Chapter 4 - The Night We Ran
The alley behind Sweet Harbor Bakery smelled like snow, salt water, and old cardboard.
I ran through it with Leo in my arms.
He was too big to carry comfortably now. Five years old, all elbows and knees and sudden growth spurts. But fear gave me strength I did not know I had.
Behind us, glass shattered in the bakery.
Leo buried his face in my neck.
“Mommy, what happened?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
That was a lie.
I hated lying to him.
But I hated the sound of his frightened breathing more.
“Is it the coffee man?” he asked.
“No, baby.”
“Then who?”
I reached the fish market at the end of the alley.
The blue pickup truck was exactly where Bianca said it would be, parked crookedly behind a stack of lobster traps. Snow had gathered along the windshield wipers.
The driver’s door was unlocked.
The keys sat beneath the visor.
Of course they did.
Nothing in Matteo Lombardi’s world happened by accident.
I put Leo in the passenger seat, pulled the seat belt around him, and started the engine with shaking hands.
A black SUV turned into the far end of the alley.
Its headlights swept across the brick wall beside us.
Leo gasped.
“Mommy—”
“Duck down.”
He did not argue.
That scared me almost as much as the SUV.
Children should argue when they are told to duck down in strange trucks behind fish markets. They should ask why. They should be annoyed and confused.
Leo simply curled beneath the dashboard, holding his dinosaur backpack against his chest.
I slammed the truck into reverse.
The tires spun on ice.
The SUV accelerated.
For one impossible second, I thought we were trapped.
Then the pickup caught traction.
I backed hard through the narrow alley, clipped a garbage can, and turned onto Harbor Street just as the SUV reached the bakery’s rear entrance.
The driver saw me.
I knew because the SUV swung toward the street immediately.
“Hold on,” I whispered.
Leo’s small voice came from below the dashboard.
“Are they mad at us?”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Because your father is a man who built an empire out of fear.
Because your uncle is alive when I believed he was dead.
Because your great-aunt just walked back into a building full of armed men to buy us time.
Because I spent five years pretending the past could not find us.
Instead, I said, “Because they’re bad people.”
Leo was quiet.
Then he whispered, “Are we going to Grandma June’s house?”
My chest tightened.
Grandma June had died before Leo was born.
“No, sweetheart.”
“Then where are we going?”
I looked toward the dark road leading out of town.
I did not know.
That was the truth.
I had packed bags before Bianca arrived. I had planned to leave Maine. I had imagined driving north, maybe crossing into Canada, renting a cabin under a false name, calling someone I trusted.
But I had no one left who understood this kind of danger.
Not here.
Not in Chicago.
Not anywhere.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
The SUV was still behind us, two cars back now, its headlights cutting through the snow.
The phone rang again.
I answered through the truck’s speaker.
“Hazel.”
Matteo.
For five years, I had replayed his voice in my head.
Not because I missed him.
Because I hated that some part of me still remembered what it felt like when he said my name gently.
Now his voice was different.
Tight.
Controlled.
Terrified.
I had heard Matteo Lombardi threaten judges, captains, rivals, and politicians without so much as changing his tone.
I had never heard fear in him.
Until now.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Why would I tell you?”
“Because the Morettis are looking for you.”
“They are looking for you.”
“They found you because Tobias was followed.”
“And why was Tobias in Maine?”
Silence.
The SUV behind me moved closer.
Leo peeked above the dashboard.
“Mommy, they’re catching us.”
“Down,” I said sharply.
He ducked again.
Matteo heard it.
“Is he with you?”
I laughed once.
It came out broken.
“No, Matteo. I left my five-year-old alone in a bakery while men with guns smashed the windows. Of course he’s with me.”
His breathing changed.
“He is five?”
I clenched my teeth.
“Yes.”
“You had my child.”
“You gave up any right to call him yours the night you threw me into the rain.”
The SUV rammed the back of the truck.
Leo screamed.
The pickup lurched forward.
“Hazel!” Matteo’s voice thundered through the speaker. “What happened?”
“They found us.”
“Who?”
“The Morettis.”
“Get off Harbor Street. Take Route 1 north. There’s a fuel station three miles outside town with an old service road behind it. Turn there.”
“Why would I follow your directions?”
“Because I have men coming.”
“I don’t want your men near my son.”
“You think I do?”
The words came out hard.
Too hard.
Then his voice lowered.
“Hazel, listen to me. I did not know about him. I swear to God, I did not know.”
The SUV struck us again.
This time the back window cracked.
Leo began sobbing beneath the dashboard.
I felt something in myself snap.
“Do not swear to God with me,” I said. “You let me believe Caleb was dead.”
Matteo went silent.
Then he said, “I know.”
“You sent me away with nothing.”
“I know.”
“You called me convenient.”
His breath caught.
“I know.”
“And now you know I was pregnant. Now you know you have a son. So suddenly I matter?”
“No,” Matteo said.
The answer stunned me.
“No?”
“You always mattered.”
My eyes burned.
“Then why?”
“Because I was afraid.”
The SUV pulled alongside us.
A man leaned toward the passenger window.
I saw the shape of a gun.
I yanked the wheel right.
The pickup hit the icy shoulder, fishtailed, then slammed through a wooden fence leading into a snow-covered field.
The SUV missed us by inches.
Leo screamed again.
The truck bounced across frozen ground.
I could barely see.
The phone slid from the dashboard but remained connected.
Matteo was shouting my name.
“Hazel! Hazel, answer me!”
I regained control long enough to steer toward a narrow road near the trees.
The SUV had to slow to get through the broken fence.
For now, we had a lead.
I picked up the phone.
“Tell me where Caleb is.”
Matteo was quiet.
Then he said, “Alive.”
“I know that.”
“He is in Vermont.”
“Where?”
“I will send the address.”
“Why?”
“Because he can help you.”
I almost laughed.
“Caleb is the reason all of this started.”
“No,” Matteo said. “Caleb is the reason you are still alive.”
The words made no sense.
“What are you talking about?”
“Five years ago, the Morettis wanted you dead.”
My grip tightened around the steering wheel.
“What?”
“Caleb gave them information. They thought you knew where the original financial files were. I told them you were gone.”
“You threw me out.”
“I made it believable.”
The truck went silent except for Leo’s crying.
My whole body went cold.
“You humiliated me to protect me?”
“I thought if everyone believed I had discarded you, nobody would look for you.”
“You could have told me.”
“I could not trust anyone. Not even my own men.”
“You could have trusted me.”
“I know.”
His voice broke on the last word.
Matteo Lombardi did not break.
Not in front of rivals.
Not in front of his soldiers.
Not even when his enemies shot at him outside a courthouse four years ago and Tobias had dragged him bleeding into a car.
But he broke now.
And I hated that a part of me wanted to believe him.
The SUV reappeared in my rearview mirror.
“Hazel,” Matteo said. “Take the service road. Please.”
I looked at Leo.
He had climbed back onto the seat. His face was wet. His hands clutched his dinosaur backpack.
“Mommy,” he whispered, “I want to go home.”
I reached across the seat and held his hand.
“I know.”
Then I turned onto Route 1 north.
May you like
For the first time in five years, I followed Matteo Lombardi’s voice into the dark.
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