I gripped my keys in my hand, breathing a sigh of relief as I stood in front of my first apartment with a flicker of hope. It was a small accomplishment, but a major one nevertheless, I felt much more like an adult now that I didn't live with a roommate anymore. As much as I loved her, she drove me insane. She was either a porn addict or a nymphomaniac and I had no desire to find out, so for the past two years, I pretended that the constant moaning coming from her room never existed.
"I just need you to sign this, Miss Berry," my landlord spoke and I turned around to see him with a nondisclosure agreement. Scanning the document, I read the fine print and signed my name at the bottom. Only, it wasn't my name. It was an alias. A lie.
It had been six years since the night at the restaurant and I was reluctant to let that part of me go. It was especially hard when there was a scar on my shoulder reminding me every night of what happened. How my father kissed my forehead and told me where to go. How I only had five minutes to leave my old self behind. I was twenty two now, but I still felt like the scared sixteen year old who had to leave her parents behind.
My landlord thanked me and left and I was left to my own devices. The first thing I did was unlock the door and scan the empty apartment in front of me. It was nothing and everything all at once. Beautiful and ugly. I gave myself a tour of the apartment, mumbling where I would put what and what would look great where. I imagined a splash of color in the living room like olive green or a deep purple, and I thought of what paintings I could purchase just to hang up. It was a land of opportunities that I was excited to explore.
However, after three hours of helping the movers set my belongings in, my motivation was depleted as I laid down on the sofa and groaned at my aching feet. It was still daylight out, which meant I had a million errands to run before the sunlight would die, one of them being contacting John, my Marshal. He was the closest I had to a friend and a father since going into the Witness Protection Program. When Lorenzo dropped me off, he decided to raise me rather than drop me off at a random family to get acquainted with. He was technically my adopted father, but both of us tend to forget. He was also one of the only people that would still call me Bella, he did it rarely but it still felt like home.
After dozing off for what seemed like hours (it was fifteen minutes actually), I removed myself from my couch, put my shoes on, and left the apartment. Greeting some neighbors along the way, I left the complex and hailed a taxi, requesting the grocery store. The ride was silent, which I liked. I was cautious around chauffeurs of any kind, but I hated the chatty drivers. On rides I needed to clear my mind and organize my life as much as I could and I wasn't able to focus when I had to hear about someone's addiction to huffing paint on Thursdays.
Whilst enjoying the silence, I thought about what I needed at the store. I texted John and invited him over, so being the good adult I was, I decided to make him dinner. So I knew I needed ingredients and food overall. I also needed lottery tickets in case my luck returned and I could revert to my once aristocratic ways. And looking back on my past, I also needed hard liquor to forget just for the night. My parents' anniversary was coming up within days and I didn't feel like reliving the nightmare for the sixth year in a row.
The driver pulled up next to the sidewalk and I paid, thanked him, and left. The breeze was strong, so I tucked my hands into the pockets of my jacket and walked into the store with my head down. So much for summer, I thought. The temperature in the store wasn't any better, but I expected it. As I walked in, I grabbed a cart and started strolling through the aisles, picking up what I needed. There were fruit on sale, so I picked up as much as I could before realizing I didn't like most fruit and putting it back. Strolling past the bakery, I resisted the urge to buy a birthday cake I didn't need.
Adjacent to the bakery was the alcohol. With a lazy grin on my face, I strolled into the wine section and started looking for the reds. Picking a bottle up, I read the ingredients and the story on the back when someone cleared their throat. Putting down the bottle, my eyes met those of the person who caught my attention. Blue eyes, brown hair, slim build. He hadn't aged a day. Without realizing, I dropped the bottle and it had shattered all over the floor. "Shit," I whispered, my voice trembling, "I'm so sorry...I.." "No worries," he laughed, "It was my fault. I didn't mean to startle you." Gripping my cart until my knuckles turned white, I returned my smile faintly, "I'm going to go get someone to help clean up. I can't trust myself around glass." "Me neither, I always end up hurting myself. Want me to join?" he asked and my mind screamed a million times no. However, I only chuckled and shook my head lightly, "Thanks for the offer, but I think we need someone to block the rest of the aisle. I'll be only a moment."
With that, I pushed the cart and forced my trembling legs to the front and told an employee about the mess before I left the store as calmly as possible. I didn't bother taking a cab, my mind was inundated with flashbacks and the sudden jolt of pain coming from my shoulder. Of all the people in the world, I run into him? That only meant one thing: they found me.
My walking turned to jogging and soon enough it turned to sprinting. Hot tears were springing from my eyes and I began to hyperventilate. My God, I was having an anxiety attack while sprinting! Fumbling in my pockets, I took out my phone and dialed John. "Hello?" he picked up, "Andrea? What's wrong?" "They found me!" I breathed, "I don't know how but they found me!" "Are you sure? Are you sure it's them?" he asked. "Of fucking course I am, John! How would I forget his face?" "Okay. I'm on my way to your apartment right now, Andrea. Whatever you do, don't make a scene. Act normal," he hung up and I stopped my sprinting. I was two blocks away from my apartment. I would get there in about ten minutes while John would probably arrive faster. That meant I was safe if he got there first. I was safe.
It was a miracle how I continued to walk in the first place. My legs were jelly; one wrong move and I would crumple like paper. All I could see was his face and the spilt wine on the tile floor. My dad ordered red, I thought to myself, it was the last thing he had done before he died. How ironic would it be if we were both to fall from the same killer after a conversation about red wine?
When I reached my complex, I saw John's truck parked outside and my heart leapt. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face nor could I contain the tears of relief. I survive another day, I thought as I entered the lobby. I decided on using the stairs rather than the elevator, biding my time. Within two minutes I was on my floor and I left the stairwell, gliding down the hall in relief, waiting to hug John tightly and just cry. My life was a nightmare. I had to hide my identity in order to survive, move across the country and bear a different name. I had to throw away my phone every two months and burn the SIM card. I couldn't be in my high school yearbook in case I were to be identified. I was forced to be a ghost. However, even when you're a ghost, there are those that are still able to see you.
My apartment door was burst open. That meant two things: John had to break in because he didn't have a key or I was dead the second I entered. Once again my breaths were labored and I was mentally playing Rock Paper Scissors with myself on whether I should go in or not. My choice was made for me, however, when I felt the cool tip of a barrel on the back of my head and a scarily familiar voice say, "One foot in front of the other sweetheart, it's not that hard."
I had no choice but to listen. As slow as I could, I watched as I put my left foot in front of my right and then my right in front of my left, critical in the way I walked. Time melted and all I felt was the rate at which my heart was beating, the dull pain in my shoulder, and the barrel of the gun on my head. I had nothing left in me to cry. Even if I could I would force myself to choke it down. There was no need for tears when my death was already on the schedule.
The first thing I saw when I entered my apartment was Tom Holland sitting in the middle of my living room, his gun pointed at me. This was the stuff from my nightmares as a kid, never did I think this would actually become reality. Never did I think I would have to be face to face with the new head of the Holland organization. When my parents had died, Dom was still running things. It was when I went missing that he retired and let his more ambitious son take control of the organization. Under his rule, it expanded into Asia and Australia. Tom Holland was the king of the underworld. He was the epitome of Hades and he was in front of me, eager to put a bullet in my brain.
"You're very hard to find, Miss Dante," he smiled, "You should have been dead years ago, but here you are." I stood stark still. There was no reason for me to move. Where would I go? My only options were Heaven or Hell at this point. "Harrison, bring her a chair," Tom commanded and the barrel of the gun released from the back of my head. Without realizing I did so, I closed my eyes and let a short breath of relief. "You're not out of the woods yet," Tom spoke again, "Far from it, actually."
Within seconds Harrison shoved a chair from behind my legs, forcing me to stumble onto the chair. He then grabbed my wrists forcefully and placed them behind the chair and tied them with rope. How he acquired the rope, I have no idea. Tom put his gun down and it was the first time in what seemed like hours that I had no weapon pointing at any part of my body, unless you counted Tom himself.
"You know how long it took for us to find you?" Tom asked, leaning back in the chair. Shaking my head, I refused to speak. "Six fucking years. Can you believe that? I run the entire fucking world but we couldn't find a single bitch? Now tell me, how does that happen?" "I'm not a bitch," I muttered to myself. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but I had no idea why I picked up on that portion of his statement. "Darling you're going to have to speak up," Tom mockingly leant in, holding his ear out. "She said she's not a bitch," Harrison repeated from behind me, laughing at my words.
Tom chuckled lowly as well, "We'll see about that. My experiences with women aren't the best, but you'll be a gamechanger for sure." Even though my stomach was already in knots, it dropped lower than I physically thought it could go. He wasn't going to rape me, was he? I expected no less of him, he was the Devil after all. However, since my fear was allowing my stupidity to shine, I had the audacity to ask, "What do you mean?"
"Darling, if I were going to kill you, I would have had Harrison do it at the grocery store," Tom said, "It was nearly euphoric seeing your reaction, however. Fear's almost better than sex." He then stood up from the chair and strode towards me. When he was right in front of me, he grabbed my jaw with his hand, forcing me to keep his eyes on him. "You work for me now, Bella," he said, my name now ash in my mouth, "You're going to help me tear apart the Biancattis one by one."
"I'd rather die," I spat, violently moving my head back as an attempt to release myself from his grip, but he held on tighter, threatening to crush my jaw. Tom then knelt and leant his face in, so that his breath was hot against my lips. He then brought his mouth to my ear and whispered, "Oh you will, but not after you see each of your loved ones drowning in their own blood. You're mine now, Bella. You die on my terms."He then let go of my face and turned his back on me. "Put her under. I'd rather not have her fight on the way back," he said. From behind me, Harrison grunted in agreement and all I felt was a sudden excruciating pain before my head fell forward and my consciousness slipped away from me.
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~Not edited~