7. Chloe
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHLOE
THEN
TEN YEARS AGO
Istare up at the gates before dropping my gaze to the piece of paper in my hand.
This is definitely the right address, but it’s nothing like what I expected.
The instructions were very clear, and although the bratty part of me wanted to do the opposite of what he told me to do, purely because he left without a word, this is my best chance at staying off Lombardi’s radar.
“Can I help you miss?” The voice comes from the small guardhouse beside the gate, and I take a step back as a fresh bout of anxiety slams into my chest.
You’d think I’d be used to living in a perpetual state of pure panic by now, but if anything, it gets worse with each day that passes.
It’s been three weeks since I escaped the Lombardi compound, and I’m more of a mess now than I was that night.
Your hormones aren’t helping, I remind myself.
The doctors said it would take a while for my body to settle, but I was hoping that was the worst-case scenario.
“Miss?” he says with a frown. Now that he’s come out of the tiny building, I realize it’s an older man, and there’s something about his kind eyes that allows some of my panic to disperse.
“Uh, yeah, sorry.” Heat touches my cheeks as I glance around at the quiet street. “My name is Chloe Weaver. I’m supposed to start a new position today.”
“Of course! Mr. De Marco mentioned you would be here this afternoon!” He eyes the backpack resting over my shoulder with a frown. “Is that all you have with you? I understood you were moving into the main house. Did you ship the rest?”
Shame lances through my chest as tears burn the corners of my eyes. Everything I own is in this backpack. A few pairs of underwear, two changes of clothes, and a set of pajamas are everything I have in the world, and I’m having more trouble than I would like to admit accepting that.
It’s not that I’m materialistic. I’m lucky to have escaped with my life, and I remind myself of that every day.
But losing every reminder I have of my parents, the accolades I worked my whole life toward, and the evidence of my relationship with my first love is the heartbreak that never seems to end.
I don’t give a single fuck about my closet full of designer labels or the jewelry I accumulated over the years. I would give that up over and over if it meant bringing my family back, if it meant not watching them die.
Shaking off the thought, I swallow down the bile climbing up the back of my throat and force a smile back to my lips. “This is it.”
He looks like he might ask another question, but instead he shakes himself off. “Well then, I’m Dean, and I manage the security team. If you ever need anything, just dial three on any of the phones in the main house and you’ll be patched through to the guardhouse.”
I nod along, hoping I can remember that for when I have something to write it down on.
Up until a few weeks ago, I would keep all the things I didn’t want to forget in my phone, but I haven’t had a chance to set up the one that was left with the instructions of how to get here and a wad of cash that’s burning a hole in my backpack.
I have no idea when I’ll be paid for my new position, or even how much, so I need to ration that money as best I can.
Hopefully after the next few hours, I’ll have some answers about the living conditions and whether any of my meals are included.
If they aren’t, I’ll have to figure out a way to budget what I have while keeping a nest egg for the eventuality of having to run again.
Because there’s no way I’ll be safe here for long.
The Lombardis think I betrayed them, and if there’s one thing that bloodline is good for, it’s revenge.