Four.

Maria

It doesn't take long for me to get to the address on Mercy's card, and true to Mikhail's words, it's a bar. The name "Somewhere Bar" is lit up by neon lights, and even though it's not too far from Times Square, it looks surprisingly empty.

I wonder if I've made a mistake when I spot her red hair—same as mine—before she sees me. I wave at her like a fool, and her dark eyes narrow on me for a moment before they light up with recognition. She coughs and tosses her cigarette to the ground.

"Maria!" she calls out. "What the hell! What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Mercy!" I shout back, dodging a pedestrian to reach her.

Mercy wraps me in a tight hug. Her welcome is the reassurance I need right now. She steps back and looks me hard in the eyes. "Where's your dad?"

I swallow hard. "I ran away."

"Ran away?" She laughs loudly, verging on a coughing fit. "You're eighteen, for Chrissake. Call it what it is: you left home." She gives me another bear hug before pulling back, smiling."Well, you just gave Michael Rostova a huge dose of his own goddamn medicine."

Mercy rarely calls Dad anything but his proper name. "The dictator just got dicked over. Gotta love it."

I frown, and Mercy takes it down a notch.

"Sorry, Marie," she mumbles.

"You won't tell him, will you?" I ask.

"Do I look like a snitch?" Her smile turns into a hard frown. "Don't be like that, cousin."

"Sorry," I reply. "I'm just still wrapping my head around everything that's happening."

"All good, cousin." Mercy sighs and then looks to the heavens. "Look, I'll tell my dad because you know yours will call everyone, including him. But until then, let's give you a few days of freedom." She grins. "Got a place to crash?"

"I was kind of hoping I could crash on your couch?" I ask furtively. "I know New York's pressed for space."

"For you, girl? I got all the space in the world!" Mercy smirks. "Come on." She takes my hand and leads me into the bar. "I work here and live upstairs. Once you get settled, I'll introduce you to my coworkers."

"They're nice people, right?" I ask, eyeing the scowling bald man with the tattoos behind the bar.

"Jesus, Joseph, and doggy-style Mary." Mercy gives me a look that's a mix of concern and annoyance. "I keep forgetting you're the closest thing to a cloistered nun in this fucked-up family."

"What's with the name?" I frown at Mercy. "Somewhere Bar."

Mercy laughs, but the scowling man behind the bar breaks out in a friendly smile. "It's always five o'clock somewhere. Get it now?"

I grimace at the terrible pun. "That's clever."

"C'mon, Marie," Mercy gestures at me. "Put your stuff down. Take a deep breath, and let's hit this town!"

We walkthrough the heavy brass doors into a lower Manhattan club. I'm immediately swallowed up by a sea of sweaty bodies. Mercy grips my hand so hard it tingles as she drags me through the crowd. As she searches for her roommate Alyssa, my eyes are drawn to the art adorning the walls—a vivid contrast to the wild vibe in the place.

"Mercy! Maria?" Alyssa's voice cuts through the noise, and I spot her waving. "Maria, what are you doing here?"

"She legged it," announces Mercy.

"I moved out." I try to sound confident, but I sound like a brat. "My dad ... He's just ... suffocating me, you know?"

Alyssa looks at Mercy. They've known each other so long that they can communicate with glances.

"Maybe he'll come around," Alyssa shrugs. "For now, though, let's enjoy your big night. You deserve it."

"Thanks, Alyssa," I say, hugging her tightly.

Alyssa stares at us and then laughs. "Mercy, your cousin looks like the innocent version of you. If you gave up cigarettes and one-night stands."

"Alyssa, I say this with love ..." Mercy laughs. "But you are one opinionated bitch."

As we walk further into the club, I can't help but be drawn to the art again—bold strokes and vibrant colors that defy the commotion around us. I stop momentarily, captivated by a piece that speaks to my disordered feelings as I clutch the purse Mercy lends me for the night.

We can't find an empty table, so Mercy drags me onto the dance floor. Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "Let's tear this place down, baby cousin!" she shouts over the noise.

I can't help but grin, but I feel on display. Back in Holtsville, I was a small fish in a small pond. Now, I'm a small fish in New York City. I don't recognize the songs. My body moves mechanically to the beat, but deep down, I know I'm out of my depth. New York is an exciting and terrifying mix of drive and energy. This world is so different; these people are wild, bold, and confident.

For the past few minutes, a man has hovered near us. He's tall, with dark hair and an unnerving smirk that sets the alarm off in my head.

"Hey." He's holding a phone and grinning at me.

Light flashes from his phone. "You're a star now!"

Before I can respond, Mercy appears between us, her face set in a determined scowl as she snaps her fingers. "Take a hike, bozo!"

The man raises his hands defensively as his face twists into a scowl. He mutters a string of curses under his breath and disappears into the crowd, leaving me feeling weird. Mercy wraps an arm around my waist, her grip firm and protective.

"You need a good radar here, Marie," she says. "Some men don't bother with being decent. Just stick with me, okay?"

"Why did he just take a picture of me?" I ask.

"People do that all the time at clubs." She scoffs. "And you've got this innocence about you, Marie. It's the same kind of innocence that assholes gravitate toward."

"Oh," I say dejectedly, remembering the man who tried to grab me. Suddenly I feel annoyed, and my evening is ruined.

Mercy looks at me, clearly recognizing my newfound discomfort. "Look, if you wanna bounce, just say the word."

"Yeah." I nod. "It's just too much to take in right now."

"No worries, cousin." She turns to Alyssa. "Hey, cover me for the drinks, will ya? I'll pay you back next time."

"That's the third time this month, Mercy!" Alyssa fakes indignation and waves us away as she heads back to the dance floor.

"You gotta have some backbone in this city," Mercy says as we walk out into the still night air. Overhead, the sky is starting to turn light. "Otherwise, someone's bound to take advantage of you."

"I know." I may not be tough like Mercy, but I'm not clueless.

"Maria," Mercy says hesitantly. "I'm serious. Being tough is real important in this city."

"I hear you," I respond coolly. "I'll keep it in mind."

As we walk in silence, I can't help but feel a tinge of guilt for snapping at her. After all, Mercy is doing me a massive favor. But something about her words sting—maybe she thinks I should turn around and go home.

"Look, Marie, I'm sorry if I sound too harsh," Mercy breaks the silence. "I just worry about you, that's all."

Now she's starting to sound like Dad.

"Thanks, Mercy," I murmur, touched by her concern. "But I promise, I can take care of myself."

"You sure?" she asks, her eyes searching mine.

"Trust me, I'll be fine," I insist, forcing a smile. "I'm tougher than I look."

As we continue walking, I feel a mix of gratitude and irritation. I know Mercy means well, but why is she underestimating me? I only need a chance.

It isn't until after we finally return to Mercy's apartment with the rising sun that I pull out the card from Mikhail. I walk over to the map of New York hanging on Mercy's living room wall as she steps into the bathroom and find the street I'm looking for.

It's surprisingly close.

An art gallery, I think. I wonder what kind of art he shows. I wonder if there's any that I might like.

I glance at the bathroom door, listening to Mercy sing off-key in the shower. Something tells me that she'll try and tell me not to go, especially after what happened in the club earlier.

But this is why I've come to New York, isn't it?

To live life on my own terms.