Kanyan (Gatti Enforcers #1)

2. Lula

2

LULA

T he tightrope wobbles beneath my feet, a thread of wire stretched across a chasm of uncertainty. Below, the ground looks like a smear of charcoal, distant and unyielding. My toes grip the wire through my soft-soled shoes, and my arms extend outward, balancing against gravity’s pull.

The exhilaration courses through me like lightning. Up here, nothing else exists. Not the haunting echoes of my past, not the shadows of the man I was promised to, not the weight of running and the constant fear of being caught. Up here, I am weightless. Free. Like a butterfly.

The spotlight traces my movements as I place one foot in front of the other, steady but deliberate. The crowd below is silent, their breaths held hostage by my daring. They think I’m fearless, that this is easy for me. But they don’t know the truth: I am terrified every single time. Terrified but exhilarated.

It’s not the fall that scares me—it’s what waits if I don’t keep moving forward.

And now, here I am. Lula, the tightrope dancer. The girl who escaped. The woman who dances above the abyss, daring gravity to pull her down.

The wire trembles under my weight as I reach the midpoint. My heart pounds, a drumbeat of adrenaline and defiance. The crowd gasps as I pause, one foot balanced on the wire, the other raised slightly, my arms carving graceful arcs through the air.

I smile, letting them see the fire in my eyes. They don’t know that this moment—this razor-thin edge between survival and disaster—is the only place I feel alive.

As I take the next step, my mind drifts back to Derin. He’s still out there, somewhere. He never forgets a debt, and he doesn’t forgive betrayal. I know he’s looking for me.

But he’ll never find me.

Because up here, on this wire, I’m untouchable.

The crowd erupts into applause as I reach the platform on the far side. The spotlight follows me as I bow, my chest heaving from exertion. The cheers wash over me, but they can’t drown out the voice in my head.

Keep moving, Lula. Don’t look down. Don’t stop.

I retreat to the shadows backstage, the applause fading as the next act begins. My hands tremble as I reach for the water bottle on the counter, the adrenaline leaving me hollow and lightheaded.

This life isn’t perfect. It’s a series of half-truths and borrowed moments, a balancing act between who I was and who I’m trying to be. But it’s mine.

And for now, that’s all I need.

Here in the country where I grew up, freedom is woven into the air, as natural as breathing. My childhood was a series of endless afternoons—schoolyard games where my laughter rang loud, the taste of popsicles melting too quickly in the summer sun, the hum of possibility in every moment. It felt as if life would stretch on like that forever, warm and unbroken.

But forever came to an end when I was sixteen. That’s when my father decided it was time to “go home.” Albania. A place I’d never set foot in, but one that lived vividly in his stories. He spoke of the mountains, ancient and proud, of a culture rich with music and history, of a people as fierce as they were kind. But what he didn’t talk about were the shadows of tradition, deep and heavy, the kind that choke the air and bind your choices.

My mother didn’t come with us. She hadn’t been in the picture for years by then—gone one evening when I was nine and never came back. Dad said she wasn’t built for staying, that her spirit was too restless for roots. I never knew the real reason, only that she left a hole where love should have been.

The house in Albania was nothing like the home we’d left behind. My father had poured every cent he had into buying it, a crumbling relic of a past he couldn’t let go of. The plaster peeled in long, curling strips, the floors sagged underfoot, and the windows rattled even when there was no wind. “It has potential,” he said, his voice tinged with stubborn pride. I only saw a cage, its bars made of cracked mortar and rusted nails.

And then the men started coming.

They’d arrive in the evenings, loud and brash, their voices filling the house like a storm. My father called them friends, though they were anything but. They came for poker, for cheap whiskey, for laughter that always edged too close to menace. And they came for me. Their eyes lingered too long, crawling over my skin like insects. I hated the way they leered, the way their laughter would dip into something darker whenever I passed through the room.

One of them stood out, and for good reason. Derin. Thick-necked, his greasy hair slicked back, his smile as sharp as broken glass. He didn’t just look at me; he devoured me with his eyes. When he laughed, the sound lingered in the walls long after he left.

I started locking my door at night. Listening to the creak of the floorboards, every noise sending a shiver up my spine. Just in case.

It wasn’t long before the whispers started. My father had debts. Gambling debts. Derin was the one holding the markers, and one night, he made his proposition. My marriage in exchange for my father’s freedom.

The first time I overheard it, I thought it was some kind of cruel joke. Surely no one still bartered their daughters like cattle. The second time, when my father sat me down to explain it, I realized it wasn’t a joke at all.

I fought. I screamed. I begged him to find another way. And to his credit, he tried. He took on more jobs than any one man should, worked until his hands were raw and his back bent. He borrowed money from anyone who would give him the time of day. Slowly, painfully, he managed to scrape together enough to settle his debts.

But Derin didn’t care about the money.

He wanted me.

When my father told him we’d come up with the payment, Derin only laughed, a sound that chilled my blood. “A deal’s a deal,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. His gaze burned into me like a brand. “The girl is mine.”

I remember the night I fled. The air was cold and heavy, and the moon was a sliver of silver. I slipped out the back door with nothing but a backpack and the clothes on my back. Every step away from that house felt like tearing myself free from chains. Free from a past that begged to be left behind. My heart pounded as I crept through the dark streets, every shadow a potential threat, every sound a warning.

I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t stay.

Because Derin doesn’t forget a debt, and he doesn’t forgive betrayal, either. But I would rather face the world’s wrath than be caged to him for the rest of my life.