Page 27 of Deadly Don's Baby Contract

Cash is king when you want to hide away, so I take out the maximum daily limit and get myself a phone, a baseball cap, and some tom-boyish mom jeans. Changing in the public bathrooms makes my stomach roll. This is disgusting. The smell alone is enough to make me gag.

I want to wash my hands, but not in here. There’s a strong possibility I might catch something from the faucet. I’m going to need a better plan than hiding in the mall toilet stall. Holding my breath to block the stench, I try to think. Where can I go? Who will help me? Who can I trust? Franco. No, stop, stupid brain, you can’t trust a murderer. That is not an option. I just escaped him.

There are not many people in the world you can trust when you’re running away from the mafia. No one wants to get involved in that sort of trouble. Not knowingly. I need to find someone who has no clue what is happening but will help me if they think I’m in trouble. An old friend. One who I knew when we used to memorize phone numbers. I know where to go. It’ll give me a few hours to come up with a real plan.

Outside, I hail a cab and ask them to drive me across town and toward the city limits. “Slow down. I will tell you which house to stop at. I don’t know the number.”

The driver mutters under his breath, but I don’t give a shit. I will know the house when I see it. It has a green door and a gnome, who now looks weathered to hell.

“Stop.” This is it.

I pay cash and wait until he’s out of sight before I walk up the still-familiar pathway. I used to come here after Sunday school. We’d eat lunch and play in the backyard while our fathers smoked cigars. Loredana was my friend before we moved, and our lives changed.

My heart thunders. Maybe they still live here—even if it’s her mother. I know I can ask for help here. They’ll understand why I ran. Her family was like mine. Dark. There is an eerie silence. Maybe no one is home. Running away without a plan was almost as stupid as the two men I ran from.

“Coming,” a voice hollers from inside.

Thank. Fucking. God. I cross my chest like a good catholic girl and pray that a friendly face opens the door and welcomes me inside.

The door opens wide, and I am met with Loredana’s green eyes. Wide with shock, she’s silent for a moment. “Aria?”

“I need help, and I had nowhere else to go,” I say, and for a moment I think I might cry—then I push that weak shit right back down. “Please,” I whisper when she stays silent.

“Come inside.”

She steps aside, welcoming me in; nothing has changed—not the rug, the pictures on the wall, or the smell of fresh coffee. It’s a time capsule. She locks and deadbolts the door behind me, and then I follow her to the kitchen. This is awkward. Maybe I shouldn’t drag her into this.

“Who are you running from?” she asks me, not beating about the bush.

“It’s complicated, and I do not want to bring trouble into your life.”

She laughs loudly. “Aria, we were born into trouble.” She shakes her head. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

Neither did I, but here I am. Guilt hits me in the gut. I never stayed in contact with her. My life changed, we left and never looked back, Funny how we look back when we are in the shit.

“I’m running from my wedding,” I try to be vague. “It wasn’t exactly the groom I picked for myself.”

She sighs. I know she knows what I mean without having to say it.

“Reason number nine-hundred I became a lesbian.” She smiles. “The Catholic church won’t marry us.” Her humor in my turmoil is refreshing. “I don’t have a car, but I can take you to the airport tomorrow, and we can hire one in my name,” she says, pouring me coffee without asking if I want any. “Or book you a flight. How far do you need to get? I’m not wealthy, but there’s money in the light switch of the living room my father hid long before he died.”

My dad did the same thing. There was money hidden in odd places for ‘in case’, and we grew up being told never to trust a bank. Mafia money is too dirty for the bank.

“A car is better. Flights need names. Airports have cameras.” I say, sipping the sanity in a cup. “I need to fly under the radar. He will look for me. They both will.” I sigh.

“Both, who knew the mob had embraced polygamy.”

I smile. “I have come between two brothers. They’re having quite a fight over me, I say. “They even bet on a poker game to decide who would marry me. They’re competitive like that.”

“You’re the girl Marco is meant to marry,” she says with an understanding I can feel in my soul.

“I would rather die,” I reply bluntly. “The problem is, I think I have foolishly fallen in love with Franco. And I need to unfold myself before he finds me, and I can’t.”

“Franco,” she pauses, “the enforcer? He kills people. Have you hit your head recently? The man is a monster. You can’t love him. You certainly can’t do that if you’re going to marry Marco.”

“I am not marrying Marco. And I am going to very quickly un-love his brother. I just need to get far enough that it’s hard for them to find me.” Please help me. I do not need to be judged.

“First,” she says. “Food. You can’t make life-altering escape plans on an empty stomach, and by the look of you, you have been starving since sixth grade.” I am hungry. She continues, “Then we will go get you a car tonight. It's best not to wait around. They will have ways to find you.”

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