Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I would tell her it was me, and she’d ask if I was okay. I would tell her that I am, but it would be a lie. She’d ask me where I was, and I’d ignore the question. If she knew I was close, she would want to see me, and it isn’t safe for her. I know that now, but it’s too late to save her.
In my imagination, I’d tell her that I was leaving, and I didn’t know if or when I’d be able to call again. That really, all I wanted to do was say goodbye. There would be a long, drawn-out pause before she’d answer, her voice hoarse. “Please, don’t do this.”
My grip would tighten on the phone as I told her I had to. The line would fall silent, and we’d both know there’s nothing else to say, really. She doesn’t want me to die, and I don’t want her to either. In my reality, I can’t go back and make that choice. I have to live with the guilt of what happened. Her willingness to help cost her and her husband their lives, and not just them. There was a doctor that turned up dead too. There could be more I don’t even know about, realistically.
I have to live with those wounds. Asking for help from anyone else is out of the question. What I’m about to do, I have to do on my own.
I close my eyes and listen to her message one more time, wishing she could say something else. Hoping that wherever her soul is, she will understand this is goodbye. She’s my oldest friend. Someone who knows me better than anyone. More than anything, I hope she’s forgiven me for the things I can’t go back and change.
The line disconnects, and I watch the rain fall, a raw wave of grief washing over my soul. My bags are packed. The car will be here in ten minutes. I know that there is a ray of hope somewhere on the other side of that rain, because I’m getting on a plane today. I’m going to begin the journey I’ve spent years preparing for. It can only end one of two ways. Now it’s time to do what I must. To leave this city behind and prove my worth to Alessio, clinging to the hope that none of my skeletons come tumbling out of my closet.
I pocket my phone and stand up, brushing my fingers over my clothes to smooth away any wrinkles. I do the same with my face, adopting a neutral expression as I grab the handles of my suitcases and usher them to the door. With one last glance over the space, I accept that this chapter of my life has closed, and the real one begins today.
Downstairs, Luca meets me outside once again, loading my suitcases into the trunk and opening the door to secure me inside. Alessio is absent, and I wonder how he’s getting to the airport, but I decide it’s best not to overthink the situation. Instead, I watch the city streets pass us by one last time during the journey, taking note of the honking horns and pedestrians. The hot dog vendors. The familiar cracked sidewalks and loud, crowded restaurants. I have no love for any of it, I decide, and I’m not sad to leave it behind.
Luca delivers me to a secluded runway, and I’m not surprised to see that Alessio uses a private jet. By the way he dressed, I could tell he had money, but the salary was a good indication too.
“You may board the plane, Miss Cabrera,” Luca tells me. “I’ll ensure your suitcases are stowed.”
I nod at him and exit the car, pausing briefly at the short set of stairs leading to the jet. Luca gave me permission, but I need to stop for a breath, my anxiety catching me off guard. There’s still a part of me that doesn’t believe this is real. It’s as if I dreamed it up somehow. Touching the railing grounds me and brings me back to reality. I’m here. This is really happening.
I take the steps cautiously, and once I’m onboard, a flight attendant is there to greet me. She welcomes me with a smile and directs me to a seat at the front. As I sit, I notice Alessio in the seat closest to the rear of the jet, paper in hand. He glances up briefly to meet my gaze but doesn’t acknowledge me. The attendant sets a folder and a pen onto the table in front of me, and by the time I redirect my gaze, Alessio has returned his attention to the paper.
“This is from Mr. Scarcello,” the attendant informs me. “My name is Jennifer, and I’ll be here to assist you on today’s flight. Would you care for a glass of champagne or anything else?”