by S. Massery
I press my lips together and imagine how I must seem now. Staring down at the man who would’ve been my husband. My future derailed rather quickly, and it’s been downhill since then.
Except the boat.
Loathing fills me. My own mind is working against me now? I squash down everything that happened in Sanremo. The truth is, I could’ve lived with what happened in Italy. It’s Luca’s betrayal that came after that hurts the most.
For the briefest of moments, I’m jealous of Ricardo and the knife in his gut. He has a physical reason for that agony, while me… I’m rotting away with no visible signs. I could carry on like this for a while, until I’m just a dead girl walking. No one would miss me when I die.
The pain of it hits me.
I thought Luca would miss me. I thought he was on my side.
The fact that I trusted that, trusted him, and I turned out to be wrong? That might be the worst part.
I refuse to glance at Luca, even though he’s very clearly eyeing me. His gaze burns my skin, and I can’t imagine what he sees.
People file in, and my phone buzzes against my hip. I can’t check it, so I guess what it says: get away from Jameson and Luca. I murmured an excuse about finding my parents, then dive headfirst into the crowd. It’s thick with their relatives at this point, and they all seem to want to touch me. Again. They didn’t get a good enough look at me at the wedding three weeks ago, apparently.
And they won’t get a good look at me now.
Everyone loves a tragedy, and what’s more tragic than young love struck down too soon?
I shake my head, acting to be more upset than I am, and make it to the far door. I successfully avoid my parents, who stand in the center of the room with some people I recognize from the tower. Concern is etched across their features, and I almost pause. Almost go to them.
I stop myself.
They didn’t come to my rescue. They put me in this position to advance themselves. For protection. I was their sacrifice long before I was Luca’s caged bird.
The only other exit is on the opposite side of the mausoleum, around a corner. I pass a small alcove, headed for that exit, and someone grabs me. I let out a sharp squeak before they release me, and I come face-to-face with my savior.
My double—Gemma West.
She grins at me. She got my dress nearly identical, somehow. Her feet are bare, toenails painted deep red. “You okay?”
I nod, exhaling, and that damn hope inflates me without warning. She’s here. We’re doing this. The swell in my chest is almost unbearable, like I inhaled too deeply. My chest hurts, but in a good way.
“Sorry.” I realize I’m staring. “I just didn’t think this would happen.”
She nods, but she doesn’t do anything drastic, like try to hug me. “I need your veil. And shoes.”
I kick off the heels, and she helps me unclip the veil. She holds it for a moment, arranging her hair like mine. She quickly nails down the finer details—the rest, the broad strokes, she managed to get just right before she even saw me.
“How?”
“Luca’s not original when it comes to dresses,” she murmurs. “We’ve been keeping an eye on everything since Wilder…”
I nod once. “Say no more.”
She turns me around and pulls my hair loose from its coil, shaking it out over my shoulders. Her fingers against my scalp are soothing, and I close my eyes for a moment. Human contact at its finest. A lump forms in my throat.
Why is it that my supposed enemy is the first one to show me a kindness?
Now is not the time to lower my guard. Not with Luca just around the corner.
“I hate pins, don’t you?” She flips my hair over my shoulders.
I face her again, and her eyes go wide. She runs her thumb along the scar, cupping the side of my face. The gesture is, again, unexpectedly kind. I swallow, even though my throat feels closed, and will my eyes to stop burning.
“You have to survive this,” she says firmly.
“I will.”
She smiles and retreats, taking a denim jacket off the armchair beside her. She holds it out for me to put on, and it feels weirdly like another layer of protection. She gives me a pair of sandals and slides my heels on, then gives me a once-over.
“How do I look?” Gemma splays out her hands, doing a small twirl. With the veil, her hair, the dress, and shoes… We aren’t identical, of course. She’s an inch or two shorter than me. Her hair is a shade closer to wheat than honey. Under the veil, I can barely tell that her face is more angular. That her eyes are hazel instead of blue.
If anyone gets close enough to see her eye color, we’re all screwed, anyway.
“Perfect.” My chest is tight. Too tight, really. I struggle to inhale as the reality of the moment hits me. This is it—she’s the distraction, and I’ve got to run. Now or never.
She grips my hand. “This is the fun part, Amelie.”
I tilt my head, confused.
“You get to fly.” She presses a piece of paper into my hand, then throws her shoulders back. She stares at me for a moment, her dark-green-brown eyes burning into me. And then it hits me that she’s analyzing my expression, and she mimics it. The purse of my lips, the set of my brow. Small details that will trip up anyone who has an idea of me in their head. The veil helps, too.
“Go,” she urges.
I always thought I’d pick fight, not flight. It was how I operated in high school. I seized opportunities, crushed girls who didn’t have a backbone. I played my fellow students and turned vicious when I didn’t get my way. I was a mean girl.
But this opportunity is flight, and I seize it.
I step outside and tip my head back. The air is cool, and I take a deep breath. It smells like rain. Looks like it, too, judging from the dark clouds. I quickly reel myself back in. Anyone could see me and shout an alarm.
There’s someone leaning against a blue car, and I have to squint to make sure I’m seeing correctly.
Kai West.
Of course Gemma managed to rope in her cousin. I’m more surprised that her brother isn’t here—but then again, I know Kai. I don’t think I’d be as willing to get into a car with the other one. Colin.
I walk across the grass and pause in front of him.
“Hey,” he greets me. “Welcome to your great escape.”
I glance behind me at the silent mausoleum. We’re well away from where the DeSantis clan parked, but nerves still race up and down my spine. “We’re not gone yet.”
He nods and opens the back door for me. I slide in, huddling deeper into the denim jacket, and then we’re slowly pulling out. I count my heartbeats pounding against my ribs. We pass the row of DeSantis SUVs, the few guards out front. Kai lifts his hand and waves at them, and they respond in kind. I busy myself by staring in the opposite direction.
It’s almost easy how quickly we get out.
Don’t fall apart yet, Ames. I still need to enact the rest of my plan. I focus on all the times I wanted to fall apart growing up, and somehow muscled through. Fights with my parents. Grappling with my future. Lucy being torn away. That old strength is a muscle I haven’t used in a while, and I call upon it now.
“Where do you want to go?”
“My parents’ house,” I say immediately.
He frowns. “You wasted our help on this? Going—”
“No,” I say quietly. “I just can’t leave without my passport.”
It occurred to me while I was stuck in that room that we didn’t go through customs—not when we arrived at the private airport outside of Sanremo and not back in New York. I’m not sure what kind of strings the DeSantises had to pull to make that happen, or why they would even want to.
But I’ll definitely need my passport now, and I can guess exactly where it is.
He goes silent, and I stare out the window. I’m strung up tighter than a mouse trap, ready to explode at the slightest sign of danger. We arrive in Rose Hill quickly, and he coasts to a stop i
n front of my childhood home.
It’s déjà vu. Like I might’ve fallen asleep in the car, and now I’m in the nightmare version of my life. Or maybe I’m still in the room in the tower, destined to beat my fists against the door.
“Stay here,” I say. “I’ll be back in two minutes.”
He sighs but doesn’t stop me. I rush in and straight to Dad’s study, to the safe behind a painting. It’s a bit cliche, but he takes his role in the Mafia life seriously. Apparently. The combination is a mash of their anniversary and my birthday, and it beeps at me before swinging open.
Memories choke me. Sitting in here while he checked over my schoolwork, having ‘the talk’ about Wilder, marriage, expectations. Something Mom should’ve been telling me, but instead Dad took the lead. Every conversation seemed clinical, guiding me to an expected outcome.
Marriage to Wilder, being able to survive as a Mafia wife, becoming a mother.
Our passports are on the top shelf. I flip through them and stuff mine into my purse, then pause. If I take anything else, I’m guaranteeing my parents will look for me. If I don’t… they might just think I’ve been magicked away by Luca again. And that will buy me time, because no doubt Luca won’t be forthcoming about my escape.
He can’t admit failure, not when their deal hinges on our safety.
I’m just assuming that extends to me.
So I ignore the cash, the stacks of paper documents, anything else that could catch my interest, and slam the door shut. I replace the painting and go upstairs, then skid to a stop. The bag I had packed—the one that’s supposed to still be in my car, parking on Luca’s street—leans against the closet.
I kneel, hardly breathing as I go through it. Everything is still in here, like my parents couldn’t decide what to do with it… so they did nothing.
My last stop is the cash. The gift cards. I rip it from under my bed and scramble out, shoving it into my bag.
Before I leave, I pivot and stare at the house. At everything it held for me. My parents. Lucy.
The house stands for nothing good.
I go back upstairs and duck into my parents’ bathroom, which is above the front living room. I plug the tub and the little hole that’s supposed to prevent overflow, then start the water. I do the same in the sink, turning the faucet to full blast. I repeat that in my bathroom and stand back, watching until the sink overflows. It doesn’t take much time. Water pours over the edge, running in streams down the cabinet. It pools on the floor, soaking the bath mat.
It’s the least this house deserves.
I lock the door behind me, wishing it the worst.
Kai shifts when I slide into the passenger seat. I keep my backpack between my legs and click the seat belt into place, then raise my eyebrows at him.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
My cheeks get hot. “Oh, right. Newark Airport.”
He stares at me.
“What?” I snap.
“You? On a commercial flight? I can’t picture you navigating a busy airport—have you done this before? Wait. Did your parents’ jet have to land there?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not an idiot, Kai. They’ll expect me to stay in New York, at the very least. Newark is close, but it’s New Jersey. Totally different jurisdiction. And my parents’ pilot… he doesn’t take orders from me. He’d probably rat me out. And at the very least, he’d need to file his flight plans. That’s more trackable than disappearing on a commercial flight.”
“That’s true,” he allows.
I don’t doubt the DeSantis reach—but they’d need a federal agent on their payroll to get my name. And I have the added benefit of paying cash, forgoing the usual means of tracking someone. It seems like everything has lined itself up correctly.
I can’t fail. I can’t go back. But a large part of my system is still in shock. I can’t really process my escape until I’ve reached my final destination. Until I’m safe.
Safe—that’s a concept I don’t think truly exists. No, I’m going to be as safe as I can be, and then I’ll carve out another path for myself. A bolder Amelie.
I have about five thousand dollars to my name—enough, for now.
It has to be enough.
26
Luca
I have to find her. The thought spurs me out of the mausoleum. I can get in one of the cars and be at the airport in thirty minutes. Twenty if I speed. The need to find her sinks its claws into my throat.
Dad catches my arm and shoves me against the pillar before I even make it to the stairs. I fight him for a second, until he slams me harder. My head cracks on the marble, and I force myself to stop resisting him. A bump on the back of my head is the least of my worries if he chased me out here.
“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He leans in close, eyes narrow.
Yep, he’s pissed.
“Amelie left,” I say. “She can’t—”
“Get it together, Luca. Your whole family is watching you. Seeing how you react to this. Looking for weaknesses. I don’t really give a shit about what Amelie does, because from here on out, she’s not a DeSantis.”
I blink and try to make sense of that.
He shakes his head and sneers. “What, you think they’re all sympathetic? They’re vultures. They want what we have—they think they deserve what we have because we share blood with them. They’re wrong.”
“Dad.” I stare out at the cars. They’re so close, but I’ve never felt more stuck. “I need to go find her.”
“You need to put your family first,” he says. “What about Aiden? When they come for him because they think he doesn’t have his brother’s support? There’s blood in the water, son, and we’re closing ranks to protect ourselves. They’ll just as soon kill Aiden if they see any hint of weakness.”
I blow out a breath. The glint in his eye is dangerous—it’s a warning to back off. And how could I not? I’ve seen how he reacts to our enemies. To plausible threats. He’s merciless—that’s how he got here. And he must’ve had people who supported him.
His brothers and sister.
That’s why he’s standing here today, in control of this family. He fought for it. He wanted it. But he had help along the way. And Aiden… Aiden doesn’t have anyone else left except for me.
The guilt takes the wind out of my sails.
I wince. “Sorry.”
He releases me. “It’s a tough day, which means it’s even more important to stay vigilant. We get through the weekend, and we’ll reassess. Got it?”
I nod. Reassessing sounds like a joke, but it’s the only thing I have right now. So I grit my teeth and do the unbearable. I go back inside, knowing Amelie has just slipped through my fingers.
27
Amelie
My phone vibrates, and I lift my eye mask to read the message.
I’ll be in touch to collect my favor.
A massive one, I would think. I type back that I understand and slip the phone into my pocket. Now that I’m awake, I sit up straight and try to stretch the best I can in my seat. I slide my window shade up and take in the dark sky. Faint traces of pink and gold are creeping up from the horizon, heralding the sun.
We’ll be landing soon, I suspect. Sleep still tugs at me, so I lean back and close my eyes again. I leave the mask up, though, because when the sun hits my face, I want to feel it.
It’s been ten hours since I left New York. Ten hours passed in the blink of an eye, and I can’t help the smile that creeps across my face.
I did it. Partially, anyway. I’m not there yet. I haven’t gone through customs, I haven’t secured a place to sleep tonight. I hate to admit it, but Kai was right: I hadn’t flown on a commercial plane before. I never had to check a bag—I still didn’t, but that’s beside the point. Going through security and customs, waiting for my group number to be called to board, was a brand-new experience.
If I wasn’t constantly looking over my shoulder, I might’ve enjoyed it more.
I was so fucking naive. About absolutely everything.
Somehow, I managed to grow up thinking bad men were above me. That they wouldn’t stoop to mess with me when they had bigger fish to fry. But that’s not right. They will because they can. Because I was beautiful.
But they won’t now. I’ve taken my beauty and turned it into something fierce. It keeps me warm in the center of my chest. I’ve never felt lighter than I do right now.
Gemma told me to fly, and I’ve come untethered. The plan that was slow to come to me has clicked into place, driven by that wild fierceness in my heart. It leads me forward, as if the path is a string and I’m at the end of it, being reeled in.
“You okay?” the man beside me asks. “You’re crying.”
I open my eyes and touch my cheeks. “Oh.”
“You all right?” he repeats.
He’s got an accent I haven’t heard in real life before. A brogue, maybe Scottish.
“Yes.” I wipe away the liquid and rub it between my fingers. Tears of happiness, maybe? I left my old life, but it still drags behind me.
His gaze flicks to the scar above my eye, the hollows of my cheeks. There are dark circles under my eyes, too. I’m sure I look like a train wreck.
He nods once. “You seem like a survivor.”
I am, I almost say, but my stomach flips at accepting that sort of honor. True survivors are so much braver than me. Stronger. So I say, “I don’t think of it that way. I barely made it out, and I’m…” Broken. Can’t finish that thought, either. I’ve got jagged edges and scars aplenty.
Lucy and I used to joke about people who lost their marbles. We’d scatter our colorful marbles across the floor and wonder what it would be like to go crazy.
I fear I’m there.
He taps my arm. “But you’re alive. Right? Breathing and kicking. And now you’re on a plane, all by yourself, and I don’t know a lot of young women who would do that. Perhaps that’s daft of me, but I would disagree with your assessment. You seem like you’ve survived a whole lot, and you’re better for it.”
