Unbound From The Mafia Don
To avoid Dominic's vast web of security guards and cameras at the central terminal, I boarded a discreet, late-night airport shuttle bus.
Leaning my head against the cold glass window, I watched the neon lights of Palermo—the city where I had bled, loved, and ruined myself for seven years—rapidly recede into the shadows of the night.
Suddenly, my burner phone buzzed. It was a decrypted screenshot from Susan.
It was a post from Bianca’s private social media feed.
The photo showed a box of steaming, freshly baked traditional cannolis against the pristine, high-thread-count white sheets of the luxury family hospital wing.