Chapter 111 HARD CHOICES
ARYA’S POV
The knock on my door came at eight in the morning, and I knew who it was before I opened it.
Mrs. Marta stood in the hallway, her face was set in the same hard way I’ve been seeing every day for the past week.
"Arya," she greeted with a huff. "I’ve been patient with you enough. When are you paying?”
My chest squeezed uncomfortably . "I know, Mrs. Marta. I'm so sorry.” I nervously licked my lips. “I've been looking for work, and I thought I would have something by now, but-"
"Everyone has excuses." She cut me off with a wave of her hand. "I run a business, not a charity. You have until the end of the month. That's twelve days. If you can't pay by then, you're out."
I gasped, scrambling forward. "Please, I just need a little more time. I promise I'll get you your money.”
"End of the month, Miss Russo." She used the fake surname I gave her when I moved in. "No extensions."
She left before I could plead further, her footsteps echoing down the narrow hallway.
I closed the door and leaned against it, my hand instinctively moving to my still flat stomach.
"It's okay," I whispered to the baby growing inside me. "We'll figure this out. We always do."
It had been two months since I left the De Santis estate with nothing but the clothes on my back and terror driving every step.
I could still remember that night with painful clarity. My hands had shaken as I grabbed whatever I could carry.
A backpack stuffed with clothes. The small stash of cash I hid in the back of a drawer, it was actually money Giovanni had given me months ago for "personal expenses" that I'd never spent.
It wasn't much. Maybe enough for a few weeks if I was careful.
Getting out of the house had been easier than it should have been. I had studied the guard rotations during my brief periods of freedom, and noticed the gaps in the surveillance.
The service entrance had been unlocked, Maria probably forgot after bringing in deliveries.
I walked for an hour before catching a late-night train to the southern district.
It was somewhere smaller, and the perfect place I could disappear to.
The hostel had been the first place I found that would take cash and didn't ask too many questions. Mrs. Marta had looked at my bruised wrists, my hollow eyes, and must have seen a story she had heard before.
She gave me the smallest room for a reduced rate.
That was two months ago. The reduced rate expired after the first month.
Now I was just another tenant struggling to make rent in a city that didn't care if you lived or died.
I was happy at first. There were no locked doors and no one looking at me with hatred and disgust.
But happiness didn't pay bills and my small stash of cash was almost gone.
I pressed my hand more firmly against my stomach. There was still no sign to the outside world that I was carrying a child but I knew.
I could feel the difference in my body like the tender breasts, the occasional nausea, and the exhaustion that had nothing to do with stress.
"We need to find a job today," I told the baby. “Something that pays enough for rent and food and eventually, doctor's visits."
I hadn't seen a doctor yet because I couldn’t afford it. I couldn’t risk using my real name and having it somehow get back to my father or the Valentis.
So I took the free prenatal vitamins from the community clinic, read everything I could find online about pregnancy, and hoped that hope was enough to keep us both healthy.
By noon, I had already been to five places.
A restaurant needed waitresses, but they wanted someone with experience.
A grocery store was hiring stockers, but only for night shifts. I couldn't risk being out alone at night, not in this neighborhood.
A dry cleaner wanted someone who could work the pressing machines. I tried, but my hands were shaking so badly they sent me away.
A bookstore seemed perfect until the owner asked for references and I had none.
The coffee shop hadn't even let me finish my sentence before saying they weren't hiring. I sat on a bench outside a convenience store, my feet aching, and my hope dwindling.
Maybe I should just go back. Throw myself on Giovanni's mercy, beg for scraps, and accept whatever punishment he deemed fit.
At least then our baby would have food but no, I couldn't. The thought of his hands on me and voice telling me I deserved to die…
I would rather live on the streets but I couldn't do this alone anymore.
My thumb hovered over the contacts list, there were just two numbers. Cherry and the other one.
The one I saved but sworn I had never used. Marco.
I programmed his number from memory that first night I escaped, some part of me knowing I might need it eventually. But calling him felt like admitting defeat.
He was so strange at that café, then apologizing for things I didn't understand. And then there was the attack that same night, the one Giovanni blamed me for orchestrating with Marco's help.
But what choice did I have?
I couldn't go to my father. He would marry me off to someone worse than Giovanni or lock me away for shaming the family.
Marco was the only person from my old life who might actually help.
My hand moved to my stomach. "I'm doing this for you," I whispered to the baby. "Not for me."
Before I could talk myself out of it, I dialed. It rang once then again.
"Hello?" Marco's voice responsed, sounding cautious.
"It's... it's me." My voice came out small. "Arya."
He was silent for a very long moment that I thought he ended the call. .
"Arya? Oh my God, Arya!" His voice cracked. "Where are you? Are you okay? I've been looking everywhere for you after I heard you ran away from Giovanni.”
"I'm fine," I cut him off, though it was far from true. "I just... I need help."
I could hear his hard panting. "Anything. Whatever you need. Just tell me where you are."
I hesitated. This felt like crossing a line I couldn't uncross. "There's a café. Bella Vista, on Via Marsala. Do you know it?"