Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Seconds stretch into minutes as my impatience fogs the plexiglass.
Finally, the woman nods. “The transfer was approved by the receiver.”
Relief bombards me, but I can’t relax yet.
“I need a printout with the barcode,” I say quickly. “The one with all the details on it.”
She raises a dark brow. “You know the purpose of an offshore account is to be discreet, right?”
Nodding, I repeat, “I need the printout.”
Shrugging, she stabs a button. The printer splutters to life before spitting out a thin strip of paper. She slides it through the tray, and I snatch it up before it has even finished floating. The printout warms my snap-frozen fingers as I scan the barcode, searching for the location code and timestamp hidden in the long string of digits at the bottom of the printout.
My eyes dart over every digit, making sure nothing is off. The numbers match. The location is correct. The transfer was accepted by someone near Carlisle.
I’m still where I’m meant to be.
My shoulders relax as I exhale a sigh of relief.
“Thanks.” After folding the receipt, I tuck it into the inner pocket of my jacket, the one with the zipper. I never use it unless it’s for something important.
The teller is already looking past me, calling the next person forward, so I step back into the cold. The walk back to my new building feels longer since my legs are heavy and my feet are numb.
The city comes alive around me as people rush to work and buses groan to a stop, but I’m watching it through fractured glass. That’s how exhausted I am.
I can’t rest yet, though. I need to put myself out there again for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.
It worked well for me with Dante.
I can only hope to achieve similar results this time.
When I reach the building, Harris isn’t at the desk anymore. His clipboard remains where he left it, a pen resting on top, and the cleaning product smell is now stronger since it’s mingled with the aroma of recently brewed coffee drifting down the hallway.
With my thighs still shaky, I take the elevator to the twelfth floor. My reflection in the brushed steel is worse now—paler and hollower—but the receipt in my pocket anchors me.
Once I’m in the safety of my apartment, I pull out the receipt and smooth it flat on the counter, then count down the minutes.
At exactly 10 a.m., I dial a number that changes as often as the offshore account I just garnished with my hard-earned money. My fingers know the pattern by heart.
The phone rings once before a man with a clipped voice says, “It isn’t your allocated day.”
“I know,” I answer, nodding. “But the deposit was bigger this time. Double what I paid last week. That should earn me more time, shouldn’t it?”
There’s a pause. A lengthy one. Then a sigh.
“Please. I promise I’ll make it quick.”
His sigh this time is relief rather than frustration. “Fine.”
When the line clicks, I drag my phone away from my ear and then accept his FaceTime request. The background of his slow walk is as grand as always. Marble floors, antique-lined hallways, and furniture unsuitable for a child.
Then I hear it: soft, hesitant breathing.
“Come, Gabriele.”
I hate the snappy command of his tone, but it’s all forgotten when the cutest freckle-blemished cheeks fill my phone screen.
He’s gotten so big since the last time I saw him.
Too big.
My heart painfully squeezes as I trace the outline of his adorable face.
“Hi,” I whisper, tears welling. “Hey, sweetheart.”
His brows join before he shyly whispers, “H-hi.”
As he searches for answers for the black smears streaking my cheeks from the baboon orchestrating his every move from the other side, I take in all his perfect features. His dimpled cheeks, murky blue eyes, and messy blond hair sticking up in the back.
Gabriele is playing in a boyish room full of planes, trucks, and trains, and if I concentrate hard enough, I can almost smell the faint aroma of the crayons and laundry detergent I imagine he smells like.
“Is that a new plane?” I ask after noticing what he’s clutching.
Blond locks spill across his forehead when he bobs his chin.
“I bet it’s a fast plane. It looks fast.”
Again, he nods.
A giggle erupts from my lips when he zooms the plane past the camera.
“Wow. That is so fast.”
He smiles, but it isn’t genuine. He’s confused, and that bothers me the most.
“I know this is hard, Gabriele, but I’m doing everything I can to get to see you. It shouldn’t be too much longer.” My response confuses him more, and it instigates a severe bout of recklessness. “It’s Mommy, Gabriele. I’m your mom—”
The phone is ripped away so fast that it whooshes in my ears.
“You know the rules,” Edoardo snaps, glaring down at me.
He isn’t the man I thought I’d have children with. He’s heartless and cold, ugly by greed.