Page 91 of Righteous Enforcer

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A part of me wonders if death by his hand might be easier than this endless running.

But Mirabella needs me.

So we run. We hide. We survive.

The Atlanta skyline overwhelms me as we step off the train. It’s hotter, more humid here. Still, relief floods through me that we’ve made it the next leg.

Of course, I can’t fully relax. Never again. I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my days.

As we move through the station, I scan faces reflexively, searching for the slightest hint of recognition, for anyone who might be tracking us. The paranoia never leaves. It becomes a part of me, like breathing.

I find a clean, yet inexpensive, efficiency hotel room.

It has a queen-size bed and a rollaway, along with a kitchenette, dining table, and small bathroom.

"Is this where we live now, Mommy?"

"For a little while.”

As Mirabella explores our tiny new home,

I sit at the scratched kitchen table, mapping out our next steps.

New identities.

A job that pays cash and allows me to keep Mirabella close by.

Housekeeping is usually the best option.

I need to dye my hair again, change our appearance enough to throw off facial recognition.

Maybe glasses for me.

I flinch and hold my breath as a car slows outside.

But then it leaves, and I can breathe again.

Night falls, and I give Mirabella a bath in the tiny tub and put her back in her pajamas.

“I want my own bed,” she says as I try to put her in bed. “Like at Daddy’s.”

I glance at the couch that rolls out.

I don’t like not having her close by, but my guilt makes it difficult to resist her.

I pull out the rollaway and tuck her in.

I didn’t bring a book, so I tell her a story about a fairy princess until she falls asleep.

I triple-check the locks on our door. Test the windows. Pull the blinds tight.

Is this far enough?

Atlanta is an overnight drive, but only hours by plane.

The Dante reach is long.

The Bratva’s is longer.

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