Born in Blood Collection Volume 1 - Cora Reilly Page 0,240

asked, the thrill of the impending hunt spreading in my veins.

“Four hours.”

“I need to leave sooner.”

“Impossible. I tried everything I could.”

“Damn it. Gianna will be long gone when I arrive.”

“You’ll find her. You are the best hunter I know. She doesn’t stand a chance.”

I clapped his shoulder. “You let me go, even though you need me here.”

“You aren’t of much use to me if all you can think about is Gianna.”

“It could take weeks,” I said. “I won’t return until I’ve caught her.”

“I know. If Aria had run, I would have done the same.”

I nodded. I wouldn’t stop until Gianna was mine. I didn’t care if I had to search the entire world, if I had to turn every single stone, if I had to squeeze information out of every fucking person in Amsterdam, I would find Gianna.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Gianna

I barely got any sleep in the six hours it took the plane to reach Amsterdam. Worry for Aria had taken the place of worrying about getting caught. She was sure Luca wouldn’t see her actions as betrayal, but what if she was wrong? God, what had I done? I shouldn’t have involved her, shouldn’t even have told her about my intention to run away.

When I finally got off the plane and had successfully passed through immigration, I slipped into the first restroom I found and locked myself into one of the small stalls. At the bottom of my bag was the wig Aria had given me. It was long and blonde. Nobody would be fooled by it close up, but it would only have to do until I dyed my hair later today.

Fear clogged my throat when I headed into the waiting area, half expecting someone from New York or the Outfit to wait for me, but that was impossible. Even if Matteo had figured out where I was by now, I was fairly sure that the Famiglia didn’t have close relations to any crime syndicates in the Netherlands, and it would take some time for mobsters from Sicily to travel up all the way to Amsterdam. For now I was safe. At least, until the next plane from the East Coast landed in Schiphol, which would be the case in a few hours.

I quickly left the airport with my suitcase, overwhelmed by the sound of people speaking in languages I didn’t understand. I knew a few words in Dutch but hadn’t bothered learning the language; the Netherlands had never been intended as more than a stopover.

I hailed a taxi and let it take me to a non-descript middle-class hotel in the city where I booked their cheapest room. Despite feeling tired from jet lag and the flight, I only deposited my suitcase in the room before venturing out again to buy a few items I needed.

Two hours later I was back in my small hotel room with light brown hair dye, scissors, a couple of new outfits that helped me fit in better than my super expensive designer clothes, as well as a pre-paid cell phone and a small laptop. After I’d connected my laptop with the wireless internet of the hotel and set up the blog Aria and I had talked about, I wrote a short post, saying that a new journey had begun and that I’d safely arrived at my destination. It was all a bit cryptic and nobody would probably read my blog except for Aria. I resisted the urge to write something more personal, or worse use my new phone to call her. I wanted to hear her voice, wanted to know if she was okay, but I couldn’t risk it. Even this blog was already risky. Instead I slipped into the bathroom and changed my hair.

Two hours later I stared at my new reflection. My hair was caramel brown and I’d cut it into a bob that reached my chin. Of course that wouldn’t stop people from recognizing me from close up but unless I paid a surgeon to redo my face, which I had no intention of doing, a new haircut would have to be enough. I’d just have to move from city to city until I was sure that Matteo had moved on to another target and I was safe. That would probably take a while. Matteo had told me numerous times that he wouldn’t give me up and I had a feeling he meant it.

I wouldn’t give him a chance to catch me. Tomorrow, I’d leave Amsterdam and head for Paris, and