“Your wound is fine, you did great,” the doctor said as I lay on the examination bed.
I sighed in relief. I hated blood and wounds—ironic, wasn't it, for one who lived in the Mafia? I sneered to myself.
“Is the race tonight?” the doctor asked Ricardo once I stepped off bed.
Ricardo nodded and said, “Yep, you have to be there on time.”
The doctor nodded, and we left.
The ride to the nightclub was quiet. I kept staring out the window, watching the cars and the normal life I would never have in New York. I had to find a way to escape.
Or just confront anyone who tries to control and manipulate you, Mila, I thought.
“What are you thinking of, Mila?” Ricardo asked.
I didn't look his way and muttered, “A way to escape this life.”
There was a long pause. Then he revved the engine loudl
