But we were too fucking late.
“I know, man, but we got people who can track her down. We’ll figure this out. But you fuckin’ going to jail before you even get the patch… Fuck!” he shouts again at me and digs his fingers through his hair. “I was supposed to keep your ass in line.”
Looking at his face, I ask, “What the fuck do you mean track her down?! She’s in the fucking morgue man! She’s gone! It ain’t like we got bloodhounds who can track someone’s scent to heaven or somethin’!”
He stares back at me, wide-eyed. “What the fuck do you mean? Morgue?! Her parents had some fucking private contractors come move her to a private hospital. Paid a shit ton of money, too. I was talkin’ to the local PD about it on the way here.”
“She’s alive?” I ask, and my voice actually fucking squeaks.
“Yeah, what the fuck were you thinkin’?” he asks, and I can see he’s still real fucking pissed at me.
“Shit,” I sigh with a breath of relief, but my heart is still fucking broken from her being taken. “The nurse made it sound like she died.”
She’s alive, but where is she?
Chapter Four
Allie
Present
Somewhere in Florida
The headlights of Robert’s black Lincoln Continental cut through the darkness looming in front us, illuminating the thick trees and foliage hugging the road. Hands clenched in my lap, my eyes find the rearview mirror and I check for the thousandth time tonight to make sure we’re not being followed.
The one-lane road we’re on stretches and curves behind us, dark and empty. I can’t remember the last time I saw another car, but I can’t relax.
I keep expecting one to pop out at any second.
It feels like death himself is on our heels, and if he catches us…
We’ll be as dead as my parents.
“We’re almost there,” Robert says quietly beside me.
I nod my head, but keep my eyes glued to the mirror. Now that we’re close to our destination, I’m afraid that if I look away for even one second, my worst fear will come to life.
I have to remain strong and vigilant.
For myself, but most importantly for Levi.
Robert has taken so many backroads and done so many double-backs though, I don’t even know what road we’re on anymore, or where we are. Two hours have passed since we left Miami. I assume we’re headed north and not south, but with how cautious Robert is being, who knows.
Levi glances up from his iPad and catches my gaze in the mirror. Face lit up by the device clutched in his little hands, he gives me a smile. And like they always do when my son smiles at me, my lips stretch to smile back.
Immediately my face throbs and aches with pain, and holding the smile until Levi looks back down at his iPad is pure torture.
Once I’m sure he’s no longer focused on me, I let my face relax, but even that hurts.
My heart hurts even more though to see my little boy sitting quietly in the backseat. Levi hasn’t said a word since we left. He hasn’t complained, hasn’t asked what we’re doing or where we’re going. Hasn’t squirmed or asked if we’re there yet.
Hasn’t been acting like a normal four-year-old boy.
No, he’s just been staring down at his iPad, silent.
And I fear that this time… this time what he saw has broken him in some way.
Mikhail did a number on me in front of him tonight. I’ve caked on almost an entire bottle of foundation and concealer, but it’s still not enough to cover the bruises and marks his fists left. Usually my bastard of a husband doesn’t beat me in front of my son, and usually he avoids my face, but ever since my parents passed away, he’s grown more careless.
Careless and dangerous.
He’s gone from giving me the occasional slap or shove, to treating me like his personal punching bag.
I can’t even remember what set him off tonight, everything seems to set him off lately.
All I remember is that one minute I was setting the table for dinner and the next I was on the floor with him standing over me, yelling.
I may or may not have said something back to him, something that pissed him off even more, and that’s when the real beating began.
He punched me and kicked me so many times, I lost count.
Fearing for my life, fearing that he was actually going to kill me this time because he was screaming he was going to do just that, I called the police.
The one thing you never do as the wife of one of the most powerful men in Miami’s Bratva is call the police. And if you do call the police, you sure as fuck don’t let them take your husband away in handcuffs. You also don’t agree to press charges and beg them to hold him for twenty-four hours so you can get the hell out of dodge.
But that’s exactly what I did because at the time I had no other choice. It was either give up and die or try to live another day for Levi.
If it wasn’t for Robert helping me make my escape, I’d probably be buried in an unmarked grave somewhere.
Instead, I’m still living and breathing.
At least for the time being.
Robert hits his blinker as we approach a four-way intersection. Taking a right, we drive for ten more minutes in silence, the thick foliage around us gradually thinning until we come up on what looks like a little town out here in the middle of nowhere.
Before we actually reach the town though, Robert hits his blinker again, making another right turn into the parking lot of a run-down little motel.
The name of the place is long gone, the letters on the sign eaten away by the Florida elements. The building itself is so dilapidated it looks like it could cave in on itself at any second. Only one other car is the parking lot, an older model blue minivan parked in front of what was once the office.
Robert pulls up beside the van and parks.
Then he looks over at me.
Looking back at him and knowing this is where we part ways, my heart starts to race. I squeeze my clenched hands tighter, trying to get a grip on myself.
The past two years of my life have been a living nightmare, but the idea of trying to get free of it is just as terrifying.
I don’t know if I can do this.
I don’t know if I have the tools, the means, or the capabilities to fucking survive on my own.
Pathetic, right?
But I’ve never had to take care of myself before.
At the age of twenty, I went straight from the care of my over-protective parents into the controlling arms of my husband.
Unlike other women my age, I don’t know how to function in the real world.
In some ways, I’m stunted.
And just the idea of what I’m about to do is daunting as hell.
“It’s going to be okay, Allison,” Robert says and reaches for me.
Covering my hands with his, he gives me a reassuring squeeze.
I stare into his face, a face I’ve watched grow older but more sophisticated over the years, and will myself to believe that as much as he does.
Robert is… was my father’s closest friend. They grew up together, and for as long as I can remember he’s always been around. He was there at my Kindergarten graduation. He’s been at every birthday party I can recall. I think I even remember him dressing up as Santa Claus a couple of times before I figured out Santa wasn’t real.