Running from a mobster is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I never thought I’d find myself in this situation. That I’d be chasing a lie, wishing the people who raised me really were my parents, and that I hadn’t seen my true father die right in front of me. I wished I could pretend and stay with him, the man who saved me from the people who stole me and raised me as their own … Marcello.
But he lied to me.
He knew the people who took me weren’t my parents, and he never told me. And I can’t ever forget that he chose not to tell me.
So I run. I run like hell because that’s all I can do when faced with the impossible.
The impossible choice between what is right … and what my heart desires.
Because I know, deep down, that I have already fallen for this man.
But this forbidden love is not meant to be.
He used me. Treated me like a pet. Like something he owned. Just because he bought my soul.
But my love is not for sale.
He may have saved me from that fire at my fake parents’ house, but that doesn’t make him any less of a monster.
I refuse to look back over my shoulder even though I know he must be following by now. When I saw him at Andrea’s home, I feared he might find me, so I kept on running and left her there.
Guilt oozes through my bones, but I don’t stop. I must keep going, for the sake of my pride, for the sake of my safety, for … the sake of my heart. There’s only one way to get out of this mess, and that’s to get as far as I can away from Marcello.
So I run until my legs feel heavy, until my lungs are tight, and my vision gets blurry. My energy is fueled by my adrenaline, but that too is running out. I don’t have much strength left to give. It’s paramount that I find shelter soon.
The city has plenty of nooks and crannies to hide in, and when my body is finally ready to give up, I run into an alley and sit down behind a dumpster. It isn’t much in terms of protection, but at least I won’t be spotted from the streets now.
With my back against the wall, I sink down to the ground and suck in deep breaths, one after the other, until my lungs no longer feel constricted and my head no longer feels like it’s going to explode. I’m tired, so tired. I need to find a place to rest.
But where?
Where do you go when you have nowhere else to go?
When nothing is safe?
The thought of having to survive out here all by myself makes my skin crawl. I won’t be able to go to any of the places I used to go to because Marcello will be looking for me there.
Despite knowing I shouldn’t be angry with myself, I can’t stop the rage at my own weakness from burning up my core. Because I’m not just upset at the choices I made. I’m upset about everything I’ve lost, everything I learned. I’m angry because of him. Because of everything I’m going to miss about him, about us. Everything that made me feel so damn good.
And I hate that. I hate that I already miss him.
He’s bad for me, and I know that.
But a part of me can’t stop longing for his touch, his kiss, his body against mine, and his eyes on me. I loved all of it, and I despise myself for it so much that I have to slap myself.
Stop this, Harper. You know better than that.
I get up from the ground because I need to keep on moving. This is no place to stay. I have to find shelter.
In the dark of night, there aren’t many places to hide. I have no money to stay in a motel, so I opt for the only thing I can think of: an abandoned house on the edge of the city with a wild garden and a shoddy fence about to collapse.
I quickly go inside and close the door behind me, but the cold draft coming in from the holes in the window makes me shiver. Still, the place looks empty. Maybe I can stay here for the night.
“Anyone here?” I call out.
If there is, I’ll run like hell.
I don’t want to be caught trespassing. Then again, I pity anyone who calls this place a home.
“Hello?” I yell again up the staircase, which is missing a few steps. I don’t dare to go up, not without a light anyway. The only light coming into this house right now is the moonlight. But it’ll have to do.
I go into what appears to be the kitchen and have a look inside the cupboards. They’re empty, bar some old pans and dishes no one seems to have used for years. Spiders and cobwebs inhabit every corner, and when I slide my finger across the table, it’s covered in dust.
This place hasn’t been cleaned in quite a while.
I check the fridge, but there is nothing inside, and it doesn’t seem turned on. Then I check the lights. No electricity either. But when I turn on the faucet, water does come out. Lucky me.
Another breeze makes my teeth clatter. I have to find something to keep me warm. Maybe I can make a fire.
Entering the living room, I find a couch, a few cozy-looking seats, and a small television that obviously won’t be working, as well as a fireplace in the corner. There’s still some wood inside, unburned, and it doesn’t seem old like the rest of the stuff.
Maybe I wasn’t the first person to seek refuge here.
Still, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
A small box of matches sits on top of the fireplace, so I light one up and throw it in. It takes a while for the fire to spread and burn the wood, so I wait around to warm myself near the fire. Shadows dance on the walls behind me, and I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I’ll be safe here … at least for tonight.
I don’t know what I’m going to do after this or where I’m going to go.
But I’m too tired to think about it right now.
I search for a blanket and find one in a broken-down cabinet. The old woven fabric smells musty but is otherwise in good condition. I settle down on the couch, using my bag as a pillow, and fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.
When I wake up, my eyes immediately open wide, and I shoot up on the couch. I thought I had dreamed that I stumbled into an abandoned home to make a fire and fall asleep on an old, shoddy couch. Turns out it wasn’t a dream, and waking up from this slumber only reveals a bigger nightmare.
What am I even doing here?
I throw the blanket off and slap myself awake. This is no place for a girl to stay. What if someone finds me here? This could be a drug house or maybe even something worse.
I can’t stay here.
I get up and grab some water with a pan to douse the flames in the fireplace before I refill one of the canisters I had in my bag with water. It’ll last me a few hours at least. Enough to get out of this hellhole. I just need to find a new place to stay, somewhere safe and protected with actual electricity and without mice hiding out in the corners.
Even if I do find another home, this city will never be safe. Not with Marcello running this place. As a powerful don, he has eyes and ears in every corner. I just cannot take the chance.
I have to get out.
So I pack up my things and leave the house as quickly as possible, determined never to come back.
I don’t know where I’m going to go or how I’m going to get there, but I will find a way. It’s already a miracle that I slipped away under his eye, let alone the fact that I managed to escape his grasp when he was right behind me, following me through this very city. Sometimes, I wonder why he hasn’t caught me yet, but I shouldn’t think those things—it’ll only bring bad luck.
I have to focus on where I am right now. Lost in a city without any means of transportation or money, and with too few supplies to last even a day. Could I go somewhere to ask for help? A shelter perhaps or even a relative? No, I’m sure Marcello has them all under watch because he’d expect me to go there.
But what can I do? I walk around the city aimlessly, not knowing where to go or who to talk to. Every time I try to open my mouth to speak to someone, I stop without uttering a single word. I’m terrified I might end up saying the wrong thing, leading me right back into the lion’s den. Any of them could be one of Marcello’s snitches. I can’t trust anyone. Not here.
So I keep walking, walking, walking until I’m overcome with sorrow and despair, wondering if I’m ever going to get out of this mess or if I was already doomed to fail from the moment I decided to leave him.
Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe it was better if I had stayed. At least then, I’d still have a comfy room, a soft bed, a warm meal, and a nice bath.
I shake my head and force the thoughts to disappear as I find myself loitering at a bus station, looking for change.
Suddenly, a clean-cut man in a trench coat bumps into me.
“Sorry,” he mutters under his breath, his face barely visible underneath a nicely cut beard, but before I can say anything, he continues his brisk walk.
And my eyes can’t help but linger on the item he dropped on the ground right in front of me: a wallet.
Without thinking about it, I pick it up. Its weight tells me it’s loaded full with maybe even a credit card or two. I hold my breath. It feels like a sign from heaven. On one side, a tiny angel on my shoulder tells me to call out to the stranger and give him back his wallet … but on the other side, a little devil tells me to keep it.
Use this money to escape.
But that would be stealing, and I was raised better than that. I know it’s wrong.
Yet … I can’t push myself to follow the stranger and tell him this is his.
Instead, I clutch the wallet close to my chest, turn around, and walk away, even as guilt eats me up inside. I check the inside for an ID and find a name as well as an address. And I make a promise to myself then and there. I will repay this debt to this stranger someday.
