Chapter 3 - THE HEAD-START
Seven hours north, the Subaru Forester crossed the state line into Vermont under a bruising slate-colored sky. Vivien Cross drove with her knuckles white against the steering wheel, the heater humming a low, steady drone that kept the freezing mountain air at bay. Beside her on the passenger seat rested the black case.
She hadn't slept, but her mind was terrifyingly clear. Adrenaline was a potent stimulant, far cleaner than the bourbon back at the penthouse.
Vivien pulled off the highway into an unlit diner parking lot at 4:15 AM. The neon sign buzzed a sickly pink glow through the frost-crusted windows. She didn't go inside. Instead, she popped the trunk, grabbed a heavy-duty contractor’s trash bag, and systematically stripped her past life away. Her designer coat went into the bag. Her Louboutin heels, which had clicked across marble floors while she managed the logistics of a violent empire from the shadows, were tossed into a dumpster behind the kitchen. She pulled on a thick wool sweater, fleece-lined cargo pants, and worn-out hiking boots she’d stashed in the back months ago.
She pulled out the burner phone—the one taped inside the shoebox—and powered it on for the first time.
Three seconds later, it buzzed. A text from an encrypted VoIP number.
“He knows.”
May you like
Vivien stared at the glowing screen, a cold, humorless smile touching the corners of her mouth. Let him know. For seven years, Matteo had treated her like the crown jewel of his collection—admired, displayed, but ultimately locked behind glass. He thought she was his creation. He never bothered to look beneath the surface to see that she had been the one holding the entire fragile architecture of his life together, translating his brutal impulses into sustainable, untraceable wealth.
She tossed the burner phone onto the passenger seat, threw the car into drive, and merged back onto the highway, heading deeper into the pines.
