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After I made my bed, I walked out of my room feeling like my knees were about to give in from starvation. The first thing I heard was the muffled voices coming from the dining room. Alarm bells rang in my head as I realized there were people inthere. Not just any people—men. I wasn’t afraid of God, I was, however, afraid of men. Men from the Cosa Nostra.
So, I retreated, every creak of the floorboards magnifying the oppressive silence of my confinement. But then, a glimmer of hope cut through the gloom—a faint, eerie light seeping through the narrow gap of the front door. The light was dim and distorted, smeared with the heavy, relentless downpour outside.
It was the only thing I needed to see before I rushed towards the door. I hovered for a moment, waiting for someone or something to stop me. But when nothing came, I ran.
I fucking sprinted as if my life depended on it, every muscle in my body straining to propel me forward.
And by some twisted miracle, nothing came to stop me. No blaring alarm shattered the silence of the estate, no K-9s roared after me, and not a single gunshot rang out to force me back.
I don’t know how long I’d been running before I reached the wall. Adrenaline surged through me, pushing me up a near slick tree in the blinding downpour. My mind was a haze, but somehow, I found the strength to scale the wall, driven by sheer desperation.
So here I am, out of Dominic’s prison, barefoot and drenched—and still running.
I don’t stop. I can’t fucking stop. Because I’m never going to be far enough. Not in a city where people answer to Dominic, acity where he knows everything and everyone. A city that is his kingdom.
I have no idea where or how far I’m running, but I don’t stop until I feel like I’m going to collapse and my lungs are about to explode. The rain is slowly calming down when I reach an empty and quiet alley.
The torrential rain’s been a blessing in disguise—shielding my desperate sprint for survival from any wandering eyes, and just maybe, it’s the reason the cameras in Dominic’s house haven’t picked up my escape
I press my hands against the wall, doubling over, gasping for air, trying not to collapse right here. Dying now will be humiliating, especially if Dominic is the one who finds me sprawled on the ground. No doubt the house is already in chaos. Someone must’ve realized I’m gone by now. I just hope it’s Dominic who figures it out first. Oh what I wouldn’t give to see his face when he discovers I’ve slipped through his grasp.
My lips chatter and my body shakes from the freezing air, and despite my growling stomach and aching bones, I try to navigate where I’m going to go from here. If I don’t keep moving, it won’t be long before they find me.
Keep going Alessa … you can do it.I relax my hands, willing every bit of me to continue on.
But I’m starving—so fucking hungry that every step feels like it’s draining the last of my strength. I don’t know if I’ll make it another block before my body gives out.
I’ve never been to this part of Vegas before. One of my co-workers and I have been out here a couple of times to play blackjack, but I still can’t figure out exactly where I am.
If I can just get my bearings… maybe I can find some clothes that don’t scream barefoot junkie on the run.
I rack my brain for someone—anyone—but it’s useless. No one at work I trust enough and I can forget about my co-worker, who’s great for a blackjack game, but’ll fold at the first sign of real trouble. And definitely not my editor… she’s probably off the grid with a drink in hand, dodging my emails like the plague.
Who can I get a hold of?
The Russos?Yeah right… I bet they’re behind all this in some twisted way… probably want me dead. My father, who God knows where he’s hiding because he’s stupid enough to go against the Commission.
No one goes against the Commission without suffering the consequences.
Marco Russo isn’t one of them.
He never was.
He just married into it—wrong place, wrong family.
I’m torn.
Then it hits me—I couldn’t call anyone even if I wanted to. No phone. No contacts. Just me.
Part of me—the logical, worn-down part—is starting to believe that maybe nothing will actually happen to me if I just tell Dominic where my father might be.
Maybe they’ll let me go. Maybe this all ends.
Still…my heart won’t let me turn him in.
Because no matter how much I hate him for putting me in this mess, he’s my father—my family. The only one that’s left.
A loud rumbling thunder rattles the gray and cloudy sky, and the vibration on my feet creeps up my body, my stomach rumbling along. I wince as I wrap an arm around my stomach, fingernails digging into my side as if the pressure might somehow dull the hollow ache.