I jolted awake as someone shook me. I opened my eyes and saw my mother, her worried gaze fixed on me as she pulled me out of bed. She quickly made me put on my jacket and shoes before dragging me along the hallway at a run. I tried to tell her she had forgotten my socks, but she didn't listen.
My father's voice echoed from downstairs, urging us to hurry as he opened the front door, a backpack in his hand. The cold night air made me shiver as Dad picked me up in his arms and stepped outside. Within seconds, I was strapped into the back seat of Mom's car, and a minute later, Dad sped off.
"Any news?" he asked as Mom pulled a small tablet from the backpack.
"They're nearby. How did they find us, Jacob?!" she demanded, running a hand through her curly hair, just like mine. I liked having the same hair as Mom. I liked looking like her.
"I don't know. It's not normal," Dad replied, turning onto the main road to leave our neighborhood. "The only explanation I see is a mole, Asma," he sighed, shaking his head.
"A mole?" Mom repeated, while I didn't understand anything that was happening. "That's impossible. Joseph would never have let that happen."
"What if we trusted him too much?" Dad suddenly asked, and I saw Mom freeze, slowly turning toward him.
"Jacob… it's… damn it, he's your—" Suddenly, everything flipped.
I screamed as something slammed into us from the opposite side. Mom's hand reached out toward me while Dad's arm shielded her. The truck that had hit us kept pushing our car for several meters, my cries mixing with my parents' shouts. Then a blinding light hit me, and when I turned toward my window, I saw another car speeding straight at us.
"Jacob!" Mom screamed as the car crashed into ours, hitting Dad's side head-on. The car began to spin before flipping over. I coughed as a sharp pain shot up my arm. I was upside down, my seatbelt holding me in place.
"Sanaa…" Mom whispered from the front seat before unbuckling herself. She fell against the roof with a groan before crawling toward the back to reach me.
"It's going to be okay, baby, it's going to be okay," she breathed as she unfastened my belt and gently lowered me beside her. I sobbed as my arm throbbed, while shouting echoed outside the vehicle. Mom's dark gaze scanned our surroundings before settling back on me.
"Sanaa, Sanaa, look at me," she murmured, cupping my face in her hands. "I need you to run, okay?" she said, and I stared at her, not understanding. "I'm going to distract those men outside, and you're going to run away, okay, baby ?"
"Mom…" I looked at her, confused, unable to stop crying. I clung to her sweater, burying my face against her to breathe in her scent. But she pulled me back, wiping my cheeks before leaning forward to hand me the backpack.
"Run as far as you can, as fast as you can. Don't look back," she continued, wiping the blood from her cheek. "There's a phone in there. Call the number saved and wait for them to come get you. The code word is cactus. Don't follow anyone if they don't say it. Run and hide," she added as I shook my head without understanding. Why wasn't she coming with me and Dad?
I turned toward my father, but he didn't move behind the wheel.
Mom opened the bag and pulled out a weapon, one like the ones in the action movies we watched together on Thursday nights. She looked at me for a moment, lips pressed tight, then leaned down to kiss my forehead.
"I love you, Sanaa, with all my heart," she whispered before pulling away. "And remember, don't turn around. Don't look."
She opened the back door behind her and stepped out. Suddenly, shouting erupted, followed by gunfire. I flinched, covering my ears as fear surged inside me. I moved closer to the open door and glanced outside—no one was there. The sounds were coming from the other side. So I climbed out too, casting one last look at my father, who didn't move… who wasn't breathing anymore.
My gaze shifted to the park across the street, and I started running toward it, holding back my sobs as pain throbbed in my arm and head. I reached it quickly, slipping between the bushes as silence settled behind me.
I stopped and turned to look at the scene, hidden among the leaves. Mom's car was overturned, flames licking at it. The truck and the other car were there, along with several men gathered a little farther away. Around a kneeling figure.
It was Mom.
I started crying again as I saw one of the men strike her, shouting something I didn't understand, it wasn't in English. I didn't understand anything.
Mom spat at the man's feet. He laughed, then held out his hand to one of his men. Something long was placed into it, and my breath caught when he drew a long blade.
"Mom…" I whispered, trembling. She had told me not to look. I wasn't supposed to look. But I couldn't turn away. The man raised the blade high above her head. Mom had lowered hers, her head bowed forward. I held my breath, my heart tightening—
And then the man brought the sword down.
I woke up with a jolt, drenched in sweat beneath my sheets. I sat up and turned on my bedside lamp, running a trembling hand through my hair. It had been so long since I'd had that nightmare. I shook my head, pushing back the covers as I got up and grabbed my phone. It was still early in the night. Sleep was ruined.
I slipped quietly into the hallway and headed to the kitchen. I needed a drink, something strong, preferably. I froze when the entryway light suddenly flicked on, leaving me like a deer caught in headlights.
"You're up late," Alma murmured, rubbing her tired eyes before resting a hand on her rounded belly. She was eight months pregnant, we were slowly approaching the end of this long, chaotic journey. Even though it felt like it was only just beginning.
"Yeah. Bad dream," I muttered, rubbing my face as her worried gaze lingered on me. I ignored it, stepping past her. "Sorry for waking you," I added with a sigh, my eyes falling on my boots by the door. I had dropped them there earlier that evening when I got home. I'd forgotten to clean them. They were caked in mud and oil Fabi had spilled on them that afternoon.
That guy had absolutely no talent for mechanics and even less for smuggling. Two months ago, he'd brought one of his friends to show him a convertible we were fixing while we were in the middle of an extraction. Luckily, Chris had spotted them before they could walk in and stopped them. When Miguel had yelled at his nephew, he'd said he "hadn't thought."
I sighed and shot a glance at my friend, who turned away with a yawn. I stifled a laugh when I noticed her fleece pajamas covered in duck prints. She was wearing her top inside out.
After her call a few months ago, we had quickly arranged for her to move in with me. She'd quit her job at the club the day she found out she was pregnant, to avoid ever crossing paths again with the baby's father, who was a regular there. He couldn't find out.
Massimo Salvatore was the heir to one of the Italian mafia's most powerful families, a man destined to inherit his father's title and power. According to Miguel, who knew plenty through his contacts, Massimo was a real Don Juan with… unsettling tendencies, if rumors were to be believed. Some said he was bipolar. Others, a full-blown psychopath. Though, according to Alma, he had been a perfect gentleman during their… encounter.
Whatever he was, he was still mafia and bastards weren't accepted in that world. Especially not boys. The men who ruled it feared what such children might become. That they would grow too ambitious and burn everything down to claim what they believed was theirs. It was even worse if their fathers were married with legitimate children. Even if that wasn't the case here. Not yet.
But if Massimo Salvatore were to marry someday, and the existence of a bastard came to light, the Italians wouldn't hesitate to kill him to preserve order. They wouldn't take the risk. Which was why this baby would never set foot in the same state as any Italian.
And who better to protect him than a fugitive? I already had a few years of experience under my belt myself.
Things could have been so much simpler if the idiot I called my best friend hadn't slept with an Italian mobster. To be fair, she had only learned who he really was afterward and the pregnancy had happened despite the protection they'd used.
At that point… it felt like fate.
Like Alma's prayers for a family had finally been answered.