I frown at the window.
Whatisthe plan? It’s been hours since I last considered what needs to happen. With Pavel hanging around, I don’t have the privacy to talk out loud to my belly.
I sweep one hand over my stomach while holding my phone with the other. “I need a place to go. Any ideas?”
“I can find a cheap Airbnb. Make up a name for yourself.”
“Susan Flowers.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Without thinking, I curl in on myself. My own best friend is questioning my judgment. And why shouldn’t she? I’m a pregnant, hormonal mess caught in the middle of a massive Mafia war. A war that is happening because of me.
I sigh. “Yes, I’m sure. Can you drive me?”
“Yes. I’m searching for places now.”
“Thanks, Willow. This means a lot to me.”
So does your silence.But I don’t type that.
I know Willow has some thoughts about this grand escape. She’s been kind enough to keep those thoughts to herself, which I’m grateful for. Because I don’t think I can handle more criticism. I’ve heard enough from Pavel.
A weird sense of finality washes over me as I delete my text thread with Willow.
This is really the end, isn’t it?Thunder rumbles overhead, and the wind whistles louder.I’m finally leaving. For good.
Relief mixes with apprehension. What if I can’t get out of the house? What if someone spots me? What if I get to where I’m going and someonerecognizesme?
Pavel made a dark promise—that he would find the baby and me wherever we go. I don’t doubt his abilities.
But I also don’t doubt mine.
I spent most of my life running with my brother, hopping from one place to another without being seen. Sometimes we had help from loyal caporegimes. But most of the time, we wandered by ourselves. Stoops, abandoned buildings, alleyways, bridges—there wasn’t a place we didn’t sleep or call a temporary home.
I’m used to this. I’mgoodat this.
I touch my stomach lightly.But I don’t want to be.
What kind of life am I making for my child if I’m always on the run? My child isn’t going to know a peaceful night’s sleep—not when I can hardly sleep myself.
I hang my head.If I don’t try, then I’ve already failed. That’s what my father would say if I ever met him.
My memories are hazy of my father, no more than phantoms imprinted in the mind of a three-year-old child. In my mind, I smell a robust cologne, hear a booming laugh, and recall the warm tightness of hugs—loving embraces in spite of what I can only imagine was an intimidating appearance.
Memories of Daddy could never scare me. Not like memories of Jonas.
I turn away from the window.
That’s all in the past. I can’t control or change those things.I head for the hallway.But tonight, I can change my future. And it all starts by walking out that front door.
As I walk downstairs, I check my phone repeatedly, hoping to hear back from Willow soon. I’m not watching where I’m going when I step into the foyer.
And I run directly into Karina.
I clutch my chest. “Jesus! You scared me. I almost screamed.”
“Good thing you didn’t. I wouldn’t want to interrupt the brigadiers in the other room.”