I’m already roaring as I bust it open and step inside, “Frank, you fucking monster, get your goddamn hands off—”
I freeze.
A man and his wife are looking up at me.
The man has pushed back his hoodie. He’s got dark hair, thinning at the crown, neatly combed-over. His wife has a square face, blue eyes, a full figure, and that signature blond hair that caught my eye.
But it’s not her.
It’s not Frank.
It’s just another pair of innocent civilians who are staring into the face of a furious, delirious Mafia Don while fearing for their lives.
A surge of guilt washes over me.
I was so sure it was Harper. So sure that Frank had recaptured her.
But I was wrong, so wrong.
Fuck!
“T-Take anything y-you want,” the man stammers. He holds up his hands in pure fear.
They think … I want their money?
His wife looks even more terrified. Her bottom lip trembles like she wants to say something, but she can’t remember how to form a word.
Fuck. What the fuck am I even doing? What was I thinking?
I raise my hands. “Never mind.”
And then I turn and walk back out the door and out into the parking lot.
Claudio pulls up at that moment in a blacked-out SUV. As soon as the vehicle stops, doors fly open and soldiers pour out.
I wave them back in. “Go back,” I order.
They all pause, confused, hands already reaching into their jackets to withdraw guns and knives and go take down whatever enemy their boss has corralled.
If only they knew how laughable that was.
Claudio emerges a second later from the front passenger seat. “Is it—?” he starts to ask.
“No,” I interrupt. “Forget that. Forget this.”
I stride past him, headed for the car I came in. I want to get home.
“Are you sure?” he asks quietly.
I nod, unable to answer his question without yelling at him.
I’m going to find Frank and chop off his head.
And I fucking swear right here and right now that I don’t care if I have to go to the end of the earth, I’m going to fucking find Harper.
And I’ll make her mine.
Forever.
Harper
Molly? My mother?
My head begins to spin the second I hear her name from this man’s mouth.
My mother … is alive? How can that be?
I remember the fire as if it happened yesterday. Our house went up in flames. I tried to save them, but there was no time, and I was suffocating in the smoke. How could she have survived that?
The more I think about it, the less I understand.
First, I find out my fake father is alive … and now, my fake mother is, too.
Why didn’t they ever try to find me and tell me they were okay?
Even if they stole me from my real father, that doesn’t mean I didn’t care for them. I always did.
Cillian’s eyes connect with mine through the rearview mirror. “We’ll be there soon.”
I don’t respond. I don’t know how. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be angry for being caught, or worried I will never be free again, or upset my mother is alive and well and that she never found the time to contact me.
The emotions swirling through my head are just too much to take, so I look away. Maybe my mother is still the gentle soul she was when she took care of me all those years ago. But if she isn’t … I’m probably going to wish I never ran away from Marcello.
When we finally get there, I can’t help but peer at the giant house in front of me. It’s much bigger than the one I grew up with, complete with a huge garden and a garage that could house several cars.
The car stops near a voice box, and Cillian starts to talk.
“I have her.”
There’s a beep, and the gates open. The whole property is surrounded by a gate that looks impenetrable as we drive through it. Even though the area is lush with greenery and beautiful trees, it still feels ominous going inside. Like I’m going from one luxurious prison into the next.
But this is my mother we’re talking about. She wanted to find me because she cares, right?
At least, that’s what I tell myself as the car stops right in front of the door.
Cillian steps out and quickly opens my door so I can get out, too. My eyes can’t help but peer up at the three-story building, wondering who would ever need such a huge house without a family to fill it. But then it hits me.
My fake father was part of the Irish mob, as Marcello said.
So that means … my mother is as well.
A cold shiver runs down my back. Cillian’s touch on my shoulder makes me jolt up and down.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod and walk toward the door because I know I have no choice. If I don’t come along willingly, he’ll force me to. I can deduce as much from his penetrative stare. I gulp as I approach the steps, each footstep feeling heavier than the one before.