Page 43 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
The city rises around me like glass architecture sculpted from wealth and ambition, its skyline a blend of symmetry and pure math.
Everything here is fast and clean, but the coldness feels different than home.
There’s no blood beneath the tiles, at least none that’s personal to me.
When I arrive, the apartment building is nestled between two towers, both of which seem to reflect its shape as though guarding it.
I park in the underground level and take the elevator up.
My floor is near the top.
The hallway is narrow, windowless, quiet in the way most expensive places are.
I unlock the door, step inside, and set the envelope down on the nearest table.
The place is sparse but tasteful.
One bedroom.
Polished floors.
Neutral furniture.
A view of the bay through glass that stretches from floor to ceiling. I walk through the rooms once, checking for cameras, listening for signs of surveillance.
There is nothing, only the hum of electronics and the faint trickle of water from the aquarium built into the wall behind the sofa.
I enter the bedroom and drop the suitcase beside the bed.
The mattress is firm.
The sheets are clean.
On the nightstand, there is already a note tucked under a simple hotel-style key card.
I pick it up and read the single line written in clean, slanted script.
Not so much as a goodbye?
The signature is a single letter.
D.
7
GIANNA
Five years later
There are days when the sea looks like it has teeth, and on those days, I keep the girls inside.
Yes, girls, as in plural.
I did not know it at the time I escaped, but later, I learned that I would be a mom to twins.
Then, life became about seeing them come to life, nursing them, holding them, loving them through nights of sleeplessness and sheer exhaustion.
How did I do it?
