Chapter 8 - The Golden Cage
Three days later, the discharge paperwork was signed, and St. Catherine’s pediatric wing bid farewell to the most heavily guarded patient in its history.
Four black SUVs idled outside the emergency exit, blocking off the entire ambulance bay. Passersby stared in wide-eyed shock as armed men in tailored suits formed a human shield around the glass sliding doors.
Nico carried Milo out in his arms, wrapped in a thick cashmere blanket bearing the Falcone family crest. The little boy rested his head against Nico’s broad shoulder, clutching his stuffed rabbit in his good hand, looking like a little prince being carried into his fortress.
I walked beside them, feeling the cool autumn wind hit my face.
When we reached the lead vehicle, Marco pulled open the door, revealing an interior outfitted in cream-colored leather, complete with a mini-fridge stocked with juice boxes and fresh fruit.
As Nico settled into the back seat with Milo cradled securely in his lap, he looked up at me standing on the curb.
"Get in, Claire," he said.
I looked at the SUV, then down the long, open street that led back to the city. I could have walked away. I could have taken a taxi back to the walk-up above the bakery, packed my two suitcases, and caught a bus to Wisconsin. I had done it before. I could do it again.
Then I looked at Milo, who was pointing excitedly out the window at a passing delivery truck, laughing a bright, healthy laugh that sounded like music after days of silence.
And I looked at Nico, whose dark eyes held no threats, no ultimatums, only an unspoken, desperate plea for a second chance.
May you like
I opened the door and slid into the leather interior, closing the heavy armored door behind me.
The vehicle glided away from the curb, merging into the afternoon traffic.
