Blade

Chapter 4: Little one

Sienna

I drag my suitcase with me, my eyes searching frantically around the surroundings to make sure I’m not being followed. My father assigned some of his soldiers to watch over me after our talk, just in case I tried something. I admit he knows me well, but not well enough.

Last night, after I booked a flight to New York City, I spent some time evading his soldiers. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. I still don’t have a plan for what I’m going to do when I get to America, but I had to check through the apartments available there. Most weren’t to my taste, but they will have to do. I could lay low for a while and figure out what to do with my life. Going to America is risky. I’m sure Blade has a lot of business connections and alliances there, but it’s the last place he would expect me to run.

I had to pack my things at 12 a.m., and Manuelle and Chiara helped me pack as well. They were not pleased that I was running away, especially Manuelle, and we both knew we would miss each other terribly. But I had to do this to prevent my future from being ruined.

I took a taxi to the airport instead of my car to avoid being traced or caught. The plan was set and perfectly constructed. Now all I had to do was wait for my flight, which was in the next—I glance at the time on my phone—twenty minutes.

Okay. I can do this. This is the most foolish plan I've ever come up with. I'm not someone who runs. I have never run from anything before, no matter how challenging or dangerous it is, but this is not one of those times.

Taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart, I wipe my clammy hands on my jeans. Why the hell am I feeling so fucking anxious, like I have a lot of eyes on me? It's not like I'm being watched or doing the wrong thing.

I'm finally going to get away from Blade and avoid being his wife, and I'd be damned if I let anyone get in my way of that.

A smile crosses my lips as I sigh. The sweet smell of freedom hangs thick in the air. I am just one step away from leaving everyone I love and the things I worked hard for behind. Thinking about that makes my heart heavy, and a solemn feeling radiates through my chest, but I ignore it. I will not allow anything to ruin this long-awaited moment.

I glance at the people around me. Some are eager to board the plane, while others who have just arrived in this country are being engulfed in tight hugs from their families.

Suddenly, the hair at the back of my neck stands upright, and the frigid air around me grows thick with tension. Something doesn't feel right.

I stare at the couple making out six feet away from me, which is awkward if you ask me, and at a woman trying to console her toddler while directing my gaze to the floor.

I can't quite shake this feeling that I'm being watched. Some might say I'm paranoid, but I'm not. That's just one thing you learn when you're in the mafia. Either you're being watched or you're being followed. Same thing, but very different.

Balling my hands into tight fists and getting alert, all my muscles locking in anticipation, I scan my surroundings but don't see anything out of the ordinary. Everything seems normal, but I know better than to believe that.

My dad always says, "Trust your instincts. Only they can guide you when you're in the midst of foes or when you find yourself in deep waters."

And right now, I can feel it. I can hear the footsteps and the eyes on me, but I definitely can't see anyone who looks suspicious.

I take a step forward and immediately two guys dressed in black clothing appear next to me and roughly grab each of my arms.

"Come with us quietly or we're going to blow your brains out here," says the blonde guy on my left with emerald green eyes, pointing a gun at my sides. He has a faded scar on his cheek, a softer feature, and he speaks in measured tones, unlike the guy on my right, who has hard, craggy features. He's a lot more muscular than the one on my left.