Chapter 2 - THE COLD BUS RIDE NORTH
The neon lights of Chicago blurred into a smear of greasy yellow and electric blue against the rain-streaked window of the Greyhound bus.
Emily sat near the back, her fingers locked tightly around the strap of her handbag.
Her wedding ring was gone.
In its place, her left ring finger felt unnaturally light, exposed to the drafts of cold air whistling through the rubber seals of the emergency exit.
Eight weeks.
Inside her, a heartbeat no larger than a grain of rice was tethered to hers.
Alessandro’s child.
The man who, less than an hour ago, had stood beneath the glittering chandeliers of the Vitale estate and announced to sixty underworld capos, judges, and corrupt politicians that his mistress would henceforth sit in his mother’s chair.
Emily swallowed the thick lump in her throat.
The bus gave a violent shudder as it hit a pothole on Interstate 94, heading away from the city, away from the iron gates of the estate, away from the only life she had known for seven years.
A sharp cramp tightened in her lower abdomen.
She winced, pressing her palm flat against her coat.
Stress. Cold. Exhaustion.
Her mother had died in a drafty two-bedroom apartment in Milwaukee twenty minutes before Emily turned eighteen.
That apartment was gone now—sold to pay off her father’s gambling debts five years ago.
She had no home. No savings of her own. The Vitale family accounts were locked behind Alessandro’s encrypted biometric scanners, and every credit card in her wallet was tied to his corporate ledger.
By midnight, her cards would be declined.
By morning, Alessandro would realize she hadn't just thrown a dramatic tantrum by leaving the anniversary gala—she had actually vanished.
And when Alessandro Vitale hunted, he did not look for reconciliation.
He looked for submission.
May you like
Emily pulled her wool coat tighter around her shoulders, resting her forehead against the cool glass, and closed her eyes as the miles ticked away into the freezing dark.
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