Page 27 of Pen Pal

My heart sank as I ran to my window, looking frantically for the man I just spoke to, but he was gone.

But now I knew who he was.

He wastheEnzo,myEnzo. The man I saw during my internship was my pen pal whose letters Mark kept from me.

I looked at my small pile of things and realized I still had that shoebox. I didn’t remember how I got it, but it didn’t matter. I ripped the top off as I picked up the letters one by one and read them.

My heart dropped. Enzo was finally opening up to me and being vulnerable in his letters, a first step toward redemption. But his letters changed when he thought I stopped responding; his letters gotincreasingly frantic and worried. He didn’t know why I’d stopped writing him and didn’t know what to think.

Dear Amara, he would typically start the letters out.

Then it changed to Dearest Amara, Elusive Amara, and just Amara when he was worried.

When I got to his last letter, it broke my heart.

Dear Amara,

Maybe you heard, but I broke out a few days ago. I went to your place, and I see now why you stopped writing back to me. You have a husband at home now and are happy with your life. I’m sorry if I ever came between that. I’ll let you go now. Be happy.

Yours always,

Enzo

9

Enzo

The police officer was easy to distract. Too easy. There was no way he could keep Amara safe.“I need one of you to stay here and watch her while I get my sister back,” I barked, turning to Ludovic, Vitali, and Luca. “That pig is useless.”

“I’ll do it,” Ludovic sighed. “If any of you others do it, you’ll end up killing someone. Save all that energy for Sofia.”

I glared at him. “If anything happens to her…”

“I’ll guard her with my life,” Ludovic promised. “Go. Get your sister. Bring her home safe.”

I gave him a curt nod before turning to Vitali and Luca and motioning for them to accompany me.

We wandered the streets for a bit, looking for a car to hotwire. Vitali picked a sleek black sedan and went to work on it.

“That was fucking crazy,” Luca exclaimed.

“Oh yeah,” I agreed, thinking back to our escape.

Prisoners ran everywhere, smashing everything they could find. After knocking them out, they grabbed the guards' lighters and set the place on fire. Screaming guards ran as shouts rang and bullets flew. It was chaos and the perfect diversion for us to get away.

We dragged some guards into a utility closet and exchanged clothes where we knew there were no cameras. When we came out, the inmates recognized us with our tattoos and faces and left us alone. We used the guards’ keycards and got out of there, our heads down so the cameras couldn’t make out our faces. Whichever dumbasses they left to man things while the riot was ongoing weren’t too bright. But the important thing was that we got out.

We immediately got into one of the guards’ cars and sped off. No one came after us, and we whooped and hollered with joy.

We made a pit stop at Sofia’s house, where we got some clothes from her husband. The kids were asleep, and the teary-eyed man told us whathappened. He was at work, the kids were in school, and Sofia had the day off doing housework and running errands. They ambushed her in her own home, breaking in and dragging her away, kicking and screaming. The kids returned to an empty house and called their father, who rushed home. She was already gone.

The engine roared to life. “Come on, Enzo, let’s go!” Vitali hollered, opening the doors for me and Luca.

We hopped in, and Vitali gave me the driver’s seat. “What was Sacha’s last name again?” I asked through gritted teeth as I drove away from the shelter.

“Sokolov,” he replied, his tone as grim as my thoughts.

“Fuck,” I muttered, veering hard to the left. The Solokovs were a powerful family in the Russian mafia, and they would’ve taken my sister as revenge for killing Sacha. If she wasn’t dead already.

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