Page 89 of The Mafia Marriage Contract

I toss the violin onto the bed like it betrayed me and go straight to the dresser. My movements are quick and frantic, shoving in random items of clothes, shoes, a passport, and the emergency roll of cash from the bottom drawer.

My hands pause at the hem of his T-shirt, still soft, still warm with everything we were just hours ago. I decide not to take it off out of stubbornness and pull a hoodie over the top of it.

When I reach the penthouse door, the security guard doesn’t move to stop me. He just stands there, expression distant, and gives a single, silent nod as if he already knows I’m no longer welcome here.

That icy rejection hits harder than I expect, and for one stupid second, the urge to scream swells in my chest. But I don’t let it loose because it won’t change a damn thing.

I square my shoulders, clutch my violin case tighter, and march into the waiting elevator, doing my best to stay strong.

But when the elevator doors close with a soft hiss, sealing me inside a metal box, all the emotions inside me become too big.

My reflection stares back from the polished steel with my unbrushed hair, makeup free complexion, and watery eyes. I look like a girl who just survived a war, only to realize she was on the wrong side.

I grip the railing behind me, my knuckles bone-white.

What the hell am I doing letting him call the shots? But he told me to get out like I meant nothing. It was easy for him. That clean-cut. That final.

My head drops back against the wall with a dull thud.

Breathe, Livvie. Just breathe.

But breathing doesn’t stop the shitstorm tearing through my chest. Maybe Kingston knew walking away was the best for both of us.

Sure, I could disappear now. Leave this life behind and forget all about the order to kill him… but then my family would die.

The elevator slows and I drag in a breath like I’ve just dragged my way out of a dark ocean.

I can’t think straight anymore. All I need is space and distance to figure this out before everything collapses or the Red Tribunal comes for me next.

Outside, the street is loud, chaotic. Honking horns. Voices. A man yells into a phone, something about the stock market, and a woman with purple hair clipsmy elbow on her way past.

I keep walking, sneakers scuffing the pavement, sweat gathering at the nape of my neck beneath my hoodie.

I should’ve worn something else, but I wasn’t exactly thinking straight when I stormed out with a violin case and my heart breaking in my chest.

The city hums around me and I don’t know where I’m going. The streets blur together, one block melting into the next.

Uptown? Downtown? Doesn’t matter. I just know I can’t stop moving until I’m far away from his penthouse.

Every corner I pass, I glance over my shoulder. Old paranoia, born from a childhood trapped in shadows and secrets.

No security detail trails me this time. No black SUV crawling behind or watchful eyes reporting back. I left the penthouse on my own, and now I’m truly alone.

The irony doesn’t escape me.

This quiet stretch of freedom is the very thing I came to New York for. A fresh start. A life without chains, bodyguards, and eyes on my every move.

Yet here I am, mid-breakdown after my fake marriage blew up, wandering unfamiliar streets in a city ruled by the very man I just walked out on.

After a few more blocks, I slow near a quieter side street, lift my gaze, and blink at the warm glow of a boutique hotel tucked between a sushi bar and an antique bookstore.

Its red brick exterior is clean and understated, with ivy crawling up one side and gold-lettered signage polished to a shine.

I linger on the sidewalk, considering my options, and adjust the violin strap on my shoulder before nodding once to myself.

This is where I’ll disappear for a while, paying in cash, leaving no trace that I was ever here.

The awning above offers me shadows, but nothing shields me from the ache settling in my chest.