by Cora Reilly
I wrapped my arms around her. “Thank you so much for risking so much for me. I love you.”
“Create the blog we talked about and post an update the moment you get the chance. I’ll worry if I don’t hear from you tomorrow at the latest,” she said, her fingers digging into my shoulder blades. “Promise me you’ll be happy, Gianna. Promise.”
“I promise.” Could you even promise something like that? My eyes burnt furiously but I fought the tears. This was hard enough without me turning into a blubbering mess. I pulled back, and ran a hand over my eyes.
Aria had lost her fight with tears. “If you ever want to come back, we’ll figure something out.”
“You said it yourself, there’s no going back,” I said, and finally the truth sank in. This was it. This was goodbye to the life I’d known, to my family, to my home, to everything. I took a step back from Aria, dropping my arms. She gave me an encouraging smile. I quickly turned around and hurried toward the security check. If I didn’t leave Aria now, I’d lose my courage. Doubt was already eating away at my resolve, but this was my only chance. I had to take it. I needed to live my own life, needed to make my own decisions, needed to get away from the horrors of our world.
The security guard didn’t stop me. Nobody did. Once I was through security, I risked another peek over my shoulder to where Aria stood. She raised her arm in a wave before she walked away quickly, wiping her eyes.
I watched her back disappear. My heart felt heavy, my throat tight. It wasn’t too late yet. I could still go back. We could figure out some ridiculous explanation for drugging Sandro. Nothing was lost yet.
I peered down at my ticket to Amsterdam, my ticket to freedom, before I headed to the terminal where boarding would start soon.
As I waited, I kept checking my surroundings nervously, but nobody showed up. And why would they? Nobody suspected anything. When Sandro finally woke in a couple of hours and called Luca and Matteo, I’d be on the plane.
* * *
My heart was beating in my throat when I boarded the plane. It was my first time traveling in economy class. Father had always bought business or first-class tickets when we hadn’t used a private jet. I was wedged between a stranger, who insisted on using my armrest, and the window. I barely dared breathing until we were finally up in the air, and even then I kept looking for a familiar face among the other passengers. It took a while before I finally settled back into my seat and relaxed. Now that there was no going back, a flicker of excitement mixed with my anxiety. This was my life and I was finally taking it into my own hands, finally taking back control from those who had ruled every aspect of my existence until now. I was going to be free.
Matteo
Luca’s phone rang. “Yes, Romero?” Silence. “Repeat that.”
I was checking last month’s earnings for our clubs in Manhattan but looked up at the strain in Luca’s voice. His expression made me close the laptop. “What’s going on?”
Luca pushed to his feet. “Romero found Sandro drugged and tied up on the floor of the penthouse. Aria and Gianna are gone.”
I straightened. “You’re fucking kidding.”
“Do you think I would joke about something like that?” he snarled into my face.
I glared right back. “I thought Aria was in love with you.”
For a moment Luca looked like he was going to punch me. Then he whirled around and stormed out of the basement of the Sphere. I hurried after him. “This is Gianna’s fault. This girl is the root of every problem. Why couldn’t you stay the fuck away from her like I told you?” he muttered.
If only I fucking knew. For some reason, I couldn’t get her out my head. And now she’d run. From me.
* * *
“I’m sorry, boss,” Sandro said again, half hunched on Luca’s sofa, eyes bloodshot.
I wanted to fucking kill him for letting her get away. I should have never let her out of my sight. I got up and started pacing the room again, my eyes darting up to the bedroom door. Luca had disappeared with Aria behind it more than twenty minutes ago. She hadn’t run away. That had all been for show. She’d helped my fiancée run, but she’d come back to Luca. She’d come back.
Normally I wouldn’t doubt Luca’s skill to get information out of anybody, but this was Aria, and Luca wouldn’t hurt her. Not even for me, not even when she was the only one who could help me find my fiancée.
“I shouldn’t have taken the morning off,” Romero said from his spot on the armchair.
“One bodyguard should have been enough. I should have been enough. They were only girls,” Sandro muttered.
I didn’t say anything. I was too pissed. My pulse was pounding in my temples. I wanted to smash every fucking piece of furniture into tiny bits. The bedroom door finally opened and Luca came down the stairs. From the look on his face I knew I wouldn’t like what he had to say.
“Don’t tell me you couldn’t get anything out of her,” I snarled.
Luca scowled. “The only thing I know is that Gianna took a plane from JFK. Aria won’t tell me anything, but our informants will let me know which plane Gianna took soon.”
“Great,” I muttered. “And then what? Aria knows Gianna’s plan. They told each other everything. The only way to find Gianna is through your wife.”
“She won’t tell me anything.”
I tried walking past him. “Then let me have a word with her.”
Luca grasped my arm and pushed me back. “You will stay away from her, Matteo.”
“You let her steal your money, your passports. You let her attack our men, let her make a fool out of you and betray you. You should want to punish her. You are Capo.”
Luca’s eyes flashed. I was walking on thin ice but I didn’t give a fuck.
“Aria is my wife. It’s none of your business how I deal with her. I told you that Gianna meant trouble but you didn’t want to listen. You should have never asked for her hand,” he growled.
My fingers longed to grip my knives. I turned my back on him and stalked out onto the roof garden. I needed to cool off before I lashed out at my own brother. Luca and I had fought occasionally when we were younger but it had never been for real. I had a feeling that a fight between us wouldn’t end well today. We were both royally pissed and out for blood.
I braced my arms against the banister and let my eyes wander over New York. Gianna was slipping through my fingers. With every second that passed she was bringing more distance between herself and me. Once she landed wherever she was going, she wouldn’t stop running until she was sure she was safe. She’d be alone, unprotected. What if something happened to her?
Steps crunched behind me and I tensed but didn’t look over my shoulder. Luca stopped beside me. “I called Scuderi. He’s furious and blames us of course.”
“Of course,” I said quietly.
“He’s sending two of his men after Gianna.”
“I will go with them.”
“I figured you would. I told Scuderi as much. You will meet them in Amsterdam.”
I turned. “Amsterdam?”
Luca nodded. “I got word that she took a plane to Schiphol.”
“When do I leave?” I asked, the thrill of the impending hunt spreading in my veins.
“Four hours.”
“I need to leave sooner.”
“Impossible. I tried everything I could.”
“Damn it. Gianna will be long gone when I arrive.”
“You’ll find her. You are the best hunter I know. She doesn’t stand a chance.”
I clapped his shoulder. “You let me go, even though you need me here.”
“You aren’t of much use to me if all you can think about is Gianna.”
“It could take weeks,” I said. “I won’t return until I’ve caught her.”
“I know. If Aria had run, I would have done the same.”
I nodded. I wouldn’t stop until Gianna was mine. I didn’t care if I had to search the entire world, if I had to turn every single ston
e, if I had to squeeze information out of every fucking person in Amsterdam, I would find Gianna.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gianna
I barely got any sleep in the six hours it took the plane to reach Amsterdam. Worry for Aria had taken the place of worrying about getting caught. She was sure Luca wouldn’t see her actions as betrayal, but what if she was wrong? God, what had I done? I shouldn’t have involved her, shouldn’t even have told her about my intention to run away.
When I finally got off the plane and had successfully passed through immigration, I slipped into the first restroom I found and locked myself into one of the small stalls. At the bottom of my bag was the wig Aria had given me. It was long and blonde. Nobody would be fooled by it close up, but it would only have to do until I dyed my hair later today.
Fear clogged my throat when I headed into the waiting area, half expecting someone from New York or the Outfit to wait for me, but that was impossible. Even if Matteo had figured out where I was by now, I was fairly sure that the Famiglia didn’t have close relations to any crime syndicates in the Netherlands, and it would take some time for mobsters from Sicily to travel up all the way to Amsterdam. For now I was safe. At least, until the next plane from the East Coast landed in Schiphol, which would be the case in a few hours.
I quickly left the airport with my suitcase, overwhelmed by the sound of people speaking in languages I didn’t understand. I knew a few words in Dutch but hadn’t bothered learning the language; the Netherlands had never been intended as more than a stopover.
I hailed a taxi and let it take me to a non-descript middle-class hotel in the city where I booked their cheapest room. Despite feeling tired from jet lag and the flight, I only deposited my suitcase in the room before venturing out again to buy a few items I needed.
Two hours later I was back in my small hotel room with light brown hair dye, scissors, a couple of new outfits that helped me fit in better than my super expensive designer clothes, as well as a pre-paid cell phone and a small laptop. After I’d connected my laptop with the wireless internet of the hotel and set up the blog Aria and I had talked about, I wrote a short post, saying that a new journey had begun and that I’d safely arrived at my destination. It was all a bit cryptic and nobody would probably read my blog except for Aria. I resisted the urge to write something more personal, or worse use my new phone to call her. I wanted to hear her voice, wanted to know if she was okay, but I couldn’t risk it. Even this blog was already risky. Instead I slipped into the bathroom and changed my hair.
Two hours later I stared at my new reflection. My hair was caramel brown and I’d cut it into a bob that reached my chin. Of course that wouldn’t stop people from recognizing me from close up but unless I paid a surgeon to redo my face, which I had no intention of doing, a new haircut would have to be enough. I’d just have to move from city to city until I was sure that Matteo had moved on to another target and I was safe. That would probably take a while. Matteo had told me numerous times that he wouldn’t give me up and I had a feeling he meant it.
I wouldn’t give him a chance to catch me. Tomorrow, I’d leave Amsterdam and head for Paris, and who knew where I’d be the day after that? This was a new beginning with endless options.
* * *
I stared up at the white ceiling of my hostel room. I’d been living in twenty different places in the last three months, never staying anywhere for more than a week at a time. Sometimes when I woke in the morning I wasn’t sure where I was, sometimes I even thought I was back in Chicago, and sometimes I found myself longing for it. Not for my father and the rules of our world, but for Fabi and Lily and Aria, and sometimes even for Mother.
I sat up, groaning, and went through my usual morning habit of reminding myself of my current pseudonym and everything that encompassed her before I got out of bed. It was almost noon. I still hadn’t figured out any kind of routine. Most days I spent exploring the city where I stayed while always checking my surroundings. This fear of being followed, of being hunted, would that ever stop? I doubted it. Whenever I saw men in dark suites, panic filled me. I’d lost count of the times I’d imagined I’d seen Matteo from the corner of my eyes.
I hadn’t made any real friends yet, which wasn’t all that surprising; I never stayed anywhere long enough to build a connection. Which was better anyway. I couldn’t risk getting close to anyone yet, maybe never. That didn’t mean I was alone. I always stayed in youth hostels wherever I went, and met people from all over the world. Of course I couldn’t tell them anything about me, not even my name. Currently I was calling myself Liz, short for Elizabeth, and was spending my year before college abroad road-tripping through Europe. That was pretty much my cover story wherever I went, only my name changed.
Lying to everyone 24/7 made any kind of friendship hard. I opened my laptop and checked my blog, which I still updated almost every day, even though I hadn’t gotten a comment from Aria in weeks. In thirty-one days to be exact. My eyes darted to my cell phone on the nightstand. As so often recently I felt the almost irresistible urge to call her and find out what was keeping her from visiting my blog. I had a feeling it was for my safety. In her last comment she’d warned me “not to waste time in one spot because there was too much to explore in Europe.” I’d taken that as a hint that Matteo might be after me and had jumped from city to city in the last few weeks, never staying anywhere more than one or two days, but I was growing tired of running constantly. I’d lost weight, and most of my clothes hung off me like they belonged to someone else. I wanted to belong again, to find a place to call mine.
I got dressed and stuffed my clothes into my backpack. I’d gotten rid of my suitcase four weeks into my journey. It wasn’t practical lugging a heavy suitcase wherever I went. I didn’t need most of my old belongings anyway. When would I ever wear evening dresses and high-heeled Louboutins again? That life was over. I stared down at my shabby backpack, at my cheap sneakers and jeans, and for a moment longing for something I’d thought I’d never miss came up in me. When I’d decided to run away from the mob, I’d known I’d miss my siblings horribly, and so far not a single day had gone by that I hadn’t considered returning to Chicago just to see them again, to talk to Aria again, to have a steady home again, but so far I’d managed not to miss the luxuries my former life had afforded me, at least not this insistently. So why was I suddenly missing the things I’d despised?
Everything I’d ever owned had been paid for with blood money, and even my flight up till this point had been financed that way. But I was scarily low on cash and would have to find a job in the next place I stayed, though that would mean staying longer than just a couple of days unless I tried my hand at pickpocketing, which wouldn’t really be a big improvement over mob money, except that nobody got killed for it.
I swung my backpack over my shoulder and exited my small room. Fifteen minutes later, I’d checked out and left my alter ego “Liz, short for Elizabeth” behind. I’d become someone new for my next destination. Maybe a Megan. It was August but heavy clouds draped over Vienna as I headed toward the train station. I’d loved the regal buildings but it was time to move on from Austria. I’d been living in the same country for almost two weeks and was getting antsy.
After I’d boarded my train to Berlin, I checked my cell-phone, a stupid habit I still hadn’t dropped. I never got a message from anyone. The date caught my eyes. August, 15th. The day I was supposed to marry Matteo.
Unwantedly the kiss we’d shared flashed in my mind and a small shiver ran down my back. I’d kissed three guys in the time since I’d arrived in Europe, all of them cute foreigners who weren’t interested in anything lasting, just like me, but none of those kisses had come even close to what I’d felt while kissing Matteo. Maybe it was because he’d had more practice than any other guy. Matteo was a gigolo, there was no doubt about it.
But what worried me most was that I found myself comparing every guy I met to Matteo, and they always fell short. They weren’t as good-
looking, as interesting, they didn’t have a six-pack, and most importantly being in their proximity didn’t give me a thrill. It annoyed the hell out of me that despite being thousands of miles away from Matteo, he still held some power over me. I wished I’d never let him kiss me then I wouldn’t have that problem.
I’d just have to find a nice guy who could make me forget Matteo and his annoyingly sexy and arrogant smile. Maybe my next destination, Berlin, would help with that.
* * *
I only stayed four weeks in Berlin before I decided to move on. Something hadn’t felt right, or maybe I wasn’t used to staying in a place for a longer period of time anymore. At least I’d worked as a waitress for the last three weeks and managed to earn some money. It wasn’t much but enough to buy me my train ticket to Munich and food for the next couple of days. I didn’t have anything left for a hotel room however, so that was a major problem.
I had spent too much at the beginning of my flight, never having learned to be economical. Money had never been an issue growing up. If there was one thing that women in the mob never had to forego, then it was money. I was a spoiled brat, that much I’d come to realize.
The moment I arrived in Munich I knew this could work. I loved everything about the city, but there was still the problem that I didn’t have any money to pay for a room. I didn’t want to spend the night on the streets. I wasn’t sure how safe it would be. As I walked through the city center, I noticed a few people singing and playing instruments, and they seemed to make a fast buck with it. There was always a heap of Euro coins in the hats they’d put on the ground.
I could play the piano. Father had forced Aria, Lily, and me to take lessons from the moment we could talk but I had neither a piano nor a keyboard I could use to make music. I had a decent singing voice, definitely nothing to get excited about but at least it didn’t make people want to hold their ears. Maybe it was worth a try.
