hold Elina tighter. Her hug helped me calm down, but it also made everything seem so much more real.

What was I getting myself into?


During the day, my thoughts had gotten on a rollercoaster. Up and down, side to side, spinning out of control just when I thought I'd gotten my footing back. The real struggle was keeping it together in front of my new-for-now friend.

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