Omero is in the driver’s seat, his profile illuminated by the lights of the dashboard. Raffaello’s there, leaning against the passenger door, his eyes tracking us as we approach. He straightens as we get closer, moving to open the back door.
“We’ll be warm in a minute. Omero has the heater running for you,” I whisper to Emmanuel. “Time to go home, sweetie.”
I slide into the back seat, adjusting Emmanuel into my lap. Basili climbs in beside me, his long legs taking up most of the remaining space along the bench seat.
“Boss?” Raffaello’s voice is hesitant as he questions Basili’s decision to ride in the back.
“Go on.” Basili waves a hand at the front seat, reaching for the door and pulling it shut. Waiting for Raffaello to climb in before continuing, he explains, “I’m not letting Emmanuel out of my sight or my reach anytime soon. You two will just have to adjust.”
I twist back in my seat to glance back at Jay as the expensive engine purrs, Omero guiding it out of the alley behind the orphanage. He raises one hand to wave softly, perhaps a goodbye or maybe in good luck.
I wonder if I’ll ever come back here…The thought of never seeing Jay or the children again tears at my heart, but the reality is, I genuinely don’t know what the future has in store.
Emmanuel is already falling asleep against me, exhausted from crying and the emotional rollercoaster he just can’t seem to find a reprieve from. I stroke his hair gently, keeping my movements rhythmic and soothing.
The SUV glides over the freeway through the dark, the only light from the streetlights and the dashboard of the vehicle itself. The clock on the radio ticks minute by minute. I must have fallen asleep at one point because one moment it was just after 10:45 pm, and the next it is creeping toward 1:00 am.
Blinking the sleep away, I sit up. Emmanuel is still nestled in my lap, and my left leg is desperately begging for a reprieve. The tingling shooting up my calf and into my thigh is overwhelming as I gently shift him to my other side. When he stirs as if he might wake, I reach my hand up to his hair, running my fingersthrough his short locks in a repetitive motion, soothing him until he settles.
“Where are we?” I ask quietly, looking at Basili. But it is the hulking giant in the driver’s seat who answers.
“Just outside of Claysville, Pennsylvania. We’re still about six and a half hours from home, I’m afraid.”
“Pennsylvania?” I’m trying to digest what he’s telling me. “Six and a half hours to where?”
I can feel the panic starting to rise in my chest; I had assumed they were from Ohio. Both Cincinnati and Cleveland are known to have an overtly healthy crime family presence. I had just assumed, wrongly, I now realize, that one of the nearest major cities is where we would be going.
“New York, Ma’am,” he replies, looking to Basili for direction on revealing anything further through the rear view mirror.
It takes effort to look at him over his son’s sleepy figure, but with a little bit of twisting, I manage it.
“New York State?” I press Basili.
A sly grin sneaks across his all too handsome face, a devious glint appearing in his eyes — one so bright that I could see it even in the dim lighting of the vehicle.
“New York City,” he finally reveals.
Oh, shit…There will be no calling Jay to come and rescue me. As if sensing the panic rising, someone in the front seat clears their throat, drawing my attention.
“We, uh, well, at least I wanted to thank you, Ms. —?” Omero speaks, his eyes flipping from the road ahead of us as he drives to my face in the rearview. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. I guess we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Omero Montanti, the boss’s right-hand man,” the statement is made with a bit of a smile and obvious pride, “and this chipper soul here is Raffaello Verte.”
A grunt follows from Raffaello; the man is obviously not the friendliest of the bunch. Then again, I wouldn’t exactly call Basili friendly. Omero is the only one amongst them that seems to be half decent company.
“Chloe Tao, nice to meet you Omero, Raffaello,” I respond loud enough to be heard over the road noise but quiet enough to be sure I don’t wake Emmanuel. “But please, call me Chloe.”
“That’s a unique last name; where did you grow up?” Omero inquires then.
The panic starts to rise again; the last thing I need is for them to figure out who my father is. And the very last place I want to be going is back to New York, where Ihadgrown up.
“I’m an orphan,” I lie, quickly burying the truth as effectively as I can. “I grew up at the orphanage where you found us. Jay took me in when I was just a child; I don’t remember my parents.”
“Really? That must be a — unique — way to grow up.” I don’t miss the way that Omero glances at the man beside him before continuing his questioning. “Does Jay make a habit of finding children? Didn’t you say that you found Emmanuel as well?”
I look down at the child asleep in my arms, thinking back on the night that he’d shown up in the cold darkness. All eyes are on me as they wait for my answer. It isn’t Omero’s eyes flickering back and forth between the road and mine that burn into me, though. It is Basili’s beside me.
“He was just there. I don’t know where he came from or who left him there,” I tell them. “One of the other children found him. I was doing my nightly bed checks and realized she was out of bed; when I went looking for her, she had already found him and took me outside to where he was hiding. He was cold and wouldn’t speak to either of us. It was by chance that I discovered that he knew how to sign. The only thing he’s said since I found him was ‘The monster is coming for me’.That's it.”
Basili watches us quietly, his jaw tight, observing the way Emmanuel clings to me. I’d already told him what he’d said that night, but I didn’t tell him about the strange text message. I still didn’t know who sent it.
