Just for you money

The Viewpoint of Lais

My idea of entering the mall was very good, as I managed to escape from the police. However, I still needed to find a place to sleep and eat where no one would ask me questions. Something inside me told me I had to leave this city. I was still in Italy, and I could be found by those who were looking for me, but I was too tired to think of a place to go. My knees hurt a lot, and my head was starting to throb. I needed rest. At least my stomach was full, since I bought something to eat at the food court in the mall.

Holding the bags, I went back out onto the street. I saw several hotels as I walked around, but I imagined they would all ask me for papers, and the fear that they would call the police was very great.

I realized that without papers, I wasn’t as free as I thought, because I couldn’t go where I wanted or how I wanted. The truth, which was becoming clearer, was that I would always be living on the run and hiding. How could I get a decent job and make a living if I always had to hide? I heard the sound of a motorcycle passing by and barely had time to react before the rider grabbed my bag.

“Let go!” I gripped the strap with all my strength, but it was very hard to do with the other bags I was carrying. He accelerated and dragged the bag. I pulled it back; I couldn’t let him take it. All I had were those jewels and the money from the sale of the ring. Without an ID, I couldn’t get anything else. I held on tightly and could feel the leather of the strap hurting my fingers, but I couldn’t let go. I had to hold on as tightly as possible, because I didn’t know what I would do without it.

The biker kicked me in the stomach and yanked the bag away sharply. I fell, sitting on the stone floor, as the strap snapped. All I had left was the strap in my hand as the bike sped away with everything I had.

The shock was so great that I couldn’t even think of screaming or crying. The truth is that I knew nothing about the world, and living alone and unprotected could be much harder than I had imagined.

“Poor thing.” I saw a woman standing in front of me, reaching out her hand. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head as tears welled up on my face. I wanted to cry; the despair was too great, but it felt like they just stayed collected in my eyes.

“It… it…” I sobbed. I didn’t know if it was because of fear or exhaustion, but I couldn’t speak.

“You’ve been robbed.”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to call the police.”

“No, please, not the police.” I stood up unsteadily and took a few steps back.

“They can help.”

“No.” I ran away from the woman before she had a chance to say anything else. I was very afraid of the police, afraid of everything. I didn’t know whom to trust, and without money, I had nowhere to go. I started running again. All I had left in my hands was a paper bag with an old dress, which I ended up dropping as I bumped into someone.

I followed the flow of people and crossed the street until I caught sight of the green railings of a huge park. I saw a magnificent arch, white and topped with soldiers, a triumphal arch. Without being able to think clearly, I entered, hoping that the trees would help me think better.

I had always loved a garden. The green and the plants harmonized me and brought me peace, even on days when I had nightmares. When the sisters divided the tasks at the convent, I always asked to take care of the plants. I hoped that at least there, no one would show up wanting to call the police on me. I thought I was alone at the convent, but the way I was now was much worse than all the fleeting friendships I had formed with the novices.

When I fled, I thought that a free life would be more pleasant than what awaited me at the altar. Could I be wrong? I followed the stone path through the green grass and sat on a metal bench. Empty-handed, I looked at my fingers. There was dried and cut blood, and the skin was red in that spot. The circumstances showed me that life outside the convent was not easy at all. Fortunately, I was still not hungry, and the afternoon sun warmed my shoulders. It would be much more complicated once it got dark and started to get cold.

The Viewpoint of Marco

I parked the car in front of a hotel in Milan that belonged to my family. We had many hotels, restaurants, vineyards, and other businesses spread throughout Europe that served to launder the mafia's dirty money. Hotels like this one always had a quota of rooms that were always rented by ghost clients paid with dirty money. I handed the key to the valet and headed to the reception.

“Hello, I’d like the key to the presidential suite.”

“Oh, yeah…” The receptionist was distracted reading something on her computer screen, but she jumped when she looked up and saw me standing there, staring at her.

“Mr. Bellucci.”

“The key.”

“Yes, just a moment.” She searched for a key card under the counter and handed it to me.

“Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you.”

My men and I went to the largest suite in the hotel. It was always empty, but we used it when we had to come to town for business.

I didn’t say a word until I opened the door and we found ourselves in the living room. The men stared at me, and I pointed to the huge table that could seat ten people.

“I want you to use the same facial recognition software to try to identify her. I don’t intend to waste much time here, so the sooner we find her, the better.”

The men assigned to the computers, sent by my brother, took notebooks out of their backpacks and sat down at the table. While I waited, I went to the mini-fridge in the room, which was always stocked, and grabbed a bottle of cold water. It was still spring, but the heat felt like summer, maybe because I hated this weather so much. I preferred winter when I sweat less, clothes didn’t bother me, and the days were shorter.

I walked around until I found the remote control for the air conditioning to lower the temperature in the room. Then I went to the window and, sipping the water, watched the people passing by along Via Monte Napoleone. Many were carrying numerous bags. Milan was a city known worldwide as a fashion district, and people from all over the world came to spend thousands of euros shopping.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and took it out. I looked at the name on the screen and put it to my ear when I answered.

“Theo?”

“Mateo told me you went to Milan looking for your runaway fiancée.”

“Yes. I’m at Monte Bello waiting for them to find her with that facial recognition software.”

“At least the thousands of euros our brother spent on the black market to buy this were worth something.”

“Since I haven’t found her yet, I can’t say for sure.”

“I just want to know how she ended up in Milan.”

“We have a lot to find out when I get my hands on that girl.”

“At least you’ll do it before the Costas. Speaking of them, did you have any signs of those bastards?”

“Not since their call, no.”