Chapter Fifty-One Ella
Chapter Fifty-One
Ella
The next day, I wake with a vague plan in mind.
When I arrived in Lucerne yesterday afternoon, I found a small bed-and-breakfast. I told the owners my luggage and documents had been stolen, which isn’t even a lie.
They were happy to accept cash, and I made up a random address when filling out the register. My hosts were wonderfully understanding. They even gave me pajamas to sleep in and some toiletries.
As I get dressed this morning, I think through my next steps.
Without identification and barely enough money to last a few days, my best option is the Irish Embassy in Bern. Surely, they’ll be able to help me and keep me safe from the Sicilian Mafia.
But seeking help through official channels is bound to tip Gualtiero off. And what if they want something in return for protecting me? Like information about him and his operations.
I’m glad now he never shared anything with me. And even if he had, I could never betray him.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I’ve eaten nothing more than a sandwich for the better part of a day.
Maybe once I refuel, I’ll think more clearly.
Putting my disguise back on, I pack up my few belongings and check out.
The sky is blue and the sun shines brightly. I wander the streets around Lake Lucerne, a lone black swan swimming alongside me for part of the way. I stop to admire it.
The swan moves gracefully as it glides over the still water, leaving tiny ripples on the glassy surface. They spread wide and slow, impossible to contain.
Maybe my running away is like that too, the ripples far-reaching beyond just me and Tiero, spreading into places I can’t see yet.
I snap back to the present when I come to a cute little cafe with a cozy courtyard right on the shore. This place is perfect for breakfast. I order pancakes with an extra serving of fresh strawberries and a cup of herbal tea.
The cafe hums with quiet contentment. A couple at the next table laugh softly over shared pastries while a spoon clinks against a porcelain cup.
The air smells of roasted coffee beans and warm sugar, sunlight spilling through the trees.
Everything feels safe and ordinary, the kind of peace I have not felt in weeks. This is temporary, I know, but I’ll take it while I can.
The waitress delivers my food, and I take a bite of pancake, the sweetness lingering on my tongue. Then the air seems to change.
The light feels sharper, the sounds dull. A prickle runs over my skin like static, crawling up my arms. Heat spreads through my body.
This only ever happens when…
No, no, no.
He can’t have found me already.
I scan the café frantically, but all I see are strangers. Not a single face looks familiar. No one even looks slightly Italian.
Tiero must be close. I used to sense him long before I saw him.
I need to leave. NOW.
I raise my hand to get the attention of the waitress to pay my bill, the entire time scrutinizing every face around me.
Every one of my senses is on high alert.
The tightness in my chest persists.
Maybe this isn’t the Tiero effect but a panic attack. I’m becoming paranoid, though I swear I feel eyes on me.
Either way, I must get out of here and find a way to Bern.
The waitress finally arrives.
“Is there a taxi stand nearby?” I ask as I hand her the cash.
“Just down the street. You can’t miss it,” she says with a friendly smile.
As I grab my backpack and rush for the door, I try to come up with a plan.
I’ll take a taxi to a train station a few stops outside Lucerne and find out when the next train to Bern leaves.
Or I’ll just go by taxi all the way. It’ll be hellishly expensive, and I need to preserve what cash I have left, but at least with a car there’ll be no unnecessary stops.
Once I’m at the embassy, I’ll somehow get in touch with Rhia, maybe through her assistant. Together, we’ll figure something out. She could access my money, though Tiero is probably monitoring that.
I step onto the curb just as a taxi cruises by, its rooftop light glowing amber, signaling it’s free. My hand shoots up before I can overthink it.
The black sedan halts immediately. I slide into the backseat, pulling the door shut behind me. The driver glances at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting mine for a beat before he offers a polite smile.
“Can you take me to Bern, please?” I ask, my subconscious apparently having made the decision for me.
He doesn’t reply, just gives a short nod and pulls back onto the road.
I stare out the window, scanning the passing streets, half-expecting to see someone suspicious… half-expecting him.
Any second now, Tiero will come tearing around the corner, fury written across his face.
But nothing happens.
And the heat that I felt earlier, the one that tells me he’s close is decidedly absent.
A shaky breath escapes me.
It’s relief. It has to be relief.
Then why does another part of me ache?
Quietly… stupidly longing for him to appear?
That foolish part of me clearly needs reminding what would happen if Tiero ever found me again. His fury would make the time I escaped with Sofia look like a warm-up.
No, I cannot see Gualtiero again. Ever.
I know what he is capable of. I’ve seen it.
And yet, the thought of him, his voice, the way he says my name, still draws me in, no matter how hard I try to resist the memory.
It’s pathetic how easily he gets under my skin even when he’s not here. Well, I hope he isn’t.
My head jerks up when I notice the driver isn’t taking the exit out of Lucerne. The green highway sign for Bern flashes past the window, the arrow pointing left while we keep driving straight.
My stomach knots. We should have turned there. Instead, the car slips into narrower streets lined with charming shops and houses.
I glance at the meter. It’s still running. He’s not saying a word. The silence in the car feels heavy, like the air before a storm.
Maybe he knows a shortcut?
The longer I watch him, the less convinced I am. He’s too muscly for a taxi driver. Solid shoulders, strong forearms gripping the wheel. A tattoo curls just below his sleeve.
I swallow hard. A tattoo doesn’t mean anything. Lots of people have tattoos. I have one, the tiny lily on my ankle.
Still, isn’t he a little young to be driving a taxi in a sleepy Alpine town?
“Did you miss the exit?” I ask, trying to sound calm. I fail.
“No, Miss. We’re right on track,” he says, his American accent cutting through the hum of the engine.
American. Not Italian. That should comfort me, but it doesn’t.
My gut keeps twisting. Something isn’t right.
“Stop the car,” I say, my voice cracking.
He doesn’t react and just keeps driving.
My heart rate spikes, hammering faster with every turn of the wheel.
I fumble for the door handle and yank it. If I have to jump from a moving car, so be it.
The door doesn’t open.
Shit.
The handle digs into my palm as I yank harder. I pull again and again, but the door is quite obviously locked.
“Stop the car,” I scream, slamming both fists against the clear divider between the front and the back. “Let me out!”
The driver’s voice comes low and calm.
“Whoa, Ella, calm down.”
I freeze, too afraid to breathe.
My blood runs cold. For a second, the world narrows to that single word.
Ella.