Chapter 4

The next day, I went to the hospital.

I saw a wife who hadn't slept all night, children waiting for their father to wake up, an old mother outside the resuscitation room.

Their frightened, hollow stares scraped across my face like a dull knife.

I understood their fear of losing someone they loved, because I had just lost my child.

"My son is only twenty-four," the old mother said, gripping my hand.

"If he doesn't make it, the Don will get him justice, won't he?"

I couldn't answer. I could only hold her hand tighter.

"You have to hold on. When he wakes up, he'll need to see you."

We wept in each other's arms, each drowning in our own abyss.

By the time I got back to the estate, it was past noon.

I went upstairs alone and started packing.

In the drawer, I found a yellowed notebook.

It was filled with the names we'd picked out for our child.

In the end, we'd decided on Andre for a boy and Dolores for a girl.

My fingertips traced the words, like touching my child's soft little face.

The next second, tears hit the page and blurred the ink.

My child.

In the end, never got to have a name.

The sharp pain in my chest made me part my lips, but I couldn't catch my breath.

Like a fish tossed onto the shore.

It was a long time before the pain slowly ebbed.

But I knew it would come back like the tide. It always does.

Unless I left this place for good.

Piece by piece, I folded my clothes into the suitcase.

Five years in the Moretti family, and leaving took only one suitcase.

I sat on the edge of the bed for a while, my eyes falling on the wedding ring.

Ever since I brought it home from the hospital, it had sat on the nightstand.

Even unworn, I could never bring myself to throw it away.

But now everything had changed. The ring was round, like a period.

The period at the end of me and Matteo.

I dragged my suitcase downstairs. The servants barely batted an eye.

I could even hear their hushed snickers.

"Here we go again. The Donna's running away again."

"How many times have we seen this routine?"

"She just wants the Don to chase after her. She never gets tired of it."

I ignored them and kept walking.

Every time I'd fought with Matteo over Chiara, I'd go off traveling alone to clear my head.

And Matteo would always come after me, sweet-talking me into coming home.

Before, he was my to-be-continued.

Now, he's my no-longer-updated.

The estate gates closed behind me, and my phone rang.

It was Matteo.

"The docks are handled."

His tone was calm, like nothing had happened. "Tonight I'm hosting a banquet for Chiara to help her get over the scare."

"You come too. We'll have a nice family dinner."

I gripped the handle of my suitcase.

"I'm not feeling well. I'm not going today."

There was a pause on the line, then Matteo's impatient voice came through.

"If you don't show up to something like this, what will people think? It's settled."

The call ended.

I ignored him and drove to the airport.

I'd just reached the Charles River when the phone rang again.

I hung up. It rang again. I hung up. It rang again.

On the seventh call, I finally answered.

Matteo's voice cut into my ear.

"What's with the attitude? Can't you cut me some slack?"

I didn't answer, just kept driving.

"Why are you only at the Charles River now? Hurry up, the banquet's about to start!"

I froze. It hit me that it wasn't just my phone. There was a tracker in the car too.

Whenever he wanted, he could find me.

Chiara's voice came through the line.

"Don, is the Donna doing this on purpose? Is she still mad at me?"

Her voice was so close it was like she was deliberately whispering in his ear.

"She'll come. Don't worry."

After comforting Chiara, Matteo asked, "Are you tired? Want me to send someone to pick you up?"

"No!" The word jumped out of me. "I'll be there."

Matteo said a few more things before hanging up, satisfied.

I hit the brakes and pulled over by the bridge railing.

The night was diluted by the city lights, the color of a strong cup of tea.

With the river wind on my face, I decided to say goodbye to the past for good, leaving no trace.

I wound up and hurled the phone into the black water below the bridge.

Then I walked ahead to flag down a cab to the airport.

Just as I got in, a muffled thud came from behind me, like a traffic accident.

I didn't look back.

Don't look back. Looking back is too hard. I need to be brave.

Two hours later, I boarded a flight to New York.

Now, I'm no longer Bianca Moretti.

I'm Bianca Greco.