Chapter 4
EVA
Pain radiates through my body with each step.
Three days since I woke up on the floor of that apartment, blood pooled around me, thankfully not mine, but my attacker's, his lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
Mirabella was sitting next to me, rubbing the wound on my arm with toilet paper.
I want to chastise her for not running, and yet, I’m so grateful to see her alive.
We've been running ever since.
No time to patch myself up properly.
The gash above my eye has crusted over and my ribs scream with each breath.
We made it south as far as Lakewood, a town that looks like a perfect place to raise a child.
And so I stopped, trying to work out whether it's feasible for us to stay.
"I'm hungry," Mirabella says against my neck, her little arms wrapped tight around me.
"Soon, baby." I press a kiss to her forehead. "Just a little longer."
Her weight, normally nothing to me, feels like an anchor after days without proper rest.
But I can't put her down.
We need to move quickly.
The old section of town buzzes with activity.
Perfect cover, I hope.
Mirabella's been so quiet.
Too quiet for a three-year-old who normally chatters endlessly about fairies and puppies.
She hasn't complained, not really, even though I know she's exhausted, confused, and scared.
She senses my fear, adapting to it like it's normal.
What kind of life am I giving her?
My selfishness is forcing her to endure a life no child should have to live.
I slip between a young couple arguing over directions and a family posing for photos, my eyes constantly scanning exits, threats, opportunities.
The habits of four years in hiding, perfected to an art.
Then I see them.
Three men moving against the flow of the crowd.
Not random. Purposeful.
Like a pack of dogs working together to corner their prey.
Bratva. They've found us again.
My heart stutters, adrenaline flooding my system. I clutch Mirabella tighter, feeling her tense in response.
She whimpers, sensing my fear.
"It's okay, baby," I lie. "We're just playing hide and seek again."
"I don't like that game."
"I know." My heart splinters with pain and guilt. "But you're so good at it. Remember what to do if someone grabs Mama?" My voice stays steady despite the men closing in. I need her prepared. God help me, my three-year-old needs to know how to survive without me.
I scan for escape routes, my muscles coiling with the instinct to run. But where?
The street to the right has a bus stop, but the next bus won't arrive for twenty minutes according to the schedule board.
The café across the square might offer temporary shelter, but the Bratva would just wait us out.
They're coordinating through various nods and hand signals.
The man by the fountain makes his move, walking directly toward us.
The other two shift positions, cutting off potential escape routes.
"Hold tight to Mama," I whisper, slipping my hand into my jacket pocket where my switchblade waits.
I turn down a side street, moving quickly but not running.
Running attracts attention.
My thigh throbs with each step.
Three more blocks to the train station. If I can just make it—
A man appears just ahead. I pivot, changing direction into the nearest alley, but my heart sinks when I see it's a dead end.
Brick walls on three sides, the mouth of the alley already filling with the silhouettes of men.
My mind catalogs escape routes, weapons, vulnerabilities. The dumpster on my right could provide cover.
The fire escape above is unreachable.
I place Mirabella down behind a dumpster. "Stay here. Don't come out unless Mama calls you."
Her bottom lip trembles. "Like the hiding game?"
"Yes, baby. You're so good at that game." I step away from the dumpster, now exposed to the men. My ribs scream, my vision blurs at the edges. I'm injured, exhausted, outmanned and outgunned.
I pull out my switchblade and a second knife. I’ll fight to the death, and as I assess my situation, I believe that death will happen here.
I can only hope they don’t find Mirabella and that she’s able to find help.
I hope she’s sent to live with a family who can love her and care for her in the way I haven’t been able to.
My body drops automatically into a fighting stance, muscle memory from years of survival.
The pain in my ribs fades to background noise as adrenaline floods my system.
Every sense heightens.
I can hear each footfall, smell the cologne of the men approaching.
Three men block me in.
Will they kill me or kidnap me?
Behind me, I hear my daughter's tiny, muffled whimper.
The sound hardens my resolve.
This isn't just about survival anymore.
It's about making sure my daughter has a future, even if I'm not in it.
I grip my knives tighter, ready to fight, to survive or die trying.
The first attacker takes a step forward, gun lifted, lips parted to speak when his head snaps violently forward as the unmistakable sound of not one, but two gunshots echoes through the alley.
He crumples to the ground.
My heart leaps violently in my chest, the sound triggering primal fight-or-flight responses throughout my body.
"What the fuck—" The second man growls, turning toward the fourth intruder, who I’m getting the sense isn’t with them.
Two more shots ring out, one hitting him in the chest, the other in the head.
He drops.
Confusion washes over me.
I press back against the wall, my mind racing to make sense of what's happening.
The third attacker whips around, drawing his knife.
He lunges at the fourth man, who grabs his wrist, forcing his hand upward, driving the knife under his jaw and upward.
His body twitches until the fourth man releases him and he slumps to the ground.
I want to think we’ve been saved, but I’ve never been saved before.
Perhaps this is just a competitor wanting to keep whatever bounty the Bratva has on me.
"Mama?" Mirabella's terrified voice reaches me.
Unable to stop myself, I turn to her. She rushes out, and I drop to my knees to embrace her.
But I’m not sure the danger has passed. I turn toward the man as he approaches, ready to fight.
And then, my breath catches.
Adriano.
My Adriano.
For one heartbeat, joy floods through me—pure, unfiltered happiness that bursts through years of grief and longing.
The urge to run to him, to touch his face and make sure he's real, overwhelms me.
Then reality crashes down, cold and merciless.
He found me.
My blood turns to ice water in my veins.
This wasn't supposed to happen. He was never supposed to know I survived.
The elaborate deception, the staged death, the years in hiding, all of it for nothing.
Everything I've done to keep her safe, to keep us both hidden, has just shattered.
"You're alive," he says, but his tone isn't angry or accusatory. Not that it matters. His finding me complicates my life even more.
I glance between him and the bodies, not sure what to think. Mirabella shifts as she peeks at Adriano from the safety of my arms.
Adriano approaches us both slowly. "Eva. Are you alright? Are you hurt?"
I don't answer. I'm not completely sure that this isn’t some sort of hallucination. I clutch my daughter tighter
"I can get you somewhere safe," he continues, reaching toward me. "Both of you."
I flinch away from his outstretched hand. There's no relief, no joy at seeing him. Only fear.
"You weren't supposed to find me," I say. "You were never supposed to know I was still alive."