Chapter 76 Chapter 76

Chapter 76 Chapter 76
\[ IRIS’S POV \]

The bus window was cold against my forehead. Outside, the world was a blur of green trees and busy roads. I watched the city, my home, my pain, fade away until it was just a small smudge on the horizon. For the first time in my life, I didn't have a Russo guard behind me or a Moretti shadow following me.

I was just a girl on a bus.

I leaned back into the hard plastic seat. My bag was heavy on my lap, filled with the few things I had managed to grab and the cash I had taken from Salvatore’s drawer. My heart was still thumping, a steady thump-thump that felt like a drum. I was tired, but I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Salvatore’s face. And I saw Sofia’s angry eyes.

I took a deep breath. The air in the bus smelled like old leather and diesel fumes.

Hours passed. The sun began to dip low, turning the sky into a bruised purple. The bus finally pulled into a small town I had never heard of. It was quiet here. The air felt different, thicker, smelling of damp earth and woodsmoke.

I stepped off the bus, my legs shaking a little from the long ride. I walked down the main street, my hood pulled low over my face. I didn't want anyone to see the kidnapped Russo girl. I just wanted a bed.

I found a small, old hotel at the end of the road. The sign was missing a letter, blinking HOTEL in a faded yellow light. I pushed the heavy wooden door open and walked inside.

The lobby was small and warm. An old man was sitting behind a wooden desk, reading a newspaper. He looked up as I approached. He had kind eyes and a face full of wrinkles that looked like a map of a long life.

"Evening," he said. His voice was soft, like rustling leaves.

"Hi," I whispered. "Do you have a room? Just for a few nights."

He looked at my dusty boots and then at my face. I tried to look calm, but I knew I looked like a girl who had seen too much.

"I have one on the second floor," he said. "Quiet. View of the hills. It’s cheap if you pay in cash."

"Cash is fine," I said, reaching into my bag.

As I counted out the bills, a woman stepped out from a small room behind the desk. She was older, maybe in her fifties, with bright silver hair tied in a messy bun. She was holding a tray with two mugs of steaming tea.

"You look like you've walked a hundred miles, honey," she said, setting a mug down on the counter in front of me.

I looked at the tea. The steam smelled like ginger and honey. "I... I've had a long day."

"A long life, more like," she said with a small, knowing smile. She leaned her elbows on the counter. "I’m Martha. This is my husband, Joe. We don't get many strangers in this town, especially not ones who look like they’re hiding from the wind."

I took a sip of the tea. It was hot and sweet, and it felt like a hug in my chest. "I’m just traveling. Looking for some peace."

"Peace is a hard thing to find when you carry the noise with you," Martha said gently. "Where are you from, dear? You sound like the city."

I froze for a second. "Far away. A place I don't want to go back to."

Joe folded his newspaper and looked at me. "The news is full of talk today. Big families in the city shouting at each other. War, they call it. Have you seen any of that?"

My hand shook as I held the mug. "I don't watch the news much. I prefer the quiet."

Joe and Martha shared a look. It wasn't a suspicious look; it was a look of pity. They knew I was running. In a small town like this, everyone was running from something—a bad debt, a broken heart, or a name that carried too much weight.

"Well," Martha said, patting my hand. "The quiet is exactly what we have here. No one comes looking for anything in this town. We just grow our gardens and watch the rain."

"Thank you," I said. I felt a lump in my throat. I wasn't used to kindness that didn't come with a price tag. In the Russo house, everything was a trade. In the Moretti house, everything was a debt. But here, it was just tea and a room.

"Room 204," Joe said, handing me a heavy brass key. "The lock sticks a bit, so you have to jiggle it. But once it’s shut, no one’s getting in."

"Goodnight, Iris," Martha said.

I stopped halfway to the stairs. I hadn't told them my name. My heart hammered. "How did you...?"

Martha pointed to a small silver bracelet on my wrist, the one Salvatore had given me. It had a tiny charm with the letter I on it.

"Just a guess," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Go on now. Get some sleep. The world will still be there in the morning, but you’ll be stronger then."

I climbed the creaky stairs to room 204. I jiggled the key just like Joe said, and the door swung open. The room was simple. A bed with a patchwork quilt, a small wooden chair, and a window that looked out over the dark hills.

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at my hands. They were finally still.

I wasn't a hostage. I wasn't a pawn. I was just Iris. And for tonight, that was enough. I laid my head on the pillow, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't dream of blood or fire. I dreamed of the quiet hills and the smell of ginger tea.

\~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, a soft knock on the door pulled me out of the first deep sleep I’d had in weeks. I groaned, rubbing my eyes, the sunlight peeking through the thin curtains of the hotel room. For a second, I forgot where I was. I didn't hear the shouting of my father or the heavy boots of guards in the hallway.

I opened the door, and Martha was standing there, wearing a bright apron and holding a duster.

"Morning, sunshine," she said with a warm smile. "Joe and I were thinking... It's a beautiful day. Would you like to go for some sightseeing? This town has some hidden gems if you know where to look."

I hesitated. I should stay hidden, shouldn't I? But the thought of sitting in this small room all day staring at the walls made my stomach turn. "I... I don't know."

"Oh, come on," Martha encouraged. "My son is around for the weekend. He knows all the best trails and the old bridge. He’s a good boy, very quiet. He won't pester you."

I looked at her kind face and sighed. "Okay. Give me a few minutes to freshen up and change."

"Take your time, dear. We'll be downstairs."

I washed my face with cold water, trying to splash away the ghost of the city. I pulled on a simple pair of jeans and a plain hoodie, tucking my hair into a bun.

When I was finally done, I walked down the creaky wooden stairs. The smell of frying bacon filled the lobby. Martha was standing by the desk, beaming.

"Oh, you’re done! Iris, this is my son, Caleb. He’s going to take you around and make sure you don't get lost in the woods."

I turned my head toward the tall figure standing by the door, and my entire world stopped spinning. My breath hitched in my throat, and I felt the blood drain from my face. I couldn't move. I couldn't even blink.

Caleb.

It was the same boy from my school. The one who used to leave notes in my locker. But..but Sofia told me he’s dead and that Salvatore killed him. I had been sad, thinking I was the reason this innocent boy was dead. I thought Salvatore had ended his life just to show me that I belonged to the Morettis.

"Goodness gracious... hi, Iris," Caleb said.

He was smiling. He looked older, his shoulders broader, but it was him. There was a small scar near his temple that hadn't been there before, but his eyes were just as bright as I remembered.

"Caleb?" I whispered, my voice trembling. I reached out a hand as if to touch him, to make sure he wasn't a ghost. "You're... you're alive?"