Chapter 20
Diane’s hands trembled as she shoved another suitcase into the back seat of her old sedan.
The trunk was already full, crammed with bags, blankets, and whatever she thought might give her three children a head start in their new lives.
“It’s okay, honey. Just get in the car,” she urged, trying to make her voice sound steady, cheerful even, though her pulse hammered in her ears. “Timmy, can you grab Rachel’s bag?”
Timmy rolled his eyes, lanky arms crossed, but he did as asked.
Diane’s throat tightened at the sight of him—already trying to act like a little man when he should still be climbing trees and playing baseball.
Ten years old, and he carried more weight in his eyes than most grown men.
As soon as we get somewhere safe, she promised silently, I’ll get him a haircut.
Something normal. Something that makes him feel like a kid again.
“I don’t understand why we have to leave,” Catherine whined, her tiny voice piping up as she clutched her doll and scrambled into her booster seat. At five, she was bold and outspoken, the only one still innocent enough to complain out loud.
“It’s just a trip,” Rachel soothed, leaning over to clip Catherine’s seatbelt. Eight years old and already a caretaker, too old in ways Diane hated. Rachel’s hand lingered on her sister’s shoulder, as if silently promising protection.
Diane’s chest ached. Both Rachel and Timmy understood—maybe not the details, but enough. They’d seen too much, heard too much. The looks in their young eyes told her they knew exactly what they were running from.
For one weak, wavering moment, Diane considered stopping. Maybe she could leave the kids with her mother, take the money Enrico had given her, and go to Chicago to do what he’d demanded. Spy on Romano. Lure him. Sell her soul a little more but not have to be on the run.
But then she remembered the dozens of nights she’d been forced to her knees in Enrico’s office. Remembered Jimmy, her boss, yanking her into the back room like she was his personal toy. The stench of cigars, whiskey, and sweat. The way she’d learned to go numb just to survive.
No. She couldn’t. Not again. Not for Enrico. Not for anyone.
And Romano? From what she’d heard, Salvatore Romano didn’t tolerate betrayal. If she obeyed Enrico, she’d be walking into certain death. She couldn’t do that to her children. She wouldn’t.
Her pulse spiked, panic clawing at her throat. She had to get out. Now. Tonight.
Arizona, she thought wildly. Maybe Arizona.
Warm winters. Cheap towns. Sunlight and wide skies where Enrico would never think to look.
She could disappear there, blend in. She had five thousand dollars—Enrico’s money, meant for a trap.
But she would use it to build something better.
To buy her children a new life. She wouldn’t dance anymore.
No more stripping. No more degradation. Maybe she’d wait tables.
Maybe she’d work at a daycare. A normal job.
Something honest. Something that let her be home when her kids got back from school.
She clung to the dream like it was oxygen. A rented little house with a yard. A fridge full of food. Quiet nights with her kids safe in their beds.
“Mom?” Timmy slid into the passenger seat, his jaw set, watching her with those too-old eyes. Waiting. Trusting her to make this decision.
Her hands shook as she shoved the key into the ignition. Her throat worked. “Maybe we should…” she started to falter.
But Rachel leaned forward, her small hand resting firm and steady on Diane’s shoulder.
Diane met her daughter’s gaze in the rearview mirror.
Rachel’s brown eyes were fierce. Determined.
“We’re leaving, Mom,” she said, her little-girl voice carrying the weight of command.
“This life…we’re going to find something better. ”
Tears welled in Diane’s eyes. She looked at each of them—Timmy’s quiet strength, Rachel’s resolve, Catherine flipping open her book as if this were any other car ride.
“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Then she nodded, firmer this time. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
She twisted the key. For a breathless second, the engine sputtered. Her heart dropped to her stomach. Then it roared to life. Relief crashed through her in a laugh that was half sob, half hysteria. “It started!” she gasped, then laughed again, wild with hope. “That’s a good sign!”
For the first time in years, Diane felt something close to joy.
“Let’s go!” she called out, her voice full of trembling laughter. She gripped the wheel tight, pulled away from the curb, and left the stink of Enrico Bianchi’s shadow behind them.