I feel a sick day coming on.

Or about a week’s vacation. That sounds better. No one will blame me. It’s been an interesting few days, to say the least.

Framed for murder. Twice.

Bullied by — not one — but two Irish mob families.

Oh, also, I have a daughter and maybe a little crush on her mother but I’ve always been a sucker for the unattainable woman.

I drive the taco truck through Boston toward Daniel’s lot. Somehow, the little things that usually annoy me don’t. I don’t grit my teeth at the slow-moving Boston traffic or the constant, unending rain plaguing the streets for the last two weeks.

Instead, I feel warm. Possibly fuzzy. A little hungry. For the first time, the future feels different.

I don’t expect to be a part of Charlotte’s life. It’s not like that. But the world looks a little brighter because she’s in it. It’s strange — and scary — but I can’t explain it better than that.

I arrive at the lot and park the truck in its spot. I get out and count down the moments until I can go home. Go inside. Shoot the shit with Daniel for thirty seconds to see if we’re out of TBD territory yet. Leave. Hail a cab home and figure out what to do about Morgan McGregor.

I walk into the office hub and wave hello at the vegan truck ladies sipping coffee in the corner. They smile and wave back as I pass by. One moment down. I glide down the hall toward the office. Hopefully, he’s not too chatty tonight.

I poke my head inside. “Hey, Dan—”

A fist slams into my face. Spots fill my vision and I lose my balance between two men in black suits.

“What the—”

They jerk me down to my knees and yank my arms behind my back. I feel the cold clink of handcuffs locking my wrists together as I force my eyes up.

Daniel Quinn comes into view behind his desk as my vision returns, sucking on a thick cigarette. His other hand lays in his lap beneath the desk.

“Evening, Milo,” he says.

I try to push up onto my knee but one of the suits forces me back down. “Hey. So, Daniel… What’s up?”

He takes the cigarette from his mouth. “I told Ma I’d quit,” he mutters, staring at it. “But it’s been… a rough week.”

My eyes twitch from him to the men behind me and back again. “I understand completely.” He glares at me behind the gentle, gray wisps of smoke. “You’ve got a lot going on and I sympathize… but why am I in handcuffs? What, uh… what’s going on?”

Daniel pushes a photo forward and it falls off his desk. It slips down to the floor in front of me and lands near my knees.

It’s from last night. Me and Anna on her porch. It feels nice for a brief second until the horror sets in.

“Okay, hold on,” I say.

“After our last conversation, I figured I’d have you followed for a while,” Daniel says. “Just to be sure you were still on the up-and-up after your brief stint behind bars.”

I deflate. “Daniel…”

“You went from my office…” he points at the photo, “straight to her house.”

“This isn’t what it looks like.”

“It looks like you having an intimate, private chat with a fucking cop.”

“Okay. Yes,” I say with a nod. “That’s exactly what it is… but it had nothing to do with you or this business. It was a private matter.”

“About what?”

I hesitate for a moment too long. “It’s private.”

He slams his cigarette out on his desk, completely missing the ashtray by several inches. “I never thought you’d betray me like this, Milo. I trusted you.”

“I didn’t betray you!” I tug at my cuffs behind me. “No betrayal. That was a betrayal-free private matter.”

He raises his hand from beneath the desk and sets it on top, along with Beretta clutched in his fingers.

“Ah, crap,” I mutter.

“People under my employ don’t have betrayal-free private matters with cops,” he growls. “First Doogan. Now you.”

“No, not me. He was a cop. I’m not a cop!”

“When my people talk to cops, that’s crossing a line. When cops talk to my people, that’s crossing a line.” He gestures to the men behind me. “Go back to her house, drag her out onto the front lawn, and blow her brains out.”

My chest clenches. “Wait, wait. Hey. Come on…” I say. “She has a kid. Be reasonable, man.”

“Is that right?” He lays his palm on his chest and looks to his men again. “Kill the fucking brat, too.”

I bite down as he laughs. The men walk out to follow their orders.

“You know…” Daniel stands up from his chair. “I felt badly earlier, knowing what I’d have to do the next time I saw you. But then, I realized that fucks like you are a dime-a-dozen in Boston. I felt better.”

“Cool,” I say, seething.

He points the gun at my forehead.

“Bye-bye, Milo,” he says.

I blink. “You’re gonna do it in here?”

He pauses. “Sure. Why not?”

“In your office?” I glance back over my shoulder. “You’re gonna get blood and brain matter all over the place. A shot to the face, you’re looking at nose cartilage and teeth, maybe, too. You don’t want that kind of evidence following you around all day in your office.”

Daniel slowly lowers the gun to his side. “I’ll have the cleaners take care of it.”

I scoff. “Yeah, sure, if you want it to smell like ammonia in here. That shit takes forever to air out. We’re talking months. One drop on your clothes and it’s completely ruined. No—” I shake my head as I rise up off my knees. “You and me, we’ll go around back, find a nice, quiet place in the grass, and—”

I head-butt him. Hard. The pain fires through my forehead, rattling my brain down to the stem but it probably doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as the pop I hear as I slam into his nose.

He falls off balance long enough for me to bolt from the office. I fly past the others in the hallway with my arms lagging behind me. I send all my strength to my legs and race for the entrance.

“Hey! Stop that rat bastard!”

I hear Daniel behind me, along with the loud pop of gunfire. Bullets explode into the walls by me but I keep running amid the screams of other drivers taking cover in the sitting area.

I burst through the front door to the outside. A black car rolls past the gate across the parking lot. The men from Daniel’s office. They’re going after Anna and Charlotte.

The automatic gate starts closing. I run faster, pumping my knees to make it in time. If I get locked in here, I’m fucked. I have no arms. I can’t climb the perimeter fences without hands and the barbed wires along the top would make it instantly more difficult even if I could.

The gate keeps rolling closed. A few more bullets bang behind me, forcing me to zigzag as I come closer to the gate. A scream echoes from the sidewalk and pedestrians run in the other direction away from gunfire. My chest is ready to burst. Adrenaline breathes new life through my limbs.

I slip through the gate with seconds to spare but I’m not done running. They’ll just open it again and race me down, this time in a car. I need to get off the street. I need to get to Anna’s before they do.

“Taxi!” I shout, catching sight of one down the block. It lingers at a red light ahead of me and I race in its direction. “Taxi! Taxi! Taxi!”

The light turns green but I kick the bumper to keep it stopped.

“Taxi! Wait!”

I turn around and grip the back door handle with my cuffed hands, my fingers fumbling at the strange angle before I successfully get it open. I jump into the backseat and fumble just as much in my foolish attempt to close the door again.

I finally get it latched and I look forward at the driver. An older woman with bright, gray hair twists back to stare at me in disbelief, her wire-framed eyes rightly focused on the handcuffs behind me.

“Ma’am,” I clear my throat, “I will give you a one-hundred-dollar tip if you drive really fast toward Brookline and don’t ask me any questions.”

She turns forward and steps on the gas.