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I walk a block down Hester Street, and as soon as I’m out of sight of the compound, I find an ATM and withdraw the maximum amount of cash I’m allowed in one day before finding a taxi.
“Hi, can you take me to the closest hotel?” I ask the driver, as I throw my case onto the back seat and climb in after it.
“Sure,” he agrees. “Got a price range in mind?”
I shake my head. “No, whatever is easiest to get to from here is fine,” I assure him.
He indicates before pulling into the busy Manhattan traffic, and as I watch through the rear window, as the ‘Little Italy’ sign gets smaller, then disappears, it feels like a load is lifted from my shoulders.
My taxi drops me off outside the Wall Street Holiday Inn, and as soon as it drives away, I cross the road and hop on the subway. I don’t have a location in mind; I just ride the train until I feel like getting off. Then, I cross the platform and jump onto another train. I don’t know where it’s going. The location doesn’t matter; I’m only interested in ensuring I’m not being tailed.
So far, it all seems okay. Nobody stands out or appears to be following me, but yeah, you can call me a suspicious bitch. After everything I’ve been through, I’ll freely admit to being distrustful of almost everything, and I’m not going to apologize for it, either. It'll be an icy day in hell before I let anyone get the drop on me again.
I’ve no idea where I’m supposed to go. No preconceived ideas.
My father’s out. No way I’m going back there after what he did. I wouldn’t trust him not to try to arrange another merger so he can line his pockets by selling me again. As far as I’m concerned, that man is dead to me.
And although my first instinct is to ask Ciaran for help, I just… can’t.
I’m still too conflicted when it comes to that man, so I push him out of my mind. I have to think of myself and no one else. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the only person you can really, fully rely on is yourself.
When I’m convinced I’m safe from prying eyes, I finally get off the train. I haven’t been taking much notice of where I am, and I’m happy to keep it that way because it means no one can second-guess my actions.
When I get to road level, I stop someone and ask for directions. “Excuse me, is there a phone shop close by?
The young girl nods. “Sure, halfway down the block on the left-hand side,” she tells me, pointing the way.
I thank her and hurry off. I don’t have anyone to keep in touch with, but that’s not what I want it for.
One new handset and phone plan later, and I hail another cab, this time asking to be dropped at a random park that happens to be close to a cheap, unassuming motel I googled on my new cell phone. One which accepts cash and doesn’t require ID. But still, I sit in the park for a good ten minutes to ensure I’m alone. Paranoia has nothing on me.
It’s been a grueling day, one that’s proven my health is still in the balance. I feel physically and mentally exhausted, but also incredibly elated.
By the end of the day, I’ve gotten myself a bed for the next few nights.
“Room three,” the bored-looking receptionist tells me as he passes me the key card, not so much as looking my way.
3 - I decide I love that number. The number that signifies freedom.
The first thing I do with my new phone is to set up another bank account. Call me distrustful, but I want this money put into a bank of my own choosing, not one handed to me by the mafia.
With that done, my next stop is a pharmacy to check on the other issue.
After that, it’s time to hunt for an apartment.
I’m also going to buy myself the biggest, most indulgent chocolate cream cake I can get my hands on to celebrate my newfound freedom.
It’s time to party, even if it’s a party of one.
Although, as I sink onto the bed, I accept sleep might have to come first.
The following morning, I wake feeling more rested than I have in longer than I care to remember. The cheap mattress might be a far cry from the luxury of the Cosa Nostra compound, but freedom means I’ve slept better than in any expensive bed with thousand thread count sheets.
With the exception of those nights spent in Ciaran’s arms.
I push the unwelcome voice aside and focus my day instead. I have more important things to consider than a man whose presence in my life would have me walking right back into the world of organized crime I’ve recently walked away from, no matter how my heart tries to disagree.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve checked the instructions three… four… five times. More.
