Reclaiming My Path
The earliest train would leave tomorrow morning at seven.
Milan was far from New York, and the Camorra’s reach wouldn’t extend that far, at least for now. Hence, I booked the ticket, set my phone to silent, and placed it by my pillow.
Just as I lay down, the phone lit up again with the same anonymous number.
“There will be someone waiting for you at the station when you arrive. He’ll be wearing a black coat and holding a blue book.”
I stared at the screen, a flicker of hope stirring in my chest. This person wasn’t just warning me—they were arranging my protection. Although I didn’t know who it was, I wasn’t completely alone.