Page 4 of Dangerous Vows

I take a giant bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “That’s fair.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, the sounds of the city rising around us—car horns blaring, a couple fighting two stories down, and blaring hip-hop music squeezes out the night. The city vibe is gritty, chaotic, and oddly, exactly what I signed up for.

Sarah sighs dramatically, leaning her head against the rusted railing. “You know, if I had an ounce of your bad luck, I’d never leave my apartment.”

I smirk. “That’s because you have a normal family. No one’s putting out a missing person alert disguised as a ‘please return to her father, he wants you to marry a monster’ message.”

She eyes me over the crust of her slice. “You think he found you?”

I exhale, stretching my legs and resting them on the cold metal beneath my feet. “I don’t know. Maybe. I feel something. Like I’m being watched, but it’s not obvious.” I shrug. I know he’ll find me eventually. I picked the brains of my father’s crew over the years, waiting for the day I was old enough to escape my violent and deranged family.

When my mom asked what I wanted for my tenth birthday, I said a home where someone loved me. I had thought about running away many times but lacked the courage to go further than a girlfriend’s house for a night or two.

Sarah arches a brow. “It could be your paranoia talking.”

“Could be,” I admit with a shrug. “Or it could be Stefano realizing his daughter isn’t as obedient as he thought.” I refuse to call him Dad. He lost that privilege when he tried to force me into a marriage with a violent madman—a criminal who makes money in the flesh trade.

Her gaze flickers to my arm, where my sleeve is pushed up just enough to show a faint, jagged scar. I catch her staring and yank the fabric back down, keeping my expression neutral.

All my past acquaintances are burned. The first rule of disappearing is never to touch anything familiar. I wish I could leave New York, but my grandmother keeps me here. I’m the only one who spends time with her, and she’s getting up there in age. I don’t know how much time she has left.

Sarah is my nemesis from the stuffy private school. We met there years ago. If my family remembered her, they would know that I’d sooner die than befriend her, but luckily for me, we reconnected, and we just clicked. She had insight into my family, albeit from a distance.

Sarah doesn’t ask questions—that’s why we’re friends. She has a button nose, alabaster skin, and thick auburn hair. She could have had a life supported by her family’s money, but she’s saving her trust fund and trying to make it on her own. I respect the hell out of that.

She’s not struggling for food money, so I get to eat. My meager pay barely covers my half of the rent for this shitbox. I use burner phones, which are both safe and economical. It sucks living without technology but fuck digital shit. I can’t afford to make the mistake of being tracked.

I eat, but it’s a bite here and a bite there. I walk most of the time to save money, and God knows the subways aren’t what they used to be. I work so much that I’ve lost weight. I ditched my sports watch, but if I had to guess, I walk about twenty miles a night, and that’s only the steps I get walking around the pub and dive bar where I work.

Sleep? Who needs it? I use concealer to cover the bags under my eyes. Sleep is hard to come by these days. If it’s not night terrors starring my father, it’s me being grabbed off the street.

I hope my father never finds me. But if he does, I’m ready to face him and tell him what I think of him. The only problem is that I mightnot live to tell the tale. He hates it when I defend myself, and I have the scars to prove it. But I can’t worry about that now.

“Well, we’re going out Friday night,” she exclaims, licking the cheese off her fingers.

“I can’t afford it.”

“I have an in. Besides, we need to celebrate your new job!” She punches my arm as an endorsement of a job well done. “We’ll get complimentary champagne, and it’s the hottest place to be.”

“Free alcohol?” My ears perk up. That fits my budget! I’ve been all work and no play for months and deserve a night off. One night of debauchery, why not?

“Sounds great!” I beam at her as the streetlight over us flickers.

God, I hope that’s not a bad omen.

“Cool. I knew you’d see it my way,” she chuckles.

And with that, dinner is over, so Sarah and I crawl back into the apartment. I run the shower, waiting for the water to heat. The pipes are old and creak. And, despite the strange color of the water, I step into the lukewarm shower, clinging to the hope that my new job will work out.

PIETRO

WELCOME TO THE WAR

The city is a beast. It’s a breathing, pulsing monster with life even in the darkness. New York isn’t like Sicily. Sicily is old and wise, filled with traditions and culture. It’s a land of blood oaths and quiet vendettas.

New York is young and loud, full of neon signs built on forged steel and promises of a new beginning. It’s a place that doesn’t sleep, nor do the men and women who run it.

I step off the plane and into the crisp autumn air, the sharp bite of the cooler season cutting through the last of Sicily’s warmth that still clings to my skin. I roll my shoulders, adjusting to the weight of the leather jacket draped over me, my fingers tightening around the handle of my duffel bag. This city has changed since I last set foot here. Or maybe I’ve changed.

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