Page 57 of Triplets for the Mafia Prince

I head to the kitchen to assess our dwindling supplies. The cabinets hold only a few cans of soup, some crackers, and half a jar of peanut butter. But I don’t want cold soup, so it’s probably peanut butter for breakfast.

Just then, the lights flicker on. “Hallelujah,” I say, turning on the stove burner and grabbing a pot for soup.

By the time Nic enters, I’m ladling soup into the bowls.

I turn to let him know breakfast is ready, but then I see his face, dark with tension. “What’s wrong?”

“They found our driver. They’ve connected him with me. It appears I may have kidnapped you, as well.”

“I can just tell them what happened.”

He looks at me like I’m naïve. I hate it even though he’s probably right.

“Our world doesn’t work like that, Bambina.” He’s back to calling me baby, proving my thought right.

“They found the car at the airport and they’re looking for this one.” His thumb jerks out to the car parked in back.

I try not to let nerves get to me. While my father kept us girls away from the ugly details of his business, we all know what goes on. Still, it’s a new feeling to be a fugitive from the law.

"But we switched the license plates.”

Nic shakes his head, his jaw tight. "Switching plates only works until someone reports their plates stolen.”

“So, what do we do?”

“We leave. Now.” Nic's eyes meet mine. They’re fierce. Deadly serious. He’s back into Mafia mode.

“But they won’t know to look here. We’re in another state?—”

“They may talk to your friends and put together that one of them owns this cabin.”

"You're being paranoid." The words come out sharper than I intend, fear making my voice brittle. "We're in the middle of nowhere."

"That paranoia has kept me alive." Nic steps closer, his presence both comforting and overwhelming. "The minute we get comfortable, let our guard down, that's when the shit hits the fan. You know that. That’s what has put us here.”

"You really think they'll find us here?" I whisper.

"I think we can't risk assuming they won't." His thumb strokes my shoulder gently, at odds with his harsh words. "Thepolice, your father's men, my father's men, they're all looking for us. And they're good at what they do."

He’s right.

“Besides, I need to get back and take care of all this.” Anger stirs in his eyes, and I know it’s for his father.

“Do we have time to eat?”

He shakes his head. “We’ll pick up something on the road. Go get packed.”

My stomach twists into knots. Every window seems like an opportunity for someone to spot us. Every creak of the cabin makes me jump. I hurriedly stuff clothes into my suitcase.

"Just essentials," Nic calls from the other room. I hear him moving quickly, methodically, a man who's done this before. “I found a blower. The fucking place doesn’t have a generator but it has a snow blower.”

When I’m packed, I go through the house, cleaning up our mess. I fold and put away the blankets. Put the cards and games away. Wash and put away the dishes. It occurs to me that I should try to wipe any trace of our being here. While I can’t be sure neither of us has lost a strand of hair, I can wipe down surfaces of fingerprints.

"Time to go,” Nic says from the back doorway, making me jump. “Hurry.”

I grab my suitcase. He takes it from me, tossing it in the backseat of the car. I get into the passenger seat.

Nic puts the car in gear and pulls out, tension radiating off him in waves.

---