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I hate most of all that the monster haunting the shadows of my life is the father of my child. And that I can no more switch off from loving him than I can stop breathing.
Hatred and love, he said once,are two sides of the same coin. He was correct. Rio is my life, and he will likely herald my death.
I stop rocking and lay my hands over my swollen abdomen.Little one, I promise that I will do everything I can to try and keep you safe.
The thought of protecting my child galvanizes me into action. I lurch up to my feet and rush around the apartment, grabbing my backpack out from the shelf at the top of my wardrobe. Most of the belongings here are not mine—they came with the apartment, which was rented fully furnished. So, it only takes a few minutes to shove my meager collection of clothing, cash, and toiletries into my bag.
Adrenaline fuels my movements, and my limbs tremble, but I can’t afford to waste another minute. He’ll be here soon. Or at least, his men will be. And I can only imagine what instructions they may have been given.
I betrayed a Mafia boss. I may still be his wife, but in their world, I probably deserve to die.
Finally, the rings sitting on the counter are the only items left of mine. I study them for several seconds, tempted to leave them as a sign to Rio’s men when they come for me. A sign that I don’t care about him or our marriage. Afuck-youmessage that he will receive loud and clear.
But that would be a lie. And when I raise my gaze to my haunted reflection in the mirror above the sink, I read the truth in my stricken expression.
Of course I care. I caredesperately. If he agreed to give up the Mafia life, I would run back to him in a heartbeat.
But he won’t. He can’t. I don’t need to ask him the impossible, as Iknowhim. The life into which he was born is part of his blood. The death and violence may taint his soul, but it is part of who he is.
I grab for the rings and shove them deep down in my backpack, trying to ignore the traitorous voice inside my head that taunts, “But you were born to that life too, Bianca. Your blood—your soul—is as dark and tainted as his.”
One last look around the small space that has been my home for the past three or so months, and I tug at the door, half expecting to see Rio’s goons already in the hallway.
Don’t be stupid, I tell myself. Whoever was here needs time to get the message to Rio, and then he’ll need time to arrange a team to head here and… And do what? Kill me? Kidnap me yet again? Hurt me, as I surely must have hurt him?
I have no idea what he may have planned for me. But they’ll have to catch me first.
I’m sure he doesn’t have anyone already on the ground here in Cleveland—his reach can’t possibly be everywhere, and I don’t see why this city would be on his radar at all.
I have time to get away. I’m sure of it.
I rush for the stairs, tripping halfway down the last flight in my haste. I clutch at the handrail to steady myself and proceed more sedately down to the first level. I cannot afford a twisted ankle, or worse, any harm to come to my baby if I fall.
Slow and steady, Aria. I chant the words in my head, over and over, like a calming incantation.Slow and steady, one foot in the front of the other, and soon, you will be hidden away once more.
I reach the street and look both ways for signs of pursuit before I start toward the nearest bus stop, only a few doors down from my building. No dark sedan or town car in sight. No goons in suits. Not yet, anyway.
I figure I’ll take the first bus that comes along, and then decide what to do next once I’m on my way. I’ll have to give up the name Aria Lowe, of course. He will have that information by now, given they found my place and broke in.
I’m so tired of changing my name. Tired of trying to reinvent myself, when all I wanted less than a year ago was to head out and enjoy my twenty-fifth birthday by celebrating with an espresso martini.
That seems so long ago now. A lifetime. More than that, even.
I fought to keep Bree Walker, but in the end, I accepted that Bianca Carlotti was my destiny; my birthright. The name Aria is useful, and I wish Iwasher, but I’m not. It won’t matter what I call myself, now or any time in the future. Bianca Carlotti-Agosti is who I will always be, deep down inside, whether I want to be her or not.
I’m studying the timetable on the side of the bus stop, trying to work out whether to wait here or leave this area on foot and find somewhere else from which to catch my next bus to nowhere, when the purr of an engine behind me jerks my heart rate almost to a stop.
Ordinary cars don’t sound so smooth, so powerful.
Slowly, I turn, knowing what I’ll see before the truth materializes in front of my eyes.
A large black limousine glides to a stop beside me, and I want to scream and scream and scream because I know exactly what it means. But when I open my mouth, nothing comes out except a tiny whimper.
Until the rear door opens, and one black-trouser-clad leg emerges, followed by another. When the large-framed man emerges and unfolds to his full height, I gape at the apparition before me. My previous whimper turns into a moan.
Because this is not one of Rio’s goons. It is not Danelli, Rio’s second, who I’ve been watching for over my shoulder ever since I ran.
Standing in front of me, staring down with the coldest expression I have ever seen on any human being, is Rio Agosti himself.
