Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Perfect. I will be as quick as possible. Don’t use your phone or computer until I get a chance to ask Zeno about it. Actually… here,” he said, doing more digging in his bag and coming out with a small smartphone still in its store packaging. A burner phone. “Set this up. I can give you my burner number when I get back.”
“I can do that,” I said, tucking it under my arm, happy to have a task to do. Otherwise, the fears would run rampant.
“Lock the door behind me.”
“Okay,” I agreed, following him.
“I won’t be long,” he assured me again.
“I’ll be here.”
He gave me one last long look, like he genuinely was struggling with the idea of leaving me.
“Look after her, alright?” he said, looking at Goya.
Then he was gone.
I didn’t waste a second locking the door, then carefully took the gun and the phone into the bedroom, where I locked that door as well.
And proceeded to jump at every sound in the apartments above and below as well as the noises on the street.
After being spoiled by the soundproofing at my new apartment, it was going to take some getting used to hearing all the noises all around.
“What do you think, buddy?” I asked Goya as I sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s gotta be better than the shelter, right? All those other dogs barking and crying because they want a home.”
Just the thought of it made my eyes water.
“How long were you there, huh?” I asked, reaching out to rub his soft neck. “Months? Years? What was your life like before? Were you loved once? Or were people always bad? I’ve known a lot of not-great people too. I was married to one, it seems.
“I wonder what that says about me, you know? That I could share my life with someone like that but not see it. And what does that mean for who I can or can’t trust from now on? Like, Nico seems like a good guy. But is my Good Guy Radar just broken?” Goya turned his head to lick my arm. “You seem to like him. And they say dogs are good gauges.”
Come to think of it, dogs did seem to bark at Matthew a lot. I could be saying hello to one with no issue, then he’d walk up and there’d be snarling.
“What do you think? Can a man in the mafia be good?”
To that, I got another lick.
“Yeah, maybe not all of them. But I’m pretty sure Nico is one of the good ones. I mean… he didn’t have to defend me or bring me here.”
God, I was talking to a dog.
“Do you want to come up?” I asked, patting the foot of the bed.
Goya wasted no time hopping up, turning in three circles, then curling up.
He was asleep in seconds.
His first sleep in a comfy bed out of the shelter.
I wasn’t mentally prepared for a dog. There was so much to think about. Vets, walking schedules, who could take care of him when I was traveling, how many times a week (or day) I might need to vacuum and mop to keep my place clean.
But one look at him and I knew there was no way I could send him back, be another human who got his hopes up and failed him.
Apparently, I had a dog now.
Suddenly, I was wondering if there were any galleries in the city that would let me bring Goya in for a visit. I could see using him for content for my blog.
I had the sudden urge to check it, but knowing I couldn’t, I found my text thread from Nico instead, looking through all of the images he’d snapped.
Of me.
Because while the art was certainly there, but the focus was clearly on me.
I’d never really seen myself like that before.
I wasn’t sure anyone had ever seen me that way before.
Just Nico.
There was a swelling sensation in my chest at that thought, at the nettling little realization that maybe, just maybe, Nico saw past the guards; he saw what was beneath.
Uncomfortable with that, I put my phone inside the nightstand and reached for the burner instead, figuring out how to set it up, then placing it on the nightstand in case I needed it.
I spent the next half hour jumping at shadows and slams all around, while Goya snored noisily, his little legs twitching in his sleep.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard a rustling sound coming from the apartment door.
Goya went from dead asleep to on the ground, hackles raised and snarling, in seconds.
“I think it might be Nico,” I told him, grabbing the gun as I crept to the bedroom door, unlocking it, then peeking out into the hall.
“Just me,” Nico said, seeing me as he came through the door.