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Shit.
“Paolo?”
But I take my phone away from my ear as I focus my attention on the figure that runs out of the door of Graham Hall. It’s the exact entrance I was looking for—but it looks like I don’t need it anymore. Because even in a different black jacket and with her hair tucked under the hood, I still recognize Jacinta Escarra.
Goddamnit. What is she doing?
“What’s happening?”
Thomas stops next to me, completely changed in his demeanor, and it finally pulls me out of my stupor. I immediately take off after Jacinta—but I’m too late. All I manage is to see her climb into a taxi and drive away from under my nose.Shit. But I’m not gonna give up so easily.
I curse in Italian and bring my phone to my ear. “Do you see me?”
“Already on my way.”
And indeed, Omero shows up just a few seconds later and stops right in front of me. Thomas and I jump into the car, and before Louis says anything, I point at the far end of St. Louis Avenue where Jacinta’s car turns on the green light. Omero takes off without another word.
“Gray Toyota, follow it, we have to get her,” I let out in one breath, focused only on the stream of cars in front of us, when I hear Louis click his tongue.
“Shit. Paolo?”
I hum without losing my focus.
“The Mexicans are after us.”
Chapter 4 - Jacinta
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in.
I huff, still trying to catch my breath, and look at the rear windshield over my shoulder. There are a few cars behind mine, probably getting out of the college parking lot, but none of them seem to be in a hurry. And none of them are a white SUV that’s been haunting me for years now.
I just hate that damn car, you know? Every day, it takes me out of my golden cage only to follow Dad’s orders and—
“So which terminal do you need, miss?” the taxi driver suddenly interrupts my thoughts and gives me a grin through the rearview mirror. “For a small tip, I can get you right to the entrance! Two minutes—and you’re already checked in.”
For a small tip, huh? I can’t help but quirk an eyebrow at him. God, the audacity. Isn’t hesupposedto take me to the terminals anyway?
But I’m not in the position to argue now. I have to keep quiet lest Dad’s people notice me in any part of Chicago. Besides, I don’t have much time left. If the driver decides to kick me out of the car or drive purposefully slowly, there’s every chance I’ll be late for the flight, so I swallow my complaint and open my backpack.
It’s full to the brink, and it takes me a moment to find the folder with my documents. I didn’t want to slow myself down with any additional baggage, so I had to pack all I needed here: my favorite shirt, the hoodie I wore at the charity fair, a couple of sleeveless shirts, and my oldest copy ofGone with the Wind.It used to be Mom’s, and Dad gifted it to me on my sixteenth birthday, making it the only truly thoughtful present he’s ever given me.
My gaze lingers on the book, and I feel a pinch of sorrow. Dad is gonna lose his mind when he finds out I’m gone. I know he really loves me, even if his way of showing his love is keeping me in a cage like a pretty bird. If only I was pretty—maybe then, someone would care enough to help me.
But Scarlett O’Hara wouldn’t sit there waiting for someone else to help her, and I breathe out any doubts I have and put the book away, reaching for my passport and ticket instead. Dad can handle living without me—but I can’t handle living with him.
Only I can fight for my new life, and the only chance at true freedom is finally in my hands. When I open the boarding pass and see my name next to the details about my flight to Barcelona, it sends a thrill of excitement through me. I made it. God, I can’t believe thatI actually made it!
Till this very moment, I had this tight feeling in my guts. The horror that something would go wrong and Dad would lock me up for months followed me through every step of my plan. But I believed in myself, and I refused to be scared enough to give up—and here I am. On the way to my dream!
I can’t help a little squeak of excitement, but when the taxi driver glances at me weirdly, I immediately clear my throat to hide it and straighten up. “Terminal five. Hurry up, and I’ll pay double.”
It immediately wipes every trace of confusion and suspicion from his eyes, and the man grins widely and nods a few times, replying in Spanish, “Yes, Señorita.”
I let out another deep exhale and lean on the backseat, turning to the window with a mindless smile on my lips. My hands squeeze the ticket tighter, and my heart picks up its pace in excitement. I already feel like I can breathe freely. God, everything is justperfect. All that is left now is to pass security and get on my flight to Barcelona—and there, I will finally be free.
The driver takes my encouragement seriously, not slowing down all the way to the airport, so when we get there fifteen minutes earlier than I expected, I do leave him a generous tip. I’m too happy to care about the money right now, and when the driver wishes me luck, I chuckle and wave him off.
Today is already my lucky day. What else could I possibly need?
