When Lazarus leaves, the silence of my apartment is deafening. My heart pounds in my chest, and tears blur my vision. I know what I have to do. Grabbing my phone, I shakily dial Bria’s number. It rings once, twice, and then she picks up.
My voice is a whisper, “Bria.”
“Phoebe? What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice full of concern.
I break down, sobbing uncontrollably. “Bria, it’s... it’s bad. They’re forcing me to marry some Mafia asshole. They said they’ll kill you if I don’t.”
“Oh my God, Phoebe! Let me come to your apartment right now,” she says urgently.
“No, no, please don’t!” I plead. “I want to protect you. They might be watching. Just stay home. Please, Bria. I can’t let them hurt you.”
There’s a pause, and I can hear the worry in her breathing. “Okay, okay, I’ll stay home. Bu
