Chapter 3- Vi

I need serious help. But what kind, is the question. A therapist? A team of heavy-weight bodyguards? A witch to remove the curse on my head- the one that makes me wander without obvious effort into disturbing situations?

There are millions of people in this city, yet for some reason, I'm the one that had to stumble on that secret, murder rendezvous last night; the one that fate led to witness a congressman's head literally shot open, brains and blood splashing on the floor in a way that would make anyone's skin crawl. The thought of it still makes me shudder.

Five people were shot prior- obvious from the dead bodies strewn about the asphalt before I even got there- and though seeing a public figure wasted like that was a gory sight to behold, crazy things are always happening in this city, gun-assisted murders inclusive. But it gets crazier when the killer sees you, the disoriented witness, who, up until that moment, didn't know that you were severely unlucky. And while I'll recover from what happened last night at some point, what's to say that the shooter will let me go, with all I know about him?

He definitely won't.

But I blame myself. 

Granted, it was my first witnessed murder despite all the series of interesting experiences I've been involved in so far, but did I have to scream like that? Did I have to freeze like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, giving the murderer a sufficient amount of time to properly commit my features to memory? Not at all. But obviously, my brain cells do go on a break past the hour of seven, because last night's chain of bad decisions is proof. Currently, it's the only thing that sucks worse than my luck- which, by the way, is at an all-time low. And how do I know this? Well, I did research on the shooter and saw what exactly I got myself into.

 Alvarez.

I hadn't caught a surname, yet when I had run the word in a search, contrary to expectations, only one person had popped up. Brief information. No pictures. I did get business statistics from companies managed by the old money magnate, as well as news reports, with heavy suspicion that the business mogul was a suspected- and feared- crime boss, first son of the infamous Italo family of Palermo, Sicily.

The members of the family itself don't just have their hands in possibly every business type ever developed, but their knots of investments and influence span across several enterprises and corners of the island city, as well as the Mediterranean. Plus, when it comes to their mafia leanings, they are best known for being merciless and brutal with enemies, rivals, cops, and in general, anyone who dares stand in their way. Naturally, I would believe that without proof, yet I saw hardcore evidence last night. 

And now, I know I'm really screwed. How exactly does one just randomly stumble on a person like that? The truth is, they don't. But I've found that the universe likes to make an exception out of me. So I plan to write my will within the week. Because I know that Alvarez Italo saw me and he's going to come for me. How long he takes before he finally does is the question, but going by my current luck, I know it will be sooner than later. 

"While your parents can have all your other assets, I want your sexy lingeries. Make sure they're bequeathed to me in your will."

I look up from my desk to see Dyna poke her head into my cubicle, an amused grin on her face. I blow out a sigh. "You saw my text."

"I suppose that's why you're at work early," she says, leaning against the glass. 

"Well, that's because the only thing scarier than book keeping and distressed accounts is my house." 

"You think it's haunted again?"

"No." I can't believe I used to think it was before. 

"Another stalker followed you home," she concludes.

"I witnessed a murder." 

"You did what?" She says this as though I said I was the one who committed the murder.

"And… a well-known congressman was one of the people killed…" I add slowly.

"The congressman?" There is an extra emphasis on the 'the' part of her statement as she crosses over to squat beside my seat, eyes wide with shock. "Shit. Vi, you saw who murdered him? The thing's all over the news!"

"I know. Now will you stop screaming?" She's not. It's just my panic talking. And even though it's just a few minutes to eight and we're the only ones in the open floor plan center that houses the employee cubicles, I'm afraid that someone will walk in and get the wrong idea… Like I don't have enough on my plate already. I just need one false accusation to finally descend into a mental breakdown. 

Dyna turns to me in the silence that follows. "You need to tell the police all you know." 

And risk exposure? Nope. I'm not that hot about dying a horrible death. I shake my head. 

She gives me a look. "So you're going to remain quiet?"

"Yep. Else, I'll be needing that will," I return. "A certain mob boss with webs of influence across Italy and the US is responsible and I'm not about to testify against him. He's going to end up escaping the law anyway, and guess who he's going to be coming for? Me."

"Good point."

"Police will find their way around the investigation in the end," I conclude. "And if they don't, it will just be too bad. But I'm not about to embroil myself in an investigation as dangerous as that." My mother will just have a panic attack.

Some seconds pass in silence. 

"But do you know this man?"

"The murderer?"

"No, the fucking scientist."

"I don't know any mob bosses in general," I say, rolling my eyes. "And I don't think I'd be able to recognize him elsewhere, despite how hard I stared. Plus, he doesn't have any pictures on the internet. Yet, something tells me he'll be able to point me out in a crowd. It was in the way he looked at me, like it wasn't over."

"He didn't raise a gun at you, or do anything to prove that he wanted to kill you?" Dyna asks, and I level a gaze at her. 

"Should he have?"

"No, I find it strange, that's all. Someone else in your position would have been shot on sight."

Yep. Dumb luck. "You're not helping at all."

My bestie grins, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "I'm happy that you're okay, bitch," she answers. "But I just want to make sure that you will be after now. I don't think you should stay at your house."

"You think he'll come there?"

"I don't want him to. But if he does, I'd be happier knowing you're elsewhere."

"I'm not testifying. He has nothing to worry about," I insist.

"But does he know this?"

"What, do you suppose we tell him?" I return. "He's going to get the memo sooner or later. If I know anything about these kinds of people, they tend to not act unprovoked. And I don't think he knows where I stay. I ran fast last night and took lots of shortcuts. The way I see it, if I don't testify and expose myself, I should be fine."

She sighs. "But I'm driving you home anytime we have late night board meetings until your car is back. This is non-negotiable."

I totally agree. If I have to see one more dead body, I might just die.