Chapter nineteen
I yank my top over my head, the fabric catching briefly on my necklace before slipping free.
My leggings follow in a swift motion, pooling around my ankles before I step out of them.
Every second counts—I have to move fast before Vincenzo's paranoia kicks in, and he decides to track me using his car's GPS.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but I force myself to stay focused.
As a precaution, I had abandoned his car outside the train station, leaving it parked haphazardly like I was in a rush to catch a train. Hopefully, that'll throw him off my trail long enough for me to disappear—at least for a while.
The mental image of his reaction when he realizes I'm gone makes me smirk. Oh, I would pay to see that.
I reach for the black jeans I just bought, the fabric stiff against my legs as I slide them on quickly.
They hug my curves snugly, molding to my body like a second skin.
Next, I grab the dark orange v-neck jumper, its material soft and warm as I pull it over my head.
I tuck it neatly into my jeans, securing everything with a sleek Gucci belt.
At least the store clerks had let me pay before changing, saving me the hassle of dealing with receipts and bags afterward.
Straightening my necklace, I take a moment to check myself out in the mirror. Casual but put-together. Unassuming. I look nothing like the woman who stormed out of Vincenzo's house hours ago.
Satisfied, I shove my discarded clothes into my handbag and sling it over my shoulder.
With a bright, deliberate smile, I walk straight out of the store—only for my stomach to drop the moment my eyes land on one of Vincenzo's men.
He's lurking near Victoria's Secret, pretending to browse but scanning the crowd with sharp, calculated movements.
Shit.
He noticed I was gone way faster than I anticipated.
I duck my head, my heart hammering as I veer toward the nearest exit. Stay calm. Act normal. If I run, I'll only draw attention to myself.
Then, I hear his voice.
Vincenzo's deep, unmistakable tone cuts through the noisy mall, dripping with barely restrained fury. He's on the phone, barking orders, demanding updates.
I flinch. The venom in his voice is enough to make anyone cower—but not me.
I pick up my pace, weaving through the crowd.
A woman ahead of me steps into a taxi, and I make a snap decision.
Rushing forward, I catch the door before it closes and slide in beside her.
The driver startles, glancing at me through the rearview mirror, but I don't give him a chance to question it.
"I'm so sorry," I say breathlessly, fake tears already pooling in my eyes. "My boyfriend is looking for me. I can't go back to him. Please, help me."
The woman beside me stiffens, her expression shifting from surprise to immediate concern. Without hesitation, she wraps an arm around my shoulders, offering a comforting squeeze.
"It's okay, hun," she soothes, her voice gentle. "My name's Gianna. What's yours?"
My mind scrambles. I can't use my real name.
"V-Valentina," I stammer, forcing a shaky breath. "I—I need to get to the hospital."
"Okay, Valentina," she reassures me, already giving the driver instructions. "We're going there right now, don't worry."
The taxi swerves away from the curb just as Vincenzo's call ends.
I resist the urge to turn around. I can't risk him spotting me.
But my relief is short-lived.
Gianna's next words send a bolt of unease down my spine.
"I need to ask you a few questions, and I need you to answer them honestly if I'm going to help."
That's when I notice it—the police badge clipped to her belt.
Fuck.
Of course, the one person I lie to ends up being a cop. Just my damn luck.
But I can't back out now. I swallow hard, nodding.
"Okay," I murmur, scrambling to adjust my story.
She studies me carefully. "Does your boyfriend—"
I already know what she's going to ask.
"No," I cut in quickly, shaking my head. "He's just... very protective. I just moved here, and he doesn't want me walking around alone, I guess."
Gianna doesn't look entirely convinced, but she nods. "Alright. Where did you used to live? And why do you need to go to the hospital?"
"I'm hoping to get a job there," I say smoothly, forcing a small, hopeful smile. "I just got my medical degree. I used to live in New York with my family."
Her brows lift slightly, but she keeps going. "What's your boyfriend's name?"
I hesitate, just for a second.
"Vincenzo Lombardo," I mutter reluctantly.
The second his name leaves my lips, she freezes.
It's brief—just a flicker of recognition, but I catch it. Her jaw tightens, her fingers tapping against her thigh.
She knows exactly who he is.
And yet, she continues speaking like nothing happened, asking more questions. I keep my answers short, vague—enough to satisfy her curiosity but not enough to give her anything real.
By the time we pull up to the hospital, my head is spinning from the interrogation.
I thank her quickly, shoving a 50-euro bill into the driver's hand before slipping out of the cab. No time to waste.
Taking a deep breath, I push through the hospital doors and walk straight to the front desk.
The man behind the counter glances up lazily, his gaze immediately dropping to my chest. Gross.
"Hey," I say, plastering on my best pleasant-but-professional smile. "I was wondering if you have any openings for nurses or assistant doctors? I have all my paperwork in my bag."
His interest piques at that. "Yeah, we do. I'd have to get one of the doctors to review your credentials. Can I get a name?"
His eyes linger a little too long, and I instinctively tug at my jumper's neckline. He looks up quickly, caught in the act, and clears his throat awkwardly.
I resist rolling my eyes.
"My name is Alexa Lombardo," I say, forcing confidence into my tone.
His reaction is immediate. His gaze snaps to mine, and his face pales slightly.
I watch as he gulps, then shakes his head rapidly.
"S-sorry. We don't have any jobs available," he blurts out.
I frown. "But you just said you did?"
"Yeah, but—uh—I just checked, and we don't," he stammers, clearly nervous.
I narrow my eyes. "Are you sure about that?"
His hands twitch on the keyboard. He hesitates, then leans in slightly, dropping his voice.
"I—I'm not supposed to tell you this," he whispers, glancing around anxiously, "but your husband came in earlier and told us not to hire you. I'm sorry, Mrs. Lombardo. Please don't kill me."
Rage ignites inside me, hot and all-consuming.
I slam my hands onto the counter. The man jumps.
"That son of a bitch!" I snarl, my voice a furious hiss.
Spinning on my heel, I storm out of the hospital, my blood boiling.
The second I step outside, I flag down another taxi and slide in, slamming the door shut.
"The Lombardo mansion," I growl.
The driver barely nods before pulling away.
Vincenzo is going to regret this.
By the time I'm through with him...
He'll be begging for mercy.