Page 6 of Worth the Risk

“If my choice is death on my own terms or from your bullet,” she called back. “I’ll take option 1.”

With a deep breath, she ran for the edge. Her feet left the asphalt rooftop, and she sailed through the air as shouts and more gunfire exploded behind her. For a moment, she felt weightless, like she was flying. Then she hit the other roof, slamming into it with a sickening thud. Pain racked her body, especially her injured side, but she had to keep going.

As she scrambled to her feet and ran for the access door, she could hear Lorenzo’s henchmen arguing. None of them would take the risk. When she reached the door, by sheer luck, it was propped open with a rock.

More shots rang out, the bullets clanging off the metal as she charged inside and down the stairs. She didn’t stop until she reached the lobby. Sparing only a second to peek out to ensure the street was free of Giordano thugs, she pushed through it and, with stamina she didn’t know she possessed, raced down the street and into the nearest subway station.

Again, fortune, or her guardian angel in heaven, smiled down on her because a train was boarding. She made it through the doors, pushing through the crowd to the other side, and collapsed in a seat just as it pulled away. Through the yellowed and scratched windows, she caught of glimpse of Rudolpho’s furious face before the subway car entered the protection of the tunnel.

“Are you all right, miss?” an older man seated across from her asked.

She glanced up, seeing him and the people around staring with either concern, curiosity, distaste—understandable since she was sweating profusely and bleeding, much of it staining her fuzzy pink slippers—and, typical to the city, indifference.

She tucked her feet up under the seat and told the biggest whopper of her life. “I’m fine, sir. Thank you. I couldn’t miss the train or be late for work for the third time this week.”

The man looked beyond skeptical then shrugged and went back to his morning paper. Her fellow commuters ignored her after that.

Isabella changed trains three more times, taking the last one to the end of the line in Coney Island. There she found a cab and backtracked to Grand Central Station, where she boarded the first train out of the city. She didn’t care where it went, just so long as she was away from her murderous father—

No, he was her stepfather. She had to remember that.

It meant leaving the city and the only home she’d ever known, but she couldn’t stay here. Isabella felt like her universe was crashing down. Hell, she wasn’t even a Giordano like she’d always thought, but a Pietro—the enemy.

Despite shaking with exhaustion and fear, she couldn’t stop. She had to keep moving, keep running, until she was far away from her father’s criminal enterprise and the death sentence that came with her being anywhere near it.

Chapter 3

ONE YEAR LATER...

Bella pulled into a parking space and turned off the ignition. As usual, the engine didn’t stop like it was supposed to, “dieseling” for several seconds before going silent. Her Corolla was twelve years old, with high mileage. She’d put on half of it traveling cross country, moving at a moment’s notice, and trying to stay one step ahead of the goons on her tail. She knew it only had a few years max when she bought it, but it was all she could afford.

Every time she got in and turned the key, she held her breath, afraid it wouldn’t start, and because she’d seen too many ignition switch bombings in mob movies. When the engine turned over, it often backfired, scaring the crap out of her, and the gas mileage stunk.

Even though it was a hit to her savings, she took it to a mechanic a few months back. He said it sounded like a leaking fuel injector. The price tag for the repair, $250 not including the $80 diagnostic charge. Fortunately, it was still drivable, and he said itshouldn’tcatch fire—ah, words to help her sleep at night—but over time, it would damage her engine and start stalling, flooding, and eventually just wouldn’t start at all.

She’d thanked him and left. It was a risk she’d have to take because she simply didn’t have the money. The $1200 hadn’t lasted long. Pawning every piece of jewelry on her body had bought her only a few weeks then she had to get a job. She’d waited tables, washed dishes, scrubbed floors—whatever she could find to keep her from sleeping in her beat-up rust mobile—and dumpster diving for food to survive. That desperate, she wasn’t yet, but it was a near thing.

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