34. Bella
THIRTY-FOUR
Bella
New York City is alive with its usual hustle and bustle, the energy of the city both invigorating and overwhelming.
I flag down a cab, the bright yellow car pulling up to the curb with a screech. The driver, an older man with kind eyes and a grizzled beard, gives me a nod as I slide into the back seat. "Where to, miss?"
I give him the address from the note, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me. "And please, if you could take the fastest route."
He raises an eyebrow but obliges, pulling away from the curb and merging into the flow of traffic. As we drive, I glance out the window, the familiar sights of my city blurring past. The cabbie's voice pulls me from my thoughts.
"Got a lot on your mind, huh?" he asks, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.
I nod, offering a small smile. "Yeah, you could say that. It's been a rough few days."
He chuckles, a warm, rumbling sound. "I hear you. Got kids?”
“No, why?”
“Mine make me look like you look. Always keeping me on my toes. My eldest, he's been acting out a lot lately. Can't figure out what's going on in that head of his."
His words strike a chord, and I find myself opening up. "Have you tried talking to him, asking him what’s bothering him?"
The cabbie nods thoughtfully, his eyes focused on the road. "Yeah, but he just clams up. It's like pulling teeth. You’re a woman. Got any advice on how to get through to him?"
I think back to my own childhood, the times I felt misunderstood or scared to speak up. "Maybe try finding a common ground, something he’s interested in. Show him that you’re there for him, no matter what. It might take some time, but if he knows you’re not going anywhere, he might open up eventually."
The cabbie smiles, a glint of hope in his eyes. "Thanks, miss. I’ll give that a try. Kids, huh? They’re a handful, but my wife won’t let me give them to a thrift store. Guess I’m stuck with them."
The cabbie pulls over to the side of the road. "Here we are, miss. Good luck with whatever you’re dealing with."
I hand him the fare, adding a generous tip. "Thank you. And good luck with your son."
He tips his hat, giving me a reassuring smile. "Take care now."
Stepping out of the cab, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what’s to come. The building in front of me is nondescript, blending in with its surroundings. But I know this is the place. My heart pounds as I approach the entrance to an abandoned store.
I push open the door and step inside, ready to face whatever awaits me.
The air is thick with dust and the faint smell of old wood. The place is deserted. My heart races as I walk down a dimly lit hallway, my footsteps echoing softly. I reach the end of the hall, where a small, forgotten room lies hidden behind an old, creaky door.
Taking a deep breath, I push the door open. Inside, the room is sparsely furnished, with a single table and a chair in the center.
My eyes scan the area, and I spot a small, folded piece of paper tucked where he said it would be, under a loose floorboard. I quickly retrieve it, my fingers trembling as I unfold the note.
It’s another coded message from my father. I sit down at the table, pulling out my phone to use the decoding app I downloaded earlier.
As I work through the cryptic symbols, my mind races with thoughts of my father, hoping he’s safe and that this message will finally lead me to him.
The code takes time to crack, each symbol revealing a small piece of the puzzle. As I decode the message, the instructions become clear:
If you are alone and safe, come to the old Prohibition-era speakeasy on 42nd Street. Use the phrase ‘Eagle has landed’ to gain entry. Stay hidden until you’re sure it’s safe.
When I arrive at 42nd Street, I find the entrance hidden behind an unassuming door, marked only by a faded sign. I knock twice, then three times, and wait. A small peephole slides open, and a pair of suspicious eyes peer out at me.
“Eagle has landed,” I say, my voice steady.
The door creaks open, and I step inside. The speakeasy is a relic of a bygone era, with dark wood paneling, vintage posters, and an old bar lined with customers. The air is fresh, even as the dim lighting casts eerie shadows on the walls.
I take a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness, scanning the room for any sign of my father. A figure steps out from the crowd, and I feel a surge of relief when I recognize him.
“Dad!” I whisper, rushing to his side.
He wraps me in a tight embrace, his voice filled with emotion. “Bella, thank God you’re safe.”
I pull back, studying his face. He looks older, more worn out than I remember, but his eyes are still the same—filled with love and worry. “What’s going on, Dad? Why are we here?”
He leads me to a corner of the room, where we can talk more privately. “I’m sorry, Bella. I never wanted to drag you into this mess.”
I nod, my heart aching for him. “I know about the crop report.”
He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his graying hair. “I made a deal with someone in the agricultural industry to get the only copy.”
He pauses, his eyes filled with regret. “I thought I could auction it to a couple of mafia families and make a lot of money. But instead, I found myself targeted by hitmen from both families. I’ve been running ever since.”
I take a deep breath, my mind racing with the implications. “Dad, we need to get out of here. Vince Russo’s men are still after you, and we don’t have much time. Ricardo and Alex have promised to keep you safe.”
“You trust them?”
“I do. Now let’s move.”
Then everything goes to hell.