Linda POV
"Fucking choose. Right now. Because I am so tired, Emilia. I'm so tired of trying to save someone who won't save herself. I'm tired of cleaning up your messes. I'm tired of watching you throw yourself at men who don't deserve you." Tears were running down my face now. "I'm so fucking tired. I don't sleep anymore. I don't ate. I worry all the fucking time"
I stared at her. "So choose. Me or him."
Pick me I almost yelled.
Choose me.
Pick me, Emilia.
Love me.
She looked at me. Her eyes were red, swollen and broken. Then she spoke.
She chose.
"I choose Luca."
I blinked.
Worst part? It wasn't a shock. It wasn't a big surprise. It was like finally— finally the other shoe I spent years waiting for...fell.
The words hung in the air between us. Emilia broke my heart.
I ran my hand through my hair.
"Okay." I murmured. Trying to gather my thoughts. And my voice was so quiet I barely recognized it.
All I knew was it Mama all over again, just like in the court room during the trial.
"Okay then." I stepped back. "Good luck, Emilia. To you and your baby." The words came out cold and hoarse. "I'm sure your child will need all the luck in the world. Because you're going to be a shitty mother. The kind who keeps choosing a cock over her own kid. Just like mine did."
"I am not your mother, Linda."
"No." I nodded. My heart breaking even more "You're right. You're not." I turned and started walking back to the van. "You're worse."
"Linda!"
I didn't turn around.
"LINDA!"
I got in the van. Started the engine. Pulled away.
In the rearview mirror, I watched her get smaller and smaller, walking in the opposite direction, back toward the city, back toward her precious Luca, back toward whatever was waiting for her.
I drove for five minutes. Ten. Maybe Fifteen minutes.
Then I pulled over on the shoulder, put my head on the steering wheel
At first, I started with hitting the dashboard over and over and over again, imagining it was Emilia's face.
I hit it until my hands were bruised and my face was wet and I couldn't breathe no more.
I screamed and screamed until my voice gave out.
Then I sat there in the quiet little car, alone...again.
And for the first time in six years, I let myself break.
Stick with me and I'll stick with you.
She'd said that. In a dirty holding cell, when I was nothing and she was less than nothing, she'd looked at me and said those words.
Stick with me and I'll stick with you.
And I believed her.
She lied.
I know that she lied. I know because I stuck with her but —but she didn't stick with me.
I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel and closed my eyes.
"You are okay. Everything is okay. You are all you need, Linda. You are all you need"
I must have sat there a long time, then I snapped out of it.
"I am all I need"
I wiped my face, pulled back onto the highway, and drove.
Away from Little Italy. Away from Emilia. Away from everything.
Because If Emilia was family...if that was how she treats family, please label me an orphan.
**
Emilia's POV
I walked until my legs gave out. The sun went down and I couldn't remember which direction I'd come from.
I walked until there was nothing left of me but a girl with no family, no friend, no future, walking down a highway with her hand pressed to her stomach.
The truck came out of nowhere.
One moment the road was empty. The next, headlights flooded the asphalt and a big rig roared past, shaking the ground. I waved my arms. The brake lights flashed red. The truck shuddered to a stop fifty feet ahead.
I ran toward it.
The driver's door swung open and a man jumped down. He was huge—the kind of huge that came from years of hauling loads and fighting wars. His face was rough, lined from too much sun, half-hidden by a thick beard. He wore a denim jacket and a baseball cap pulled low. His hands, when he gripped the door, were thick and scarred.
He looked like every man my father ever sent to collect a debt.
"Jesus Christ, miss!" He stared at me like I'd crawled out of a grave. "Shouldn't you be walking to a hospital? It's freezing"
I should have said thank you and walked away. Every instinct screamed it. But my legs were shaking, my head was spinning, and I had to make it to that bar before midnight.
"I need a ride," I said. "Can you give me a ride."
He looked me up and down. Then he popped the door open. "Get in."
I climbed into the passenger seat. The cab smelled like coffee and cigarettes and old sweat. The engine rumbled beneath me, warm and steady, and I had to fight the urge to close my eyes.
He pulled back onto the highway. "Where to, miss?"
"A bar. Off Highway 47, just before you get lost in the city madness."
He glanced at me, then back at the road. "What does a nice-looking girl like you want with a place like that? Wouldn't it be better if I took you to a hospital?"
The concern in his voice was genuine. I'd forgotten people could sound like that. I'd forgotten there was good in the world.
"What I want..." I swallowed. "A hospital can't provide it."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. "Okay. If you insist."
We drove in silence. The radio played something low and scratchy, and the highway stretched on forever. I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes, his hand was on my arm.
I jerked awake, slamming back against the door.
"Easy." He held up both hands, palms out, like he was calming a frightened animal. "Didn't mean to startle you. We're here. That's the street to the bar. My truck can't fit through."
I blinked, trying to focus. Through the windshield, I could see the narrow alley, the flickering sign at the end. La Luna.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "Thank you. Thank you so much." I grabbed the door handle and pushed it open, ready to jump down.
Then I heard the door behind me open. Footsteps on gravel.
I spun around.
He was standing there, holding a knife.
My breath caught. I staggered back.