2. There's no place to hide kitten

The cold air outside the airport but on Olivia's skin as she stepped out of the airport. She shivered, slightly sniffing in and squatting to the level of Sofia. “Baby girl, it is cold. Wear your coat well.”

Sofia nodded her head obediently, draping the furry brown winter coat over her head. She smiled, and tugged at Olivia's loose straps of her coat. “Let Sofia help you with it.”

Olivia chuckled at Sofia's naive manner of speaking in third person. It was surprisingly odd, unique and cute. She ruffled Sofia's hair and strapped herself from the cold. She glanced at the row of cabs lined up across the street and buckled up.

It was worth a try to see if Vincenzo didn't have her blacklisted in Paris. With Sofia in her palms, she crossed the road over to the other side, pulling the cab door open, she leaned over. “House 28 in the residential lobby.”

“That will be fifty dollars. You can load up with your luggage.” 

Olivia helped Sofia into the backseat of the cab before sliding in herself. She adjusted her coat, making sure it was wrapped snugly around her, and then gave the driver the address. She relaxed into the chair though a bit tense about spending a week here before returning back to Tokyo–her previous city she hid in.

Her thoughts were interrupted soon by Sofia’s soft voice. “Mommy,” she said, tugging at Olivia’s sleeve, “Are we going home?”

Olivia glanced down at her daughter, her heart tightening at the innocent question. She smiled gently, brushing a stray curl behind Sofia’s ear.

“Not quite yet, sweetie,” Olivia replied, her voice soft but steady. “We’re just going to settle in at one of Clara's old apartments. We’ll have a new home soon, I promise.” She pinched Sofia's cheeks, releasing an exhale of exhaustion. If only Sofia understood why every month they had to change cities, she wouldn't insist on getting a permanent home.

Even if Vincenzo was dead, he still would have her haunted down. She couldn't risk getting comfortable not so soon. Olivia felt a pang of guilt—guilt that her daughter had to grow up in a life so uncertain.

Her gaze was out of the window when Sofia fell into slumber. She held her tightly in her arms, stroking her hair. 

“I will protect you even if I have to die, baby girl.”

The cab rolled to a stop in front of a nondescript building—nothing special, but it would do for now. She walked on the Stony pavement to the duplex building painted in sky blue. She paused at the door, struggling to get out the key from her pocket. “You must be starving. I will get something warmed up so you can eat.”

“Salad with turkey, you promised I could start eating real fried food. It won't affect my heart will it?”

“Not if you eat it only once.”

________

Vincenzo Moretti stood just across the street, his black leather gloves tightly gripping the edge of his cigarette. He took a slow drag, exhaling the smoke in a thick cloud that hovered in the cold air. 

"Still running, huh?" Vincenzo’s voice was low, barely a whisper to himself, but his amusement was clear. He crushed the cigarette between his fingers, the ember sparking for a moment before it went out. He glanced one last time at the house, noting the way Olivia had hurried inside, her shoulders tense, her head lowered. 

She was scared, he could see that much. It brought a twisted satisfaction to his chest. She was still running, still fighting. But the endgame was set. Olivia had always been good at running—escaping, hiding—but this time, she wouldn't get away so easily, he had her tied up in every part that she couldn't leave no matter how much she tried. 

He turned his back on the sky blue house which they both had entered and made his way into his black, tinted Bugatti La Voiture Noire, slamming the door shut. He leaned into the leather comfy seat, his mind swiping through the moment he laid in his blood and the moment Olivia had the guts to stab him with his dagger and dash off with his child.

A deal was a deal whether she ran away or not; he owned her life. Her life was always going to be at his mercy!

He snapped his finger at his driver to drive off and solemnly, tore open another cigarette, taking a deep drag at it. He loved the smell of tobacco, the way it calmed his nerves, the way it matched the dark thoughts swirling in his mind. 

“Take me back to the villa,” He ordered the driver and the driver nodded silently and started the engine, pulling the car from the parked curb. His smile never left his face, and the half torn picture between his fingers was torn apart. “Phase one is complete.”

He flung the picture of Olivia in a white wedding dress walking through the aisle. This was seven years ago, when she was getting married to him after signing a deal with him. 

“Now that she is back Sir, what is your next move?”

“Why the rush? I want to see her break. I want to see her turn mental like the little kitten I once made her into. She wants freedom and doesn't mind stabbing me to get it, I’ll give her the illusion of freedom, make her think I’m nothing more than a memory... until she realizes I’m the one pulling the strings.”

The driver chuckled, swirling the wheels of the car to the direction of the Rue de la Faisanderie, an estate only for the rich in Paris.

The car slowed to a stop at the entrance, and Vincenzo's hand lingered on the door handle for a moment. The driver opened the door, stepping back to allow Vincenzo to emerge. He straightened his coat, adjusted his tie, and walked towards the entrance with measured steps. The marble floors glistened under the warm, golden light of the chandeliers hanging above. It was a grand place—an estate worthy of a king.

Vincenzo's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, his eyes scanning the message from his assistant.

“Your private jet is ready for departure, Sir. The business deal in Dubai is confirmed for next week. Are we still on schedule?”

He tossed the phone to the ground, not bothered if the screen cracked and stretched his hand for another cellphone —this was his private phone. As a Mafia, he had several of his phones tracked and anytime he was in his house, the previous phone would be smashed and a new one would be used to cover his tracks and avoid being tracked out to his hideout.

"Keep an eye on her," Vincenzo said suddenly, his voice low as he looked at his assistant who had appeared at the foot of the stairs. "Make sure she doesn't do anything foolish. I don't want her to leave Paris, not yet. And do not raise any alarms.”

“Understood Sir.”

“And one more thing. Put a call across to every airport terminal. Anyone that allows Olivia Derie out of the country will wish they were dead. I want her stuck, I want her driven to the extent of no return. She will pay for ever thinking of raising a dagger at me and stabbing me.”