10. Aria

Chapter 10

Aria

"Drive fast, and I'll tip you enough to cover the fines," I say to the Uber driver as I slide into the backseat of his Mercedes. I ordered an Uber black. If I am making my getaway, I might as well do it in a fast car. "I mean it. There's a hundred dollars in it for you if you beat that GPS by five minutes or more." I'm glaring at him in the rearview mirror, wondering why he's not flooring it yet. Eventually, Warwick, who has five stars and doesn't like chatting with passengers, gets the fucking hint, and his tires screech as we peel away.

I can't believe I didn't get caught—those two were going at it to the point they missed me escaping. They both have their heads up their asses. I literally called an Uber and walked straight out of there. Fuck me, am I glad I don't have sibling wars like that in my life. This is stupid—men are fucking stupid. All of them. This is why there are so many girls-who-like-girls and declining population numbers globally. Franco and Marco are examples of why women won't marry anyone. Okay, maybe Franco not as much. But if I didn't like dick, I'd totally find a wife.

My driver takes the corner at speed to beat the red light, and I slide along the seat while clinging to the door handle. He's smiling, clearly enjoying being able to drive like he's in a NASCAR racer and not Uber Black chauffeur service.

I keep thinking about Franco, mostly, but also his brother. Do they honestly think I want to marry either of them? This is like choosing between a rabid dog and a bear that someone poked. Neither of these men is husband material, fucking hell.

The fact that they haven't even noticed I'm gone yet is all I need to know. They were so busy fighting like toddlers over a toy that I managed to get away from them. I won't marry Marco, no matter what they do. I'll chew off my wrist before I walk down the aisle to that pig. I'm an organ donor. I'd rather die and save 26 other people than be his plaything.

I check my phone again, no missed calls or texts from Franco, so I have a bigger head start than I thought I'd get. This Uber driver best move it, though. I'm almost certain there will be a tracking device on me somewhere. I should chuck my phone, too. But I'll wait until I have paid the driver and withdrawn some cash at the ATM. In fact, I'll leave it in the car so they can chase him all over the city for a while first. I might as well make them work to find me. I can only hope it'll all buy me enough time to get out of the city and state. With enough distance between us, and I'm sure I can forget about Franco and this sick feeling I hope to God isn't love.

Who could love a cold-blooded killer? It's just wrong—my brain is being stupid, and I have to trick it. That means I can't be close enough to fall for his fucking sex-eyes and charms.

"Here," I bark at the driver as he pulls into the entrance of a large, busy shopping mall, which is perfect to get lost in. I can draw money and ditch anything else traceable .

The door slams, not on purpose, but because fear has me moving so fast, I am not in control. Fight or flight? This is flight. I am flying away from those two men as fast as I can. My brand new iPhone is taking a drive around the city with Warwick, the five-star driver, and I'm about to buy a burner.

Cash is king when you want to hide away, so I take out the maximum daily limit and get myself a phone, a baseball cap, and some tom-boyish mom jeans. Changing in the public bathrooms makes my stomach roll. This is disgusting. The smell alone is enough to make me gag.

I want to wash my hands, but not in here. There's a strong possibility I might catch something from the faucet. I'm going to need a better plan than hiding in the mall toilet stall. Holding my breath to block the stench, I try to think. Where can I go? Who will help me? Who can I trust? Franco. No, stop, stupid brain, you can't trust a murderer. That is not an option. I just escaped him.

There are not many people in the world you can trust when you're running away from the mafia. No one wants to get involved in that sort of trouble. Not knowingly. I need to find someone who has no clue what is happening but will help me if they think I'm in trouble. An old friend. One who I knew when we used to memorize phone numbers. I know where to go. It'll give me a few hours to come up with a real plan.

Outside, I hail a cab and ask them to drive me across town and toward the city limits. "Slow down. I will tell you which house to stop at. I don't know the number. "

The driver mutters under his breath, but I don't give a shit. I will know the house when I see it. It has a green door and a gnome, who now looks weathered to hell.

"Stop." This is it.

I pay cash and wait until he's out of sight before I walk up the still-familiar pathway. I used to come here after Sunday school. We'd eat lunch and play in the backyard while our fathers smoked cigars. Loredana was my friend before we moved, and our lives changed.

My heart thunders. Maybe they still live here—even if it's her mother. I know I can ask for help here. They'll understand why I ran. Her family was like mine. Dark. There is an eerie silence. Maybe no one is home. Running away without a plan was almost as stupid as the two men I ran from.

"Coming," a voice hollers from inside.

Thank. Fucking. God. I cross my chest like a good catholic girl and pray that a friendly face opens the door and welcomes me inside.

The door opens wide, and I am met with Loredana's green eyes. Wide with shock, she's silent for a moment. "Aria?"

"I need help, and I had nowhere else to go," I say, and for a moment I think I might cry—then I push that weak shit right back down. "Please," I whisper when she stays silent.

"Come inside."

She steps aside, welcoming me in; nothing has changed—not the rug, the pictures on the wall, or the smell of fresh coffee. It's a time capsule. She locks and deadbolts the door behind me, and then I follow her to the kitchen. This is awkward. Maybe I shouldn't drag her into this.

"Who are you running from?" she asks me, not beating about the bush.

"It's complicated, and I do not want to bring trouble into your life."

She laughs loudly. "Aria, we were born into trouble." She shakes her head. "I never thought I'd see you again."

Neither did I, but here I am. Guilt hits me in the gut. I never stayed in contact with her. My life changed, we left and never looked back, Funny how we look back when we are in the shit.

"I'm running from my wedding," I try to be vague. "It wasn't exactly the groom I picked for myself."

She sighs. I know she knows what I mean without having to say it.

"Reason number nine-hundred I became a lesbian." She smiles. "The Catholic church won't marry us." Her humor in my turmoil is refreshing. "I don't have a car, but I can take you to the airport tomorrow, and we can hire one in my name," she says, pouring me coffee without asking if I want any. "Or book you a flight. How far do you need to get? I'm not wealthy, but there's money in the light switch of the living room my father hid long before he died."

My dad did the same thing. There was money hidden in odd places for ‘in case', and we grew up being told never to trust a bank. Mafia money is too dirty for the bank .

"A car is better. Flights need names. Airports have cameras." I say, sipping the sanity in a cup. "I need to fly under the radar. He will look for me. They both will." I sigh.

"Both, who knew the mob had embraced polygamy."

I smile. "I have come between two brothers. They're having quite a fight over me, I say. "They even bet on a poker game to decide who would marry me. They're competitive like that."

"You're the girl Marco is meant to marry," she says with an understanding I can feel in my soul.

"I would rather die," I reply bluntly. "The problem is, I think I have foolishly fallen in love with Franco. And I need to unfold myself before he finds me, and I can't."

"Franco," she pauses, "the enforcer? He kills people. Have you hit your head recently? The man is a monster. You can't love him. You certainly can't do that if you're going to marry Marco."

"I am not marrying Marco. And I am going to very quickly un-love his brother. I just need to get far enough that it's hard for them to find me." Please help me. I do not need to be judged.

"First," she says. "Food. You can't make life-altering escape plans on an empty stomach, and by the look of you, you have been starving since sixth grade." I am hungry. She continues, "Then we will go get you a car tonight. It's best not to wait around. They will have ways to find you."

I know she is right, but being here is comforting the unease I haven't been able to shake in a long time .

"Food first," I agree. "Thank you. I am sorry I just left. Back then, I was young and stupid and caught up in my father's whirlwind lifestyle."

"It's okay. We prayed for you at church." She giggles, we did nothing at church but sneak out and smoke behind the vestry. "I missed you," she admits.

I want to stay, but I know that trouble will follow me here like a shadow, and I can't escape it, but I can save her from it.

"Real friends don't pray for each other; they help you escape even if you haven't spoken in years."

"What would you have done if a stranger opened that door?" she asks me.

"Cried," I admit, this was my only hope. I knew I could trust her.

"Big girls don't cry," she says to me while preparing food. "They buy guns and make sure the boys cry." I love her a whole lot. "You can take my gun. I'll get another one tomorrow." It's like that is the most normal thing to say to me.

***

Loredana hires a car using her credit card. It's a black SUV that has an engine big enough to get me past any trouble I find on the road. The road to where—fuck alone knows, but it has to be far and fast .

My gut is churning. I know I am going to get caught. But I will never give up and marry Marco. No. She dangles the key out to hand it to me.

"I will drop you at home," I say, not wanting to leave her yet.

"No." She shakes her head. "You should hit the road now while it's dark." She's right, but I can't do it. I insist on taking her back to the house.

Watching her walk up the path to the green door, I thank God again for friends in low places. I'm distracted by the nostalgia, so distracted that when I hear Franco's voice beside me, I jump.

"Going somewhere?" he growls, and his anger vibrates through the car. "Without me."

The way he says it turns my blood ice cold. I shouldn't have brought her home. There was a window of opportunity, and I wasted it. Shit .

"I'm not marrying your brother, Franco," I seethe. Fuck why does he look so good? Even when I am terrified of him, he's hot. Brain, stop. He is a killer—killers are bad, not sexy. "You can't make me. No one can."

"You're getting married, Aria. Whether you want to or not." Not. Definitely not. "It's either to me, now, tonight. Or it's to him." Again with the competition and I am the prize. "Choose quickly."

"You two are dimwitted madmen." Flight is now fight—fuck him. "I'm not marrying you either, Franco. One, you're a fucking killer. Two, your brother will kill us both." I glare at him. "I like having a pulse. Blue isn't my color. "

"This is the only way you keep that pulse," he raises his voice and almost sounds desperate for me to listen. "Aria, we are going to the church. Now. And you're going to marry me. I need you to trust me like you trusted her to do the right thing." Loredana peeps through the blinds, and my heart squeezes. She called him. I know she did—no way he'd find this place alone.

"No."

"She did it to save you," he says, twisting the knife in my back. "We have to go now. Marco won't chase that Uber forever."

Why do I want to say yes? What the fucking, fuck is wrong with me? How can I trust him? Love him? I am so messed up.

"Fine, but she comes with us." If I have to marry a monster, there better be a witness to look for me when I go missing one day. "How do you two even know one another?" I have to ask.

"My family is owed favors from everyone in this city, Aria."

I hate him, but I'm afraid the line is being blurred to love. I trust him, but I no longer trust myself because I do.

"You can't escape this marriage."

Franco goes up to the house, taking the car keys so I can't run again. He knocks and leans casually on the door frame as he chats with Loredana, saying that they're better friends than we were. I hate him . She smiles and comes out with him. He's smiling at me like he's won. I love him . I am not a prize.