20. Liliana

Chapter 20

Liliana

I t had been three weeks. Twenty-one days since Matteo had told me to go.

He'd been so angry with me during those last moments…the night I'd confessed how I felt, and he'd pushed me away.

I couldn't deny that it hurt. God, it had fucking hurt like no other. But I knew he was lying.

I knew the hateful words he'd spewed at me were nothing but a tactic. It had worked, but he wasn't fooling anyone, least of all me and himself.

He cared about me, and the fact it was clear he couldn't process those emotions, ones that led him to create destruction all around him, told me all I needed to know.

He was a dangerous man, but one who cared about me deeply.

I remember vividly the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, and the way he whispered words in my ear when he thought I wasn't listening.

I didn't want to contemplate that he didn't care for me as deeply as I cared for him. We were two opposite ends of the spectrum. He wasn't good for me. That life. The danger that surrounded him.

All of that was nothing but a fuse waiting to be lit, the detonation of the bomb anticipating an explosion. And if I knew all of this, knew he wasn't right for me—and I deserved better, deserved more—why was I so lonely?

Why did I feel like something was missing from my life? Something that was so profound it was hard to breathe, hard to think straight, because nothing made sense anymore?

I closed the front door to my one-bedroom apartment. The city I picked was hours from Desolation. It was clean. It was safe. Or it gave the illusion of safety. I wasn't a fool in thinking just because I was gone from that cesspool nothing bad would ever touch me.

I knew how the world worked, how people and men operated in order to get their way.

Some places were nothing more than a level of hell waiting to burn you alive.

I'd gotten a job almost immediately after moving here. I didn't need to work. Not after Matteo had given me so much money. I'd never be able to spend it in my lifetime. But until I knew what I wanted to do with my life, I had to keep busy.

Because I couldn't stop thinking of him.

A part of me hated I couldn't stop thinking about Matteo. I knew the things he did. I knew what he'd done to get to the top.

But I also knew how sweet he could be. Gentle and protective. As in…killing a man in his own home for touching me.

I replayed all those horrible things in my head, the words that had been said and the way he'd looked at me right before I left.

They ate away at me. Yet, I wanted to go back to him, slap him across the face, and tell him to wake the fuck up.

Did he miss me? Was he thinking about me as much as I was him?

I set my bag on the counter, something heavy hitting the granite. A peek inside showed the massive hunting knife laying at the bottom. Matteo had given it to me, or I assumed it was him who had tucked it into my things before I'd left.

All my shit had been ready and waiting by the front doors, as if he'd been counting down the hours until he could kick me out.

I'd told Luca to take me to the bus station. I didn't know where I was going, but I wouldn't have told Matteo's right-hand man anyway. Not that it mattered. I knew a man like Matteo would find me no matter where I was.

I'd grabbed a bus schedule, closed my eyes, and pointed to a random spot.

And that's how I'd come to live in North Point, New York. A three-hour bus ride to what was a fresh start for me.

I put away the groceries I'd bought on the way home from work and then got ready for the diner. Once dressed, I looked around my small apartment.

It was nice. Nicer and cleaner than anything I'd ever lived in, not counting Matteo's mansion, that was.

The apartment was modern and trendy. It had come fully furnished, so none of the stuff filling the space was mine. This entire area wasn't even…me.

I felt like a stranger living amongst someone else's possessions. I leaned against the kitchen island and closed my eyes, breathing out. It felt like another panic attack was welling up, one that came on as swiftly as it disappeared.

I thought moving out of Desolation would do me good. I'd be a new person. I'd have a new life. It'd be everything I ever wanted.

But it had taken me no time at all to realize that you could take the girl out of her dark world but couldn't take that darkness out of her.

With one more last look around, I grabbed the keys and my bag and headed back out.

The walk to the diner was only a couple of blocks. I passed a bagel shop. A chic little smoothie kiosk. There was a small, handmade furniture store right down the street that specialized in handmade bowls and kitchenware.

The sidewalks were made of cobblestone, the streetlights antique bronze. I felt so out of fucking place that it made my stomach tighten slightly. There was also a bar on every damn street corner, the local college kids frequenting them every weekend.

The sun hadn't even set, but said bars were already hopping, the young adults barely legal drinking age and already working on getting shitfaced.

I rounded the corner and walked another block before I got to work. It was a little fifties retro-style diner that served homemade pies and ice cream and was known for their over-the-top milkshakes and sandwiches.

It was a quick shift for me tonight. Just four hours, so I covered the dinner rush.

I was sure people thought I was a snooty bitch because I kept to myself. My coworkers hardly spoke to me, and I knew it was because I had a resting bitch face firmly in place. It was a defense mechanism for me.

Not making connections with other people and becoming invisible was how I'd stayed alive in Desolation.

And it worked. But I'd never make friends being so distant and coming across as standoffish. Did I really want these people to be part of my life? They wore polo shirts, penny loafers, and pressed khakis. The men looked like they went golfing on the weekends while their wives drank mimosas and gossiped.

And despite having more money than I could even count, I still shopped at local thrift stores, bought clearance items off the rack, and searched out sale items at the grocery store.

I didn't think I'd ever change my mind and body, always in that survival mode.

For the next four hours, I focused on my job, plastering on that fake smile that would earn a few extra dollars in tip money I didn't really need.

It was at the end of my shift that I grabbed a meal to go—discounted with my employee status—headed out, and made quick work back to my apartment.

A hot bath, cold beer with my dinner, and maybe even a movie I'd already seen ten times over was how I was going to spend my night.

It's how I seemed to spend all my nights.

And it was perfect, if I were being honest. Being home and not being afraid was still such a foreign topic, something I hoped I could feel comfortable with one day.

I was adjusting my take-home bag when I rounded the corner and walked by one of the newer bars on the block.

It had an Irish pub feel to it, as if someone had taken every stereotypical thing they assumed an establishment like that had and slapped it in this place.

I walked by a group of guys who I could smell before I even passed them. The alcohol surrounded them strong enough I wondered if I could get drunk from the fumes alone.

"Hey, pretty girl."

I didn't look at them, didn't even acknowledge their existence. After living in Desolation for my entire life, I knew when to be unnoticeable. Silent. It was a survival instinct, one that was ingrained in me.

The catcalls continued followed by whistling. They said rude and crude things, but compared to what I'd been called, their words were almost comical.

I was almost at the end of the block when I heard someone approaching, footsteps on pavement quicker as they tried to catch up with me. Everything in me tensed, and instinctively, I reached into my bag for the knife that Matteo had given me.

The handle was cold and hard in my palm, my grip sturdy. I still remembered the feeling that had consumed me when I opened up my bag and had seen it laying there, sheathed in leather, the blade so sharp when I pulled it out I'd cut myself.

Like a hot knife through butter.

But the boy—because that's exactly what he was—didn't touch me. He moved in front of me and turned, jogging backward with a grin on his face. His forehead was greasy and his hair unkempt. He reeked of booze that not even his overpowering cologne could mask.

"Hey, we were talking to you. Didn't you hear?"

I stayed silent.

He chuckled as if amazed I ignored him. "Too good to respond?" I could hear other footsteps behind me as his friends caught up.

I just kept my focus on the pavement as I kept walking. A few times, I had to step to the side so I didn't run into him, but he kept pace with me the entire way, continuing to ask me questions that I refused to answer.

But it was when I was close to my apartment building that I had a feeling he wasn't going to let up. I didn't want him to see where I lived. He was just some drunk college kid who seemed harmless. He made me uneasy, but not in the dangerous way I felt when I was surrounded by lowlifes, my brother and father included.

God, Matteo would eat this little shit up and spit him out until there was nothing but skin and bones scattered on the ground.

I was going to take a different route, hopefully losing him, because it was very clear this asshole wasn't giving up or taking the hint.

The two guys behind me clearly were the followers as they weren't even paying attention to me. Instead, they talked to each other about their college classes.

But when the idiot reached out and tried to touch my hair, the girl who'd survived a shitload of stuff, who'd been hit too many times by her father and brother, rose.

The girl who had to fight tooth and nail just to stay above water when it felt like a tsunami was covering her came up like a warrior about to destroy everything around her.

He tugged on my hair, and I spun around, brandishing that knife and holding it up between us, the blade pointing at the fucker. My hand was steady, eyes narrowed, and vision focused.

His shocked expression came on instantly, but that soon faded to anger.

Oh, he was one of those .

His buddies, who laughed, broke that stunned moment of silence.

"Holy fucking shit," one of them said.

"This fucking bitch pulled out a damn gutting knife, man."

I paid them no mind. They weren't the ones who were threatening me in this moment. Maybe this douchebag wasn't a genuine threat, but that wasn't a risk I would take.

"What exactly are you going to do?" The fucker seethed.

I still stayed silent.

He took a step forward, and on instinct, I swiped out, the blade nicking his forearm. He hissed out a curse and held his arm back, looking down at the small, very clear, superficial cut. A bit of blood welled up before sliding down his forearm to drop off his elbow.

"Bitch, do you know who I am? Pulling a knife on me is going to get your life destroyed." He took a step closer but froze when I did the same, the tip of the blade digging into his chest.

"I've dealt with real dangerous men. Unlike you." It was the first time I'd said anything. "Killing won't be something new for me, asshole."

After a long moment, he pursed his lips, stepped back, and held his hands up.

His friends had since shut up, maybe sensing this wild energy in me. I felt unhinged. This wasn't a normal reaction for me. But ever since my time with Matteo and now weeks later being alone and feeling more lost than I ever had in my life made me not act like myself.

Fuck this guy. He was so privileged and probably got everything he wanted. The entitled prick had fucked with the wrong girl.

"Leave me alone," was all I said. We were in a standoff for several moments before he took another step back and then another.

"Big fucking mistake." And then he turned and left, his friends following.

I didn't move, keeping my eyes on him the entire time. It was only when they disappeared around the corner that I slowly lowered the knife and exhaled. A rush of adrenaline moved through my veins, and I breathed out again, feeling more centered with each passing second.

God, why did I ever think that just because I left Desolation my life would be easier? Safer?

Being completely honest and frank with myself, moving away made things feel a lot harder than they ever had been.

A lot scarier. Definitely lonelier.

I got back to my apartment, locked the door, triple checking it, and kept the knife in my hand. I ran that bath, grabbed a cold beer, my dinner and tablet, and for the next hour and a half disconnected.

But my anxiety never waned. In fact, I felt it growing stronger with each passing moment.