Bound by Hatred (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles 3)

“Four hours.”

“I need to leave sooner.”

“Impossible. I tried everything I could.”

“Damn it. Gianna will be long gone when I arrive.”

“You’ll find her. You are the best hunter I know. She doesn’t stand a chance.”

I clapped his shoulder. “You let me go, even though you need me here.”

“You aren’t of much use to me if all you can think about is Gianna.”

“It could take weeks,” I said. “I won’t return until I’ve caught her.”

“I know. If Aria had run, I would have done the same.”

I nodded. I wouldn’t stop until Gianna was mine. I didn’t care if I had to search the entire world, if I had to turn every single stone, if I had to squeeze information out of every fucking person in Amsterdam, I would find Gianna.CHAPTER SEVENGianna

I barely got any sleep in the six hours it took the plane to reach Amsterdam. Worry for Aria had taken the place of worrying about getting caught. She was sure Luca wouldn’t see her actions as betrayal, but what if she was wrong? God, what had I done? I shouldn’t have involved her, shouldn’t even have told her about my intention to run away.

When I finally got off the plane and had successfully passed through immigration, I slipped into the first restroom I found and locked myself into one of the small stalls. At the bottom of my bag was the wig Aria had given me. It was long and blond. Nobody would be fooled by it close up, but it would only have to do until I dyed my hair later today.

Fear clogged my throat when I headed into the waiting area, half expecting someone from New York or the Outfit to wait for me, but that was impossible. Even if Matteo had figured out where I was by now, I was fairly sure that the Cosa Nostra didn’t have close relations to any crime syndicates in the Netherlands, and it would take some time for mobsters from Sicily to travel up all the way to Amsterdam. For now I was safe. At least until the next plane from the East Coast landed in Schiphol, which would be the case in a few hours.

I quickly left the airport with my suitcase, overwhelmed by the sound of people speaking in languages I didn’t understand. I knew a few words in Dutch but hadn’t bothered learning the language; the Netherlands had never been intended as more than a stopover.

I hailed a taxi and let it take me to a non-descript middle-class hotel in the city where I booked their cheapest room. Despite feeling tired from jetlag and the flight, I only deposited my suitcase in the room before venturing out again to buy a few items I needed.

Two hours later I was back in my small hotel room with light brown hair dye, scissors, a couple of new outfits that helped me fit in better than my super expensive designer clothes, as well as a pre-paid cell phone and a small laptop. After I’d connected my laptop with the wireless internet of the hotel and set up the blog Aria and I had talked about, I wrote a short post, saying that a new journey had begun and that I’d safely arrived at my destination. It was all a bit cryptic and nobody would probably read my blog except for Aria. I resisted the urge to write something more personal, or worse use my new phone to call her. I wanted to hear her voice, wanted to know if she was okay, but I couldn’t risk it. Even this blog was already risky. Instead I slipped into the bathroom and changed my hair.

Two hours later I stared at my new reflection. My hair was caramel brown and I’d cut it into a bob that reached my chin. Of course that wouldn’t stop people from recognizing me from close-up but unless I paid a surgeon to re-do my face, which I had no intention of doing, a new haircut would have to be enough. I’d just have to move from city to city until I was sure that Matteo had moved on to another target and I was safe. That would probably take a while. Matteo had told me numerous times that he wouldn’t give me up and I had a feeling he’d meant it.

I wouldn’t give him a chance to catch me. Tomorrow, I’d leave Amsterdam and head for Paris, and who knew where I’d be the day after that? This was a new beginning with endless options.

***I stared up at the white ceiling of my hostel room. I’d been living in twenty different places in the last three months, never staying anywhere for more than a week at a time. Sometimes when I woke in the morning I wasn’t sure where I was, sometimes I even thought I was back in Chicago, and sometimes I found myself longing for it. Not for my father and the rules of our world, but for Fabi and Lily and Aria, and sometimes even for Mother.

I sat up, groaning, and went through my usual morning habit of reminding myself of my current pseudonym and everything that encompassed her before I got out of bed. It was almost noon. I still hadn’t figured out any kind of routine. Most days I spent exploring the city where I stayed while always checking my surroundings. This fear of being followed, of being hunted, would that ever stop? I doubted it. Whenever I saw men in dark suites, panic filled me. I’d lost count of the times I’d imagined I’d seen Matteo from the corner of my eyes.

I hadn’t made any real friends yet, which wasn’t all that surprising; I never stayed anywhere long enough to build a connection. Which was better anyway. I couldn’t risk getting close to anyone yet, maybe never. That didn’t mean I was alone. I always stayed in youth hostels wherever I went, and met people from all over the world. Of course I couldn’t tell them anything about me, not even my name. Currently I was calling myself Liz, short for Elizabeth, and was spending my year before college abroad road-tripping through Europe. That was pretty much my cover story wherever I went, only my name changed.