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No one was going to save me from this because, in this story, there was no white knight or prince charming, only a sea of villains, and I, cast amongst them.
Emilia
One Week Later…
My heart was pounding a staccato beat as the bright lights of Chicago faded in the side mirror. With Renzo’s help, I’d fled my own engagement party, ran while everyone was distracted and the guards were letting guests on and off the property. Nothing but open road lay before us, and a weight lifted off my chest, allowing me to breathe properly for what felt like the first time since I’d first understood what my father did. It was the untainted air of freedom.
I’d run before and not even made it out of the city, but this time was different. Right now, this rusted old sedan felt like the sweetest freedom, and even the stench of cigarettes and fast food in here couldn’t shadow my elation. But one thing could, and that was my brother sitting behind the wheel, running with me. I knew he was the only reason I’d even made it this far, but when I accepted his offer to help me at the house, I’d never expected him to stay with me. The guilt was like a knife twisting between my ribs.
“Ren…”
He turned down the radio, the twang of country music fading into a low hum. “Don’t start again, Emi.”
“You could just drop me at a bus station and go back. Dad will forgive you.”
The glow from the lights on the dashboard played over the angry set of his jaw. “No. I’m coming with you. End of—”
“You know they’re coming for us, Renzo.”
The moment Giovanni Guerra turned up at that party and his fiancée was nowhere to be found, they’d hunt us like a pack of dogs on a game trail.
“He’s going to come for me. I should have met him, feigned a headache or something. Bought us more time.”
He shook his head. “No. You’re right, he is going to come for you. I will do everything possible to keep you from him but trust me, it’s better for him to think you ran blindly from marriage than you don’t want to marry him. It will be less of a stain on his honor.”
There it was again, talk of honor from heinous men. That was even more reason for Renzo to go home, though.
“I can do this alone, Ren—”
“You really think I’m going to leave you to fend for yourself?”
“Leave me with a gun.”
He snorted, though there was no humor in the sound. “If it gets to that point, you’re already fucked. You need me to help you, so you never have to come face to face with him.”
“And if he finds us?”
He tried to hide it, but I saw the fear painted in the lines of my brother’s face. He didn’t answer me, though, just turned up the music and focused on the road ahead.
We had enough clothes for a week, our passports, and cash. And so, we drove through the night. At every gas station, I was looking over my shoulder, just waiting for one of my uncle’s men or Giovanni to jump out like the boogeyman. We swapped cars and trudged on along the interstate until the oncoming blur of headlights reduced to intermittent big rigs. Finally, the adrenaline waned, and I drifted into a fitful sleep.
When Renzo shook me awake, the sun was rising, the last whispered pink hues of dawn fading against bright skies. In front of us was the Canadian border, like a bright, glowing safe haven. Of course, it wasn’t. They’d follow us anywhere, but it at least felt safer than Chicago. Renzo thought Canada was the last place they’d expect us to go, though. Instead of crossing at the nearest point in Detroit, we’d skirted Minneapolis and crossed at Fort Frances. He flashed our passports to the border patrol, and they let us pass without issue.
The first town we came to, Renzo pulled into a Walmart parking lot, and we ditched the car, changing it out for a minivan he stole. My brother looked ridiculous behind the wheel, but for once, I was too tired and stressed to even mock him for it.
By that evening, having not slept for nearly two days, Renzo could barely keep his eyes open. My father had never let me learn to drive, or I would have gladly taken over. I guess he didn’t want to give me any greater chances of running away. After pleading with him to stop, Renzo finally pulled over at a service station, parking in a far corner at the back of the lot.
He handed me his gun. “Anyone comes, you point and shoot.”
I lifted a brow. “Anyone?”
A small smile cut across his lips. “I mean, if a hot hooker rocks up—”
