Page 39 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

“The Sunset Motel.”

“I’ll have a unit dispatched right away. Is there anything else you can tell me? Are you safe?”

“The man saw me and came after me, but I fought him off. He took off in his car. The body is still in the driveway.”

She asks for my name. I hang up and continue packing.

We paid cash for these rooms, so as long as we get out of here before the police arrive, there is no tying us back to this. It will look like Ennio was taken out by someone in his own mafia. If the cops follow the clues I gave the 911 operator, they’ll finger Ennio’s father for the crime.

As soon as the police ID the body, they probably won’t even launch a large investigation. The assumption that he died in the midst of mafia business will be the logical conclusion. There will be no connection back to Dima.

“We’re ready,” Ernestine calls.

I meet her in the hallway. “Me too. Let’s load up.”

June is carrying Lukas, cradling him gently in her tiny arms, while Ernestine and I throw our scant belongings in the back of the van.

Police sirens are getting closer, the wails piercing the silence. We don’t have any time to waste. I tell Ernestine to buckle in the kids while I take the keys and hop in the driver’s seat.

I wonder where Dima is.

I want to kiss Lukas’s face, cradle him against my chest, remind myself that he is healthy and okay and complete. And then I want Dima to do the same thing to me.

But there’s no time for any of that. Right now, the best thing I can do for Lukas—and for myself—is stay focused on the mission ahead.

Ernestine is just finishing getting into her seat when I hit the gas and take off through the parking lot.

As we pass where Ennio’s body is laying, I try not to look.

I’ve seen enough death to last a lifetime.

* * *

As we get on the highway, I see police cars, sirens flashing, fly past us and take the exit towards the motel. I white-knuckle the steering wheel and mash the gas pedal faster until we’re clear of the madness.

We drive in silence for a while, but as the excitement of the evening fades away, June begins asking questions.

“Who was that lying in the driveway? That wasn’t Dima, was it?” she asks, her voice cracking.

It’s been hard cobbling together stories that will make sense to June and to Ernestine. When I first found them again, I told them that Dima and I were taking some time apart, but that the kind of people who took Rose were after me again. They’d believed me, no questions asked, and we went on the run together.

But how long can they trust me blindly?

I have so many innocent people relying on me. Part of me wants to break down and tell them everything.

Everything I am. Everything I’ve done.

But I can’t do that. So for now, we just have to get away. One day, I’ll explain it all. Today just isn’t that day.

Ernestine can sense my hesitation, my fear. She shushes her granddaughter gently and I reach a hand back to pat June’s knee. “No, honey. That wasn’t Dima. I promise.”

Just then, a text flashes on my phone. I peek down at where it sits in the console and see it’s simply an address texted from an unknown number.

1453 Wilton Avenue.

It’s Dima. I feel like I can breathe.

I read the address twice more, committing it to memory. Then I power down the phone, roll down the window, and hurl it into the drainage ditch alongside the road.

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