Chapter 39 Chapter 39
Bella bursts into my penthouse, breathless. “I’ve got the passport,” she says, holding the envelope like it weighs more than gold. “Where will you go now?”
My chest tightens. My fingers tremble as I hold the passport. “I don’t know… Spain, maybe.”
“Spain?” she repeats, her voice soft with worry.
“My mother was Spanish,” I murmur, barely able to keep my voice steady. The words sting with memories I’ve buried too deep.
Bella nods. “Okay… I won’t ask anything else. If I ever get caught, I don’t want to risk saying something that could hurt you.”
“Oh, Bella…” I can’t hold it in anymore. I wrap my arms around her tightly, and the tears finally gather in my eyes, clouding my vision.
She hugs me back with strength I don’t feel. “You’ve got to be brave,” she whispers, tapping my back before pulling away.
I nod. “Yeah.”
Rushing into the bedroom, I stuff a few clothes into a suitcase, only what I’ll need. I grab all my real passports, old photos, memories I shouldn’t take but can’t leave behind. I pause, staring at my reflection one last time.
Lily Manchini is dead. I inhale shakily.
The name, the life, the love I once clung to, it all ends here.
“I’ll go now,” I tell Bella, dragging my suitcase to the front door. “I don’t want anyone to suspect you helped me.”
“Even if they do, I’ve got this, Lily,” she says with a brave nod, but her eyes betray her.
I glance around the penthouse one final time. It once felt like a home. Now it’s just a graveyard of what I’m leaving behind. I spot the photo of Sebastian and me on the living room shelf—our smiles forever frozen in a time that doesn’t exist anymore. I slip it into my bag, swallowing the lump in my throat.
The taxi is already waiting outside. The sky is grey. Fitting.
“Bye, Bella…” My voice is trembling. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to talk to you again. I won’t call or else they’ll track my location.”
Tears slip silently down her cheeks. She throws her arms around me and holds me like she’s holding on to what’s left of her own heart.
“I’m not saying goodbye,” she sobs. “Just take care… and do whatever makes you happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you.” She chokes back the tears. “If you ever need anything, ever… I’m just a call away.”
“I know.” My whisper is barely audible.
I look at her through my tears. “Take care of yourself, Bella. I love you.”
“I love you too.” She wipes her cheeks as I slowly let go of her hand, as if breaking a promise I never wanted to make.
I step into the taxi. I don’t turn back. I can’t. If I do, I might run back upstairs and pretend none of this is happening.
“To the airport,” I say, my voice hollow.
The driver nods, and the car pulls away.
As the city fades behind the glass, something inside me breaks.
I pull my jacket tight over my chest, but it doesn’t stop the shaking. And then I cry.
Not silent tears, loud, aching sobs that rack through my body as I hold my hand over my heart, trying to quiet the storm inside me.
I don’t know where I’m going.
I don’t know who I’ll be.
All I know is...
this hurts like hell.
The airport looms ahead like a place of both freedom and fear. I step out of the taxi and take a breath so deep it hurts. My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out the voices and footsteps around me. I keep my cap low, shadows hiding most of my face. I don’t want anyone recognizing me, not from the newspapers, not from surveillance, not from memory.
I walk in, gripping the strap of my bag so tightly that my knuckles turn pale. At the counter, I ask for the earliest ticket to anywhere far. “California,” I say when I spot it on the screen. “One seat left,” the woman replies.
I nod. “I’ll take it.”
The flight leaves in just under an hour.
I told Bella I was going to Spain. That was a lie. My mother wasn’t Spanish. In fact, she had never even left New York. I just needed Bella to stop asking questions. I couldn’t let her know where I was really going, not for her safety, and not for mine.
As I move through security and check-in, I remain eerily calm. My fake passport slides through the system without a blink. The photo, the identity, the documents, all of it passes as if it’s the truth. I let out the tiniest breath of relief but don’t relax. Not yet.
I keep looking over my shoulder as I walk toward my gate. People buzz past me, businessmen in suits, families with restless toddlers, solo travelers glued to their phones. I study their faces. Are they watching me? Do they look like they were sent to follow me? My paranoia has become its own kind of prison.
I left my phone back in the penthouse, on purpose. I wiped it, then powered it down, placing it in the drawer where I used to keep my jewelry. If anyone is tracking me, they’ll be tracing shadows now.
Still, I carry a sliver of the past with me. I’ve written down three numbers in my diary—the only three that matter.
Dante’s. Bella’s. The godfather’s.Just in case.
Just in case one day I need to hear a familiar voice, or warn someone, or confess everything.
Boarding is called. My stomach twists. I grip my boarding pass and rise, each step toward the gate feeling like I’m walking away from the girl I used to be. I board the plane, settle into my seat, and exhale for the first time in what feels like hours. I’m not safe, but I’m further than I’ve ever been from danger. From him. From it all.
Six hours later, I land in California.
The air smells different here. The sky seems brighter, the people louder, the world warmer. But none of it touches me. I’m still moving like a ghost, invisible, untouchable.
I grab my bag, step outside, and hail a cab. “Take me to any decent hotel,” I say. I don’t want luxury, I want anonymity.
At the hotel, I pay in cash. I check in using the name on the new passport—Daisy Mio.
Twenty-two. Born in Michigan.
A girl who never existed until yesterday.
After a moment’s rest, I go out for a walk, slipping deeper into this new identity. I find a corner store and buy a new phone. Then a SIM card. Everything brand new. Nothing traceable. I memorize the three numbers again before typing them into the contacts under false names. I won’t call them. Not unless it’s life or death.
Then, I head to a local real estate agency. The agent barely blinks when I hand over the full payment for a modest apartment. No questions. Just papers and keys.
When I return to the hotel, I finally allow myself a shower. I scrub my skin raw, as if I can wash away the pieces of my past that still cling to me, Sebastian’s touch, Dante’s worry, Bella’s tears. I wrap myself in a towel, dry my hair slowly, and change into fresh clothes.
Then I book a cab to my new apartment.
It’s a small space, just one bedroom, a soft couch, clean kitchen counters, a window that opens to the street below. But it’s mine. And more importantly, it’s no one else’s.
I step inside, dragging the suitcase over the threshold. I close the door behind me, resting my back against it. I look around in silence. There’s no furniture yet. No memories. No ghosts. Just the sound of my breathing echoing in an unfamiliar place.
And just like that,
a new life begins.
One where no one knows my name.
One where I don’t have to look over my shoulder every second.
One where Lily Manchini doesn’t exist.
But as I stare at the blank walls, I realize something,
Even in freedom, I feel hollow.
Because running may bring safety…
But it never brings peace.