Page 63 of Luca
"Take time to rest before we hit the town. We’ll have plenty of time. You don’t need to see everything the first day."
Paolo appears beside us with our luggage and that ever-present professional alertness. "Car's waiting, boss. Twenty minutes to the hotel."
I sit quietly on the drive and let Luca point out the sights like a personal tour guide, nodding and making appropriate sounds of amazement when we pass the castle, the river, the medieval buildings that turn Prague into a fairy tale.
"It's incredible," I breathe, which isn't a lie. Prague is incredible. It's just not incredible in the way Sofia Romano will be experiencing it.
The luxury hotel is elegant and historically significant. As we pull up to the entrance, I spot a small street that leads toward the hostel area, maybe fifteen minutes on foot.
My old life is so close.
But it might as well be on another planet with Paolo and his team watching my every move.
"Welcome to Prague," the hotel manager greets us. "We are honored to have you stay with us."
The suite is beautiful but all I can think about is how to get out of here without an escort.
"The concierge has prepared some suggestions for activities," Luca says, settling into one of the antique chairs with a folder of tourist information. "Museums, galleries, walking tours of the old city."
"That sounds wonderful. Though..." I move to the window, trying to look thoughtful rather than desperate. "I'd also love to do some shopping. Maybe explore some of the less touristy areas, see how local people really live."
"Of course. Paolo can arrange a shopping trip."
"Perfect,” I reply.
There’s no point in trying to talk him into allowing me to shop alone, so I don’t even try.
After lunch, I tell Luca I want to rest for a few hours to rest. He has business calls to make anyway, so he settles at the hotel's business center while I retreat to our suite.
Once I'm alone, I wait. I listen to his voice in the hallway as he speaks with Paolo about evening plans. When everything goes quiet, I move quickly.
From the hidden compartment in my largest suitcase, I pull out the clothes I've been hiding, worn jeans, scuffed boots, the jacket that's been with me forever. A dark cap and sunglasses complete my outfit. When I look in the mirror, I see myself again.
The hotel has a service entrance I spotted when we arrived. Staff members coming and going, the kind of busy traffic where one more person won't be noticed.
I slip out through the service corridor. This is what I'm good at. Disappearing, and becoming invisible when I need to be.
Twenty minutes later, I'm walking briskly through the hostel district.
The neighborhood looks exactly the same as it did weeks ago before the wedding. The narrow streets lined with budget accommodations, cafes, and the kind of bars where backpackers gather to drink cheap beer and swap travel stories.
I find the hostel I told Sofia about without any trouble. It's a converted building that probably hasn't been updated since the 1990s, with a hand-painted sign advertising beds for twenty euros a night.
The woman at the front desk looks up when I enter, and something flickers in her expression. Recognition, or confusion maybe.
"Excuse me," I say, trying to sound like a worried tourist. "I'm looking for my sister. She might be staying here. Italian girl, looks a lot like me?"
The woman's eyes narrow as she studies my face more carefully. "You are... different sister?"
"Yes. I'm worried about her."
"Ah." She nods slowly. "I maybe see her. Maybe no see her."
"Is she still here? This is important."
The woman shrugs. "She pay extra to have no records, no questions."
Of course…this is about money.
