Page 47 of Bulletproof Baby

"Copy that. See you soon." Armande hangs up and I make my way to the Lower East Side, where a breeze of betrayal feels heavy in the air. I know I shouldn't have kept Lia in the dark, but she shouldn't have just taken off. Doesn't she understand how dangerous all of this shit is? Doesn't she understand that I'm the only person who can keep her safe?

When I get to Frankie's place, I have to wait for Armande to arrive and he gets to work on the door.

He stops drilling for a moment, looking at me. "Did you see if anyone was home?"

"Not the time, Armande. Open the door."

He shrugs and gets back to breaking and entering. A part of me wants his levity to be what I feel, that Lia is holed up in this apartment with her cousin who’s more like a brother because she feels safer here with him than alone in the Hamptons. However, the nagging pit in my stomach is telling me that's not the case. There's something else happening here.

The door to Frankie's apartment doesn't stand a chance as I break it down. The place is in shambles. Clothes are everywhere. Cabinet doors swing open, almost like a robbery, but nothing of value was taken.

"What the fuck happened here?" Armande asks, looking around. His eyes are scanning every surface, just like mine. I'm looking for blood and signs of Lia putting up a damn good fight.

"I, uh, I don't know. It looks like he left in a hurry. Frankie, her cousin, packed up a bunch of shit and split," I tell Armande as we gingerly step around the apartment.

I don't want to touch anything, but something white amid the chaos grabs my attention and tears my heart out of its chest. A plain white envelope with my name on it. I pray it's from Lia and has nothing to do with Saul.

With my pulse thundering in my ears, my hands shake violently as I tear it open and read the letter inside.

My dearest Valentino,

There aren't enough words to say how thankful I am to you, your friends, your “family,” for keeping me safe. Thank you for coming to my rescue and doing everything you could to get that monster out of our lives. I got worried when I didn't hear from you, so I tried calling and when I couldn't get a hold of anyone, I panicked. I'm sorry.

I know you told me to stay in the house, but I couldn't just leave my family out here, exposed and in danger. Frankie showed me the news clips. I know Saul believes I'm dead, so I think it's best for all of us to keep it that way. I can't stay in the city and I don't want you to go through any more trouble over me. I'll never ever forget you. I hope your lip heals and maybe when I settle down wherever I end up, I can reach out to you. I don't want Saul to find me, and I don't want you to continue paying for my family's decisions. You are a man I could have loved in a different life. I'm going to miss you always.

Love, Lia

P.S. Frankie says that if you broke his door down, please replace it. His friend is coming by later to move in until Frankie feels New York is safe for him again.

I smash the letter into Armande's chest and storm out of the apartment. Rage boils from the inside out before I feel the stinging burn of tears welling in my eyes. I pull out my phone to place a call. It doesn't take long for Dimitri to answer.

"Yes, Don Barrone, how may I assist you?"

I don't bother trying to hide the pain in my voice as I put in my request. "Get me the bone breaker, Dimitri."

When I feel Armande's hand on my shoulder, he turns me around to look him in the eyes. He holds my face in his hands, a stern look of I told you so in his expression, but the words never come out of his mouth. He pulls me into his chest, where I let out a vengeful scream.

"I'm sorry, bro. I'll give you a week and then I'll come get you. Capisce?"

I nod and walk away into the darkness with my broken heart and shattered soul.

21

LIA

Fort Pilsner, South Carolina.

There's nothing here but a basic small-town vibe with good old southern charm. I hate it.

But the chances of mobsters finding me here are slim to none. That's the beauty of it all. I have to say that the vast amount of space with clusters of trees makes it feel like Central Park without the hurry-up-and-go anxiety Manhattan crushes your soul with. The air is fresh and birds chirp. There's the constant static of bugs and everyone here has a warm smile.

They all speak to you without provocation and expect you to exchange the same pleasantries. It's immediate to everyone here that I'm from New York and they all ask the same question, "How did you end up in Pilsner?"

Frankie's dreadfully uncomfortable as he helps me unpack into a two-bedroom ranch-style home that I rent from a sweet older woman. I work with a local construction company, or rather, the only construction company that was in desperate need of an office manager.

It's still hard for me to believe that we stumbled onto this place by stopping for gas off I95. A Help Wanted sign and two interviews later, I'm moving into a home that smells like apple pie and summer nights. Not New York summer nights that are full of firecrackers and fire hydrants spraying water like a community water attraction for the neighborhood kids.

Fort Pilsner is the kind of place you could see your babies running around trying to catch fireflies. Barbecue and laughter floats in the air, but there's not a beach in sight. We're inland as they like to call it.