When She Unravels: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Fallen Book 1)

The gun recoils. Lazaro falls. The sound of the shot vibrates my eardrums. The moment expands, absorbing more and more observations until it finally bursts, and I jump into motion.

“Let’s go,” I say, grabbing the girl by her wrist.

“Is he dead?” she asks as I drag her up the stairs.

“I don’t know.” There’s no time to check where I hit him, all I know is he’s down and not moving. The thought I may have killed him barely registers. I doubt it. I’m not that lucky.

I run so fast up the stairs I nearly trip. Somehow, I have enough sense left in me to lock the door to the basement once we’re out. We round the corner and burst into the kitchen.

“Here.” I throw the backpack to the girl.

She rummages through it and makes a frustrated sound. “My passport is here but my phone and wallet are gone.”

How is she going to pay for her flight? We need cash. If I give her my credit card, Papà will easily be able to track her down.

“Come with me,” I tell her as I start toward Lazaro’s office on the second floor. He has a safe filled with money, weapons, and other valuables. My flats skid to a stop on the polished hardwood floor as we reach the safe. It’s a mighty thing, nearly as big as a fridge.

“You know the code?” the girl asks.

I don’t bother answering her as I key in the passcode. Like time, words feel precious. Every sound we make is a risk, a chance for someone to hear us. The house is empty at this hour, Lorna left in the early afternoon, but I’m paranoid. I look over my shoulder as I pull open the safe’s heavy door. Half of me expects to see a bleeding Lazaro right behind us with a knife in his hand, but he’s not there.

I reach in and grab a stack of cash, and then after a moment, I take my passport too. I have no idea what I’m going to do once I drop her off, but returning here isn’t an option, and I won’t get far without any documents.

Everything is quiet as we make our way to the garage, but my hands shake as I press the button to open the trunk.

“Get in,” I tell the girl.

I temper the urge to speed through the neighborhood. That might tip Michael off that something’s wrong. When I pull up outside his booth, I plaster on my most relaxed smile, even though I’m hyper aware of the drops of sweat collecting along my hairline. Michael steps out and motions for me to lower the window. We’ve always been cordial, but no more than that. I hope he’s not in the mood for conversation.

“Heading out?” he asks, dragging his gaze over the inside of the car. He’s just doing his job. There’s nothing here that should arouse his suspicion.

“Yep. Need to grab a few things for dinner at the store,” I say.

His eyes narrow. “What’s that in your bag?” he asks, pointing to where my purse is lying on the seat beside me.

My heart jumps up into my throat. For a split second, I think the passport slipped out, and he’s wondering why I need it to go to the store. Instead, when I look down, it’s the knife that I stuffed in there that has fallen out.

I let out an embarrassed laugh. “Oh, that must be Lazaro’s. He always forgets his things in the car.”

Michael sniffs. “Might want to put that away in the glove compartment while you’re out.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

He stares at me while he waits for me to do it. Crap, I stashed the gun there. I open the compartment just an inch and slide the knife in as quickly as I can.

He sniffs again and then steps away from the car. “I’ll open the gate.”

I hold my breath until I turn a corner and he disappears out of sight. We’re out. We actually made it out.

There’s a very short-lived moment of relief until I realize I have another dilemma. I don’t know how to get to the closest airport, Newark, without the GPS, which means I need to keep my phone on, but that means Papà’s men will be able to track me once they know I’m gone. Shit.

I pull up the maps app, quickly type in our destination, and scan over the route. It’s not too bad. As soon as we get close to the airport, there’ll be signs everywhere. With one final look, I pry open the SIM card compartment and toss the chip out the window. Then I turn off my phone.

My thoughts race as I get onto the highway. I have a short window of time to decide what the hell I should do. Michael will sound the alarm as soon as he realizes I’ve been gone too long. It will be only a matter of time before Papà’s men have me trapped.

If Lazaro is alive, they’ll hand me right back to him. If he’s dead, Papà will be the one in charge of my punishment. I squeeze my hands tighter around the wheel. He won’t treat me kindly for interfering in his business, freeing one of his prisoners, and killing one of his best men. Papà hates traitors. He won’t show me any mercy.

Three loud thuds drift over from the back of the car.

I take the next exit and pull into the parking lot of an abandoned Target. This stop is time we can’t waste, but I’m worried she’s suffocating in there. I pop open the trunk and help her get out.

“I was going to puke if I stayed in there for a minute longer,” she says as she swings her legs over the edge.

“We need to keep driving,” I tell her. “We’re still about ten minutes from the airport.” I take my phone out and jog to a nearby garbage can. There’s no way I can keep the device. Even without the SIM card, I’m sure they’ll be able to track me as soon as I turn it back on. I’m about to run back to the car when my gaze catches on my wedding ring. After a moment, I slip it off my finger and throw it away too.

The girl takes the seat beside me and we get back on the road. “What are we going to do when we get there?” she asks.

“You’re going to buy a seat on the first flight out,” I say. “You need to be on a plane as soon as possible.”

In my periphery, I see her nod. I can’t imagine what she’s feeling and thinking. How much of this will she remember when the adrenaline wears off? She’s holding it together, but just barely.

Not like I’m doing much better, to be honest.

We drive in silence for a few minutes, but I can feel her pensive gaze on me. “Why did you decide to help me?” she asks.

Despite the many reasons that immediately pop into my head, I struggle giving her an answer.

Because you’re innocent.

Because you remind me of my little sister.

Because if I hurt someone one more time, I might kill myself right after.

And I want to live, even if I don’t deserve to. For some reason, I’m not ready to say goodbye to this ugly world.

“Because I can,” I say finally.

There are signs for Newark Airport now. “Drop me off at the international terminal,” the girl says.

It’s a good idea to leave the country. Papà’s influence goes far, but he’s not omnipotent.

“The cash is in my purse,” I say. “Take whatever you need.”

She grabs the bag from where it’s wedged between her feet and pulls out the wad of cash. Then she counts it. “I’ll take four grand. That’ll be enough to get me home.” She continues to count. “That leaves you with six.”

Six grand, a knife, a gun, and the clothes on my back. That’s all I have left to my name.

“What are you going to do?” the girl asks.

Run.

Run and hope they don’t find me.

My sisters won’t understand why I left because they don’t know anything about Lazaro’s sadistic games. My parents won’t ever tell them, but maybe this will be their wake-up call to not do to Gemma and Cleo what they’ve done to me. I wonder how they’ll explain my disappearance. Cleo will be skeptical no matter what they say, but Gemma might believe them. She’s loyal. Committed. Just like I used to be. Before my wedding, Mamma told me she was pleased with how well I absorbed all of her lessons.

Sorry, Mamma. I’m about to become your biggest disappointment. I couldn’t handle the life you wanted for me. No one’s going to call me a perfect wife after this.

“Did you hear me?”

I glance over at my companion. She’s gnawing on her nails. She looks so scared. It makes an ache appear in my chest.

Is she going to make it on her own? What if I shot my husband only for her to get taken by someone else? I have no idea what her story is, or why Lazaro was ordered to take her. What if he wasn’t the only one after her?

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I say.

A tangled strand of hair falls into her face. “Will you come with me to buy my ticket?” Her voice shakes. “I don’t want to look suspicious to the airline workers. You can say you’re my sister and that you’re buying me a last-minute trip.”

I don’t want to know where she’s going, but she has a point. She looks young and she’s travelling with no luggage. What if they think she’s in trouble and don’t allow her to board?

“Okay, I’ll go with you. As soon as you get past security, buy yourself a change of clothes and wear a hat. Don’t talk to anyone unless you have to.”

“Do you think they’re following us?”

“If they’re not already, they will be.”

The international terminal is right here. I pull to a stop in a no-parking zone, and we get out.

“Won’t they tow your car?” she asks.

“We’ll be quick.” Let them tow it. I’m not coming back to it. Once we get the girl’s ticket, I’ll buy my own to somewhere far from here.

We stop by the departures screen, and she points to a flight to Barcelona. “That one. I’ll be able to get picked up from there.”

It’s leaving in an hour.

“Let’s go,” I say and lead her to the ticket counter.

For all our worrying, the agent doesn’t bat an eye as she issues the girl her ticket.

Clutching her passport in her hand, she turns to me. Her hazel eyes meet mine.

There’s one last thing left for me to say. “Don’t ever come back to New York. Ever.”

She sucks in a ragged breath. “This city can go to hell.”

Her pink-soled Converse shoes slap against the floor as she jogs to the security line.

I wait until she’s out of sight and then walk over to a different agent.

When I tell him I’ll take any flight leaving in the next hour besides the one to Barcelona, he shakes his head. “Every other flight we have leaving in the next hour is full,” he tells me. “You can try going to a different airline to check what they have. Terminal two.”

I grind my teeth. There’s no time to run around the airport. Papà might already be figuring out what happened. “But there’s availability on the flight to Barcelona?”

“We have one seat left in business class,” he confirms.

Converse girl managed to get the last economy seat. I’ve started calling her that in my head, because it feels strange to have lived through the most intense hour of my life with someone who’s name I don’t even know. She’s Converse girl from now on.

“How much is it?”

“It’s three thousand five hundred and two dollars.”

My eyes bulge. Jesus, it’s expensive, but that’s what I get for buying a ticket minutes before the flight boards. I don’t want to go where she’s going, but I don’t really have a better choice. I hand him the money.

The two and a half grand I have left in my purse feel like nothing, especially since I don’t know what I’m going to do once I get to Europe. How long is that going to last me? I have no idea how to find a job. The only “job” I’ve ever had was helping Mamma organize charity events, and I didn’t have to interview for that. What skills do I have? I don’t think keeping secrets, cooking a mean lasagna, and looking pretty screams “hire me”.

The agent’s voice saves me from descending into a total meltdown.

“Here’s your boarding pass.“ He hands me a slip of paper. “You should hurry to the gate.”

I bolt through the airport, pass through security, and duck into a store to get myself a hoodie and a hat. My dress is too recognizable, and I don’t want Converse girl to see me and think that I’m tailing her.

At the gate, I spot her sitting in one of the seats, so I make sure I’m not in her line of sight. It’s all families and excited tourists mulling around, but every time I see a single male, my heart skips a beat. Is he reaching into his jacket for his phone? Who’s he calling? Did he just look at me for a second too long?

The paranoia is brutal. I force myself to take deep breaths. There’s no way Papà could’ve tracked me down this quickly. Even if I only inflicted a flesh wound on Lazaro and he got up as soon as we left the house, he’d need some time to track me down. He can’t know where I went.

Unless they tracked the car.

Oh God. I’m so stupid. Of course, they’d track the car’s GPS signal. If Lazaro can see I dropped the vehicle off at the airport, that means he knows I’m here. He’s probably on his way now. He might be at the terminal already.

By the time they start boarding, I’m barely holding it together.

I stay back until the very last group and move through the boarding procedure in a daze. My body is firmly stuck in fight-or-flight mode, but I’m forced to wait in one line and then the next. I’m jittery and sweaty. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I have flight anxiety.

When I get on the plane, I see Converse girl in one of the far rows in economy. She’s got a hat pulled low over her face, and she’s not even trying to look at anyone. Good. I slide into my window seat in row five and turn my face to the window. I’ll be off the plane before her, so as long as I stay in the business section during the flight, there’s no chance she’ll see me.

When the door to the plane shuts and we start to move, a moan of relief moves past my lips. With it go the remnants of my energy. I thought I’d be on pins and needles the entire flight, but my body shuts down, and I plunge into sleep.