Code of Honor

by Missy Johnson

  Panicking, I run outside and call out to the neighbors. Disturbed by the noise, several come running out, concerned when they see how distressed I am.

  “Call the police,” someone yells. Someone else wraps a blanket around me and sits me down on the curb. Tears roll down my cheeks. All I can think about is if I’d only been home earlier. Maybe I could’ve done something. Maybe a kid being there would’ve scared them off. Or maybe they would have killed me too.

  This can’t be happening.

  —

  Gasping, I open my eyes, the darkness engulfing me. I struggle to sit up, my hand flailing for the light as I try to calm myself. I hit the switch on the lamp, lighting the living room. Fuck. That’s why I don’t drink. Drinking inevitably leads to me falling asleep and that always ends badly.

  My heart races as I get to my feet. The room spins and as I take a step I almost lose my balance, crashing into the wall. Somehow I make it over to the kitchen, where I fill a glass with water and gulp it down.

  I check the time on the wall clock. Two a.m. God knows how long I’ve been out, but I know that’s it for me tonight. I can’t risk falling asleep again. Not now. Filling my glass with more water, I wander back over to the living room and sink into the armchair. My phone flashes. Leaning forward, I see a missed call from Lucy but no message. My heart skips because I so badly want to hear her voice.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, throwing the phone back down onto the coffee table. I want to call her now, but it’s way too late. No normal person would still be awake at this hour.

  I spend the rest of the night watching reruns of NYPD Blue. No matter how much I dislike the show, it’s not enough for me to get up and grab the remote. All I need is a distraction, and it does the job. Before I know it, it’s after five. Lucy will be getting ready for class soon.

  —

  I turn my attention to her apartment. I’ve yet to see the lights turn on, which is unusual for her. I make myself coffee and park myself at the table with a perfect view of her apartment and the entry to her building. While I wait for her, I work on my laptop, glancing up every few minutes.

  By seven, I’m getting worried. Is she even there? I couldn’t have missed her. I’ve been sitting here watching since five a.m. She’s one of the most reliable people I know, never late for anything. Not to mention, I’m pretty sure turning up late to any training session would not look good, whatever the excuse.

  After another ten minutes pass with no sign of her, I get my phone. I can return her call without looking suspicious. She’s probably expecting me to call back. My heart thumps as I dial her number. It rings out. It never rings out. She either answers, or it goes to voicemail.

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  What the hell do I do?

  Am I supposed to sit here and wait for her to wake up? Or I could do something about it. Pacing the living room, I try to figure out a plan that doesn’t involve me busting down her door.

  Then it hits me. I’ll have something delivered. Opening my laptop, I search until I find someone who delivers before eight a.m. Coffee and croissants. Perfect.

  I’m already standing outside my building when I see the van pull up. A dude gets out clutching a bag and a tray holding two coffees. My stomach grumbles. I should’ve ordered myself something too. I watch as he enters her building, feeling pretty proud of my ability to think on my feet. The one thing I didn’t consider is what she’s going to think when he hands it over. A decaf double mocha? She’ll know it’s from me. I’ll say it’s a peace offering. My way of apologizing.

  My face falls when the coffee dude comes back out still carrying the tray and croissants. Confused, I jog over to him. Did I give him the wrong number?

  “Hey, what happened?” I ask.

  “Who are you?” he asks, his face creased in confusion.

  “I’m the guy who ordered these”—I point at the food and coffee—“to be delivered to apartment 502.”

  “Right,” he says, his face relaxing. “Nobody home, dude. You want these, since you already paid for them?”

  “Sure,” I mutter, taking it from him. I walk back toward my apartment trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Did she go out after I followed her home last night? My stomach churns as guilt washes over me.

  What if she’s hurt?

  Fuck it. If she’s not at her apartment—I have to go over there and see. I toss the food in a trash can and run back across the street toward the studio. Walking through the entrance, I’m shitting myself. This is either the best or worst idea in the world; I’ll decide which one later.

  I take the stairs up to the fifth floor, not wanting to run the risk of seeing her in an elevator. I exit the stairwell and make my way along the hallway, carefully looking through each window, trying to find her.

  I get to the fourth room on the right, studio seven, frustrated that it’s taking so long. Then I see her. She stands beside the mirror, her leg stretched above her head. For a second I forget why I’m there and I think about all the times I’d stand outside her studio at home and watch her dance. You can’t help but be sucked in by her beauty and gracefulness.

  At first I’m just relieved she’s okay, but that’s quickly replaced by confusion. How did she get here? How the hell did I miss her when I watched that exit for three hours straight?

  I push my way out the door and stop on the sidewalk, running my hand through my hair. I can’t let this go. The only thing I can think of is that the building she’s in must have another exit. And there’s only one way I’m going to find out for sure.

  Stepping through the door of her building, I hope like hell I don’t run into anyone who recognizes me. A man stands by the security desk engrossed in his phone. I quickly walk past, sighing with relief when he doesn’t look up. Heading down farther, past the elevators, an exit sign catches my attention. Curious, I keep walking, eventually stumbling across a door marked EMERGENCY EXIT. I push it open and find myself on the sidewalk of the street behind.

  “Son of a bitch,” I mutter. Why the hell would she have gone out the back door? I can only think of one reason. She has to know I’m watching her. That’s ridiculous. If she had any idea I was in New York she would have hunted me down and called me out. Unless she doesn’t know it’s me. If she thinks she’s being followed and is in danger, it explains her behavior.

  I let out a sigh, oddly much happier with that scenario than the previous one. I’m still trying to figure out my morning when Giovanni calls. I wince, wondering if I’m about to get another earful.

  “Hello, Giovanni.”

  “Good morning. Nice to hear you’re more alert today,” he says.

  “I’m sorry about last night. I just needed to relax. It won’t happen again, I promise,” I add.

  “No, you were right. I was asking too much of you. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” He clears his throat. “To make it up to you, I want to offer you a job.”

  “What kind of job?” I ask.

  “The kind I’d only ask of someone I trust. I need you to deliver a package for me. I’ll be very appreciative if you can help me out.”

  “I’m happy to help you out if you can tell me exactly what I’m supposed to be doing,” I reply.

  —

  I check the address scrawled on the scrap of paper again. This is definitely it. I wasn’t expecting to be picking up the package from what looked to be an upper-class clothing store.

  Walking inside, I stroll past the racks of Giorgio Armani suits and over to the counter, where a bored-looking guy is standing.

  “Can I help you?” he asks with a disinterested sigh.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m here to pick up a package. The name is Victor Pauluzi?”

  “Uh-huh,” he replies. He reaches under the counter and produces a large suit box. “Here you go. Is there anything else?”

  “No, that’s it,” I reply, a tight smile on my face. I pick up the box, which I’m certain does not contain a suit, and tuck it carefully under my
arm and walk out.

  After I leave the clothing store I head over to the West Side, where someone is supposed to meet me to retrieve the package. I’m surprised at how uncomfortable I feel doing this. I’m certain the box contains drugs, and that just doesn’t sit well with me.

  What did you expect Giovanni would be involved in, lollipops and rainbows? He’s the fucking Mafia. He’s from the same region of Sicily as my father, a region where heroin production and distribution is of huge interest to the Mafia. This is what you were born to do.

  “It’s in my blood,” I mutter, as the taxi pulls over at my destination. “No matter what I do I can’t get away from my heritage.”

  I exit the cab with the box in hand and walk over to the warehouse opposite the overpass. The door is open, so I go in, calling out as I enter. Within five seconds two men appear, both holding shotguns that are pointed at my head. My heart pounds as I hold up my hands, the box still tucked under my arm.

  “Giovanni asked me to drop this off,” I explain quickly. They lower the shotguns. The guy on the right motions for me to bring him the box. I step forward and hand it to him. He opens it, then nods at the other guy, who puts his gun away.

  “You can thank Giovanni for us,” the big guy on the right says. “Tell him this will do. For now.”

  —

  My phone alarm pings, letting me know that she’s leaving the studio for the day.

  I down the last of my espresso and throw a few dollars on the table. Seconds later, she strolls past the café I’m sitting in, looking happier than she has in days. And then I see why. Next to her walks an attractive light-haired guy with a slight frame. I’m pretty sure he’s a dancer and while I try to convince myself he’s just one of her fellow students, my jealously is raging. My jaw clenches as he rests his hand in the middle of her back.

  Where is she going? She never goes anywhere. Every day, it’s the same. Studio, then home, which makes my job easy. I spend most of my days sitting in the same café working on my thesis, waiting for Lucy.

  I follow along the sidewalk a few blocks behind them, careful not to blow my cover. Luce doesn’t make friends easily, so seeing her so relaxed and comfortable around this guy makes me suspicious. She’s not even this relaxed around me.

  This isn’t the behavior of someone who is afraid. She has to know I’m here.

  I cross the street as they turn into a bar. There is a dark alleyway opposite the entrance of the bar that is perfect for me to wait in.

  I crouch down and pull out my phone. A few people walk past and give me a wide berth. I chuckle, wondering if I really look that dodgy. Then I remember it’s New York. Everyone is suspicious here.

  —

  Sighing, I check my phone again. I feel like I’ve been sitting here for hours and I’m not that far off—she’s been in there with him for over two. I’m beginning to get annoyed. I should be glad she’s getting out and having some fun, but I’m not. I’m just pissed she’s not with me.

  I stand and stretch, pulling my jacket tighter around me. My legs are going numb and I’m fucking freezing. The sun has gone down completely now, leaving a cool chill in the air. I take a few steps back and forth down the street, stepping over remnants of garbage and avoiding what looks like a passed-out dude sleeping under a couple of empty boxes. I note the empty bottle of whiskey next to him.

  In the distance, I hear Lucy laugh. Jerking my head around, I see her and her friend leaving the bar. My jaw twitches as she caresses his arm before leaning up to give him a kiss on the cheek. They talk for a few more minutes and then walk in separate directions.

  “What a fucking gentleman,” I mumble. Leaving her to walk home alone? I give her a few seconds’ head start and then dart across the street, blending into a small group of people leaving a restaurant. I follow her all the way home and wait until I see her safely enter the elevator.

  With my hands shoved into my pockets, I wander back home. Maybe this was all a one-time thing. Her odd behavior doesn’t automatically mean she knows I’m here. Bullshit and you know it. She knows you’re here and she’s punishing you for it.

  And if that’s the case, I wonder how far she’ll go to make her point.

  Chapter 18

  Lucy

  Jacob waves at me as I walk into the studio. I smile back, but my smile falters slightly when Melody, another girl in class who has kept her distance from me since day one, whispers something to him. I’m a little disappointed at how last night turned out. I don’t know what I was expecting, but there had been nothing to indicate Pietro was annoyed. I have to step up my game. I’m determined to make him break his cover. I thought my going out the emergency exit and walking the long way to training yesterday was pure genius. I just hoped he was around to see it.

  Melody glares at me as she storms past. I don’t know what her problem is, but she hates me. I shake it off, determined not to let whatever it is up her ass get to me. Jacob wanders over to me as I’m beginning my stretches.

  “She really hates you,” he says, and chuckles, nodding toward Melody. Honestly, I don’t think the girl has ever said hi to me once.

  “I don’t doubt that hatred has something to do with us hanging out.” I tease. “And thanks for last night. I had fun. We should do it again.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He grins, giving me a wink. “Maybe Ana and Dallas can join us next time.”

  During training, Marcus announces that they’ll be choosing the final five dancers, the ones who will be joining the company, the following Monday. I’m nervous, and my nerves triple when he announces who will be present for Monday’s session. He rattles off five of the biggest names in ballet, including Anna Kalasia, the company’s top ballerina. The thought of dancing for her makes me physically sick. Monday was going to make the audition feel like a dance around my living room.

  The rest of the session I find it hard to concentrate on my dancing. All I can think about is how important Monday is for me. The problem is, I know I’m just going to psych myself out by thinking about it. If Pietro were here, he’d tell me to pretend I’m dancing back at my studio at home. My heart pangs. I miss our talks. What I should do is grow up and talk to the guy, but I can’t get past the hurt I’m feeling from his lying to me. My father, I understand. I’ve been dealing with that for years. But Pietro—I thought we had something. I thought that no matter what, he had my back. There’s no worse a feeling than not being able to trust somebody you’ve fallen in love with.

  After training, Jacob waits for me by the door. I smile as I approach him, a twinge of guilt hitting me. The poor guy doesn’t deserve to be used like this. I shake the feeling off and throw my bag over my shoulder.

  I’m not using him. We’re friends.

  “You did well today. I wish I could hit those points as high as you do.”

  “Thanks,” I say, and grin. “Are you nervous about Monday?”

  “Not really.” He shrugs. “I didn’t actually expect to get this far, so anything is a bonus.” I’m instantly warmed by his laid-back attitude. The more time I spend with Jacob, the less I have to force myself to relax. “You up for a bite to eat? There’s this really cool place a few blocks from here that I’m heading to anyway.”

  I glance over at Melody, who is shooting me daggers.

  “You sure your girlfriend doesn’t mind?”

  “She’s hardly my type,” he says. He laughs, shaking his head. “For some reason, she kind of attached herself to me.”

  I can understand why, but I don’t say anything.

  “Dinner sounds good,” I say instead. If he’s going there anyway, then there’s nothing for me to feel guilty about by tagging along. “You lead the way.” I look around for Ana, but she’s already left. Shrugging, I follow Jacob out.

  We walk outside, joining the rush-hour traffic. It’s just past seven and there are people everywhere. I glance around, wondering if Pietro is watching me right now. My skin tingles at the thought, which leads me to imagine his dark eye
s penetrating me. If it weren’t for Jacob, I’d be heading straight back to my apartment, because suddenly it wasn’t my appetite that needed satisfying.

  The restaurant is actually a cute little café opposite Union Square that I would have had no idea existed if it wasn’t for Jacob. I haven’t even tried the food, and I’ve already decided it’s my new favorite place. Bright and colorful, the retro setting is eye-catching and fresh, and we slide into a booth. I reach for the menu, my stomach letting me know how hungry I am.

  “The food here is great. This is was my go-to place after college nearly every night for four years.”

  “So you live in New York, then?” I say, surprised. I don’t know why, but I didn’t pick him as a local.

  “I moved here to study dance in college. Before that I was back home in Massachusetts with my family,” Jacob answers.

  “How did you find moving here right out of high school?” I ask. “I’m struggling being away from home, even now.”

  “It was good in a way because there were so many in the same situation. I made heaps of new friends, which helped lessen the homesickness.” He studies the menu and then nods decisively. “I highly recommend the seafood tacos.”

  I screw up my nose. “Uh, I don’t like fish.”

  “Chicken nachos, then?”

  “Perfect.” I grin, snapping my menu closed.

  We order our food and some drinks, and while we’re waiting, we get to know each other a little better, only taking a break to eat when our food finally arrives.

  “Oh, this is good,” I say. “How’s yours?”

  “Really nice,” he replies, shoving a taco into his mouth. “My girlfriend back home was part Mexican. She got me hooked on this stuff.”

  He laughs and alarm bells ring in my head. His girlfriend? Shit.

  I thought he was the perfect guy to make Pietro jealous because he was gay. There was no risk of me leading him on if he didn’t dig chicks. How could I have read him so wrong?