40
Nate
The call came in this morning, after I was getting in from leaving the hotel. Quincey went back in for more rehearsals, and that call—it was burned in my memory. I’d been feeling good, happy with how things were with Q and I and then that f*****g call came through.
The phone rang, and seeing it was a blocked number, I went to my phone.
Hitting accept, I said, “This is Monson.”
“You don’t know me, but I’m Nico Mancini.”
I froze, mid step. “Why the f**k are you calling me?”
He laughed. “Maybe you do know me.”
A growl ripped from me. “You got two seconds to explain this call, or I’m hanging up and contacting police I know.”
A second laugh. “You can’t touch me.”
“You misheard me. I didn’t say the police. I said police that I know.”
He was quiet now, because we both knew ther
