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“Run, my dear, from anything
That may not strengthen
Your precious budding wings.”
Hafez
Aria
I was Bree,once upon a time. Then a monster kidnapped me, and I was reinvented as Bianca Carlotti-Agosti, a mob boss’s wife.
Today I answer to the name Aria, and I live a life as far removed from Boston high society as possible.
Though I know in my heart Bianca still lives. Buried deep, but she’s there. Holding a candle to my past in the darkness inside my sick and ravaged soul.
“Mrs. Lowe?Hello? Aria Lowe?”
The impatience in the receptionist’s tone indicates she must have been calling my name for some time.
I jump to my feet and immediately sway as dizziness hits.Whoa. I reach out blindly and feel the comforting hands of someone on my arm, my back. Steadying me.
“Careful, love. Blood pressure is all over the place during pregnancy.”
I blink and focus on the woman next to me. Another patient by the look of her belly, which is even more swollen than mine. I’m more than six months along now. She must be almost ready to give birth. She grins at me and releases my arm when I smile back.
“I should know,” she adds in a wry tone. “This is my fourth.”
“Wow. Congratulations. And thank you.” My manner remains reserved, though I’m grateful for her assistance. I’m not used to socializing with people these days. Even this short exchange fills me with anxiety.
Don’t be stupid. It’s a pro-bono-style obstetrics clinic in downtown Cleveland, held once a fortnight for those who can’t afford a more standard level of health care. Or those who can’t afford for their personal details to be added to the proper health care system.
Those like me.
On the run from my mob boss husbandandthe Feds who want to convict him.
It’s not Canada, the place to which I intended to run. Not by a long shot. But Cleveland was where the bus was headed the day I arrived in Augusta. I jumped off one bus and looked for the first one out of there. And somehow, when I arrived here, I finally felt safe.
For the first time in months, I felt like no one was watching me. I could breathe at last.
This city is not the place I am likely to run into anyone from my old way of life. Nor is this clinic.
Don’t be anxious, I tell myself. It’s not good for the baby.
“I’m Nita,” the woman says, indicating the receptionist, who is now scowling my way. “I’ve seen you here before. Better go before you lose your spot in the queue.”
“Oh, yes. She doesn’t look happy.” I start toward the desk, but then impulse stays me.
I turn back to Nita. She’s older than my twenty-five years, perhaps by ten years or so, but her eyes are kind, and she seems almost motherly in her manner.
How nice it would be to have a kind presence in my life. How nice to haveanypresence in my life. The loneliness of my current existence is almost crippling.
I open my mouth to suggest we go for a coffee after our appointments are done—though in truth, it would be tea rather than coffee as I can’t face the taste of coffee at present—but in the end, I don’t say anything. I simply shoot her another quick smile and head off to my appointment.
The last time I had friends, my husband’s goons shot them.
I can’t afford to get close to anyone anymore, no matter how lonely I feel. I couldn’t bear it if I was the cause of anyone else getting hurt.
