Two years later- Nineteen years old

“These are genius,” Delilah, the manager of Worldly Gifts, the gift shop in my father’s luxury hotel, coos.

“I'm just going to slip a few in the inventory.” Her honey-colored eyes fill with skepticism at my bold attempt to sneak something past my father, so I continue with Operation Get Delilah Onboard. “You do the ordering,” I remind her. “He’ll never know.”

I need her to agree. This is the perfect place to test out my brand of greeting cards. The fact he won't know I’m using his store to make my own money is even better. And I'm not too worried he’ll find out, because in the year I've worked here, not once has he deigned us with his presence. Even though I've spotted him frequently having lunch meetings or cocktails in the hotel restaurant with all the important people he owns. He should set up another gift shop with all the Mafia must-haves. Need a police chief to hide illegal activity? Five thousand dollars. Politician? Bargain priced at ten thousand dollars.

It's excruciating waiting for her go ahead, and just when I’m ready to beg, she looks up at me and a conspiratorial grin lifts her glossy red lips. “Let's do it.”

If I was a squeer, I would squee. Long and loud. Instead, I pull her in for the hug of all hugs and thank her for her loyalty with a kiss on the cheek. Someone like Delilah isn't easy to find, since most people are terrified of my father. I grab a smooth silver rack from under the counter and slide it next to the register. In a few minutes, I have my very own display of Inscription Prescription Rx greeting cards.

“I'll take this one,” she says, plucking one with colorful lollipops that reads ‘thanks for not sucking’ inside.

“It's free,” I tell her. I'll never be able to repay the debt I owe to this tiny woman with pink-tipped hair.

“No way,” she argues, pulling her handbag out from under the counter. “Honey, it's time you do something for yourself.” She slides a five dollar bill on the register. “And now, it's time for me to go to lunch. Keep track of your money,” she calls out over her shoulder. “I'll be back in an hour.”

After she's gone, I walk to different spots in the swanky rectangular store checking out my cards. They look great from every angle, if I do say so myself.

It's a little bittersweet seeing the whimsical drawings designed to make someone smile since the driving motivation behind them was utter sadness. Sadness over Hannah. Sadness over Xavier leaving with no warning two weeks later. I lost the two most important people in my life, back-to-back. I have no idea why he left or where he went but, part of me, after all this time, still clings to the hope he's going to contact me.

“Hey, Princess.” I look over to see Ian, looking very yacht club in his khaki pants and thin black sweater, striding into the store as only someone who thinks the world revolves around them can. “How does it feel to be out of the tower?”

“Hey, Casper,” I say back, finally dubbing him with the name I've always wanted to. He's too pale—too much of an asshole. His helmet of blonde hair gleams under the lighting as he approaches.

“Being out of captivity agrees with you,” he says, openly leering at me like I’m a plate of beef carpaccio he scarfs down every time my father has him over for dinner.

“Wish I could say the same,” I mutter under my breath.

The future politician that he is, he lets my barbs fly past with a practiced smile that I imagine will be used many times on his campaign trail. A campaign trail that will be privately funded in part by my father. God Bless America.

“Let's get together and talk about the future,” he suggests, like he's being recorded for a sound bite.

“Sorry, I’m really busy.” Forever. I move behind the counter, putting the glass case barrier of high priced handbags between us.

His eyes narrow a bit at my rejection, but the smile doesn't falter.

“Just stopped in to say I ran into Xavier in the Miami airport not too long ago,” he verbally punches me in the gut. “Said he was going wherever he wanted when I asked where he was headed.” His calculating blue eyes hold mine. “He said to give you this.”

He slides the final death blow on the counter. I jerk a little, as if he kicked me, and slip my hands in my jeans pockets so he doesn't see them shake.

The turtle dove.

The other half of the gold charm I still wear around my neck.

“You alright? I'm sorry. He was never good enough for you.”

I'm not dumb enough to believe he’s sorry. This is what’s dangerous about someone like Ian: his blade of cruel intentions is coated with false concern. And as he slides the knife in and guts you, he covers the duplicity with an ‘Are you ok?’

By some miracle, I hold back the sob welling in my throat. Internally, I weep that Xavier is roaming the world, and I'm waiting for his return. Outward, I smile, fighting the ache in my chest. The last grain of hope I've been holding onto slips through my fingers.

“You should go.” I give a head nod to the garish marble lobby where his father stands typing on his phone. “We all have our captors, don't we?”

He gives a little rap on the glass case. “Next time, Princess.”

There won't be a next time. One way or another, I'm leaving here.

* * *

A few weeks later, I go to the one person who has the power to set me free.

I drop the acceptance papers to MECA that have been stashed for two years on my mom’s desk.

“What's this?” she asks, picking up the creased envelope.

“This is my ticket away from the Mafia,” I answer, finally speaking the word I've held in so long.

“Rhiannon,” she scolds me, as if the room is wired, “what are you talking about?”

“You think I don't know?” I lean down, brazen with the need to get away, brace my hands on the desk and look straight in her worried eyes. “I've known for years what Dad does. He's a criminal. Just because you keep me a prisoner doesn't mean I’m oblivious to all the things he is.”

She shakes her head, red tendrils escaping from the loose bun on top of her head. “You're not a prisoner.”

“We’re all prisoners,” I spit back. “Unless you're lucky enough to disappear.”

“Listen, I know you're still upset about Hannah and then Xavier leaving,” she stands, with more life in her than I've seen in years, crossing around the beechwood desk, “but you can not say these things.”

“I think I've been silent for too long.” Bitter tears flood my eyes. “You don't miss your voice? Well, I do.”

“Rhiannon, there is no normal life in our world.” Empathy etches itself on her face, transforming her into someone who looks like they actually care. “You can run forever, but there is no escaping. Don't fool yourself into believing otherwise.”

“Please, I'm begging you. If you love me, don't sentence me to the prison you live in,” I whisper.

For a moment, the mother I remember from so long-ago surfaces. The one who took care of me and loved me before Hannah stepped in as a replacement. “I'll make it happen.”