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“Sorry, I’m really busy.” Forever. I move behind the counter, putting the glass case barrier of high priced handbags between us.
His eyes narrow a bit at my rejection, but the smile doesn't falter.
“Just stopped in to say I ran into Xavier in the Miami airport not too long ago,” he verbally punches me in the gut. “Said he was going wherever he wanted when I asked where he was headed.” His calculating blue eyes hold mine. “He said to give you this.”
He slides the final death blow on the counter. I jerk a little, as if he kicked me, and slip my hands in my jeans pockets so he doesn't see them shake.
The turtle dove.
The other half of the gold charm I still wear around my neck.
“You alright? I'm sorry. He was never good enough for you.”
I'm not dumb enough to believe he’s sorry. This is what’s dangerous about someone like Ian: his blade of cruel intentions is coated with false concern. And as he slides the knife in and guts you, he covers the duplicity with an ‘Are you ok?’
By some miracle, I hold back the sob welling in my throat. Internally, I weep that Xavier is roaming the world, and I'm waiting for his return. Outward, I smile, fighting the ache in my chest. The last grain of hope I've been holding onto slips through my fingers.
“You should go.” I give a head nod to the garish marble lobby where his father stands typing on his phone. “We all have our captors, don't we?”
He gives a little rap on the glass case. “Next time, Princess.”
There won't be a next time. One way or another, I'm leaving here.
A few weeks later,I go to the one person who has the power to set me free.
I drop the acceptance papers to MECA that have been stashed for two years on my mom’s desk.
“What's this?” she asks, picking up the creased envelope.
“This is my ticket away from the Mafia,” I answer, finally speaking the word I've held in so long.
“Rhiannon,” she scolds me, as if the room is wired, “what are you talking about?”
“You think I don't know?” I lean down, brazen with the need to get away, brace my hands on the desk and look straight in her worried eyes. “I've known for years what Dad does. He's a criminal. Just because you keep me a prisoner doesn't mean I’m oblivious to all the things he is.”
She shakes her head, red tendrils escaping from the loose bun on top of her head. “You're not a prisoner.”
“We’re all prisoners,” I spit back. “Unless you're lucky enough to disappear.”
“Listen, I know you're still upset about Hannah and then Xavier leaving,” she stands, with more life in her than I've seen in years, crossing around the beechwood desk, “but you cannotsay these things.”
“I think I've been silent for too long.” Bitter tears flood my eyes. “You don't miss your voice? Well, I do.”
“Rhiannon, there is no normal life in our world.” Empathy etches itself on her face, transforming her into someone who looks like they actually care. “You can run forever, but there is no escaping. Don't fool yourself into believing otherwise.”
“Please, I'm begging you. If you love me, don't sentence me to the prison you live in,” I whisper.
For a moment, the mother I remember from so long-ago surfaces. The one who took care of me and loved me before Hannah stepped in as a replacement. “I'll make it happen.”
Chapter 8
Rhiannon
24 years old
MECA College
I see him, even though he thinks I don't. His black wool coat and beanie do nothing to disguise him. I've named him Maximus in my mind. It’s a good strong name for the brawny man who has lingered in the shadows for years following me everywhere. I’m sure in a different life, we’d be great friends. Maybe grab a coffee or a burger. In this one, no.
