I sat up, groaning, and went through my usual morning habit of reminding myself of my current pseudonym and everything that encompassed her before I got out of bed. It was almost noon. I still hadn’t figured out any kind of routine. Most days I spent exploring the city where I stayed while always checking my surroundings. This fear of being followed, of being hunted, would that ever stop? I doubted it. Whenever I saw men in dark suites, panic filled me. I’d lost count of the times I’d imagined I’d seen Matteo from the corner of my eyes.

I hadn’t made any real friends yet, which wasn’t all that surprising; I never stayed anywhere long enough to build a connection. Which was better anyway. I couldn’t risk getting close to anyone yet, maybe never. That didn’t mean I was alone. I always stayed in youth hostels wherever I went, and met people from all over the world. Of course I couldn’t tell them anything about me, not even my name. Currently I was calling myself Liz, short for Elizabeth, and was spending my year before college abroad road-tripping through Europe. That was pretty much my cover story wherever I went, only my name changed.

Lying to everyone 24/7 made any kind of friendship hard. I opened my laptop and checked my blog, which I still updated almost every day, even though I hadn’t gotten a comment from Aria in weeks. In thirty-one days to be exact. My eyes darted to my cellphone on the nightstand. As so often recently I felt the almost irresistible urge to call her and find out what was keeping her from visiting my blog. I had a feeling it was for my safety. In her last comment she’d warned me ‘not to waste time in one spot because there was too much to explore in Europe’. I’d taken that as a hint that Matteo might be after me and had jumped from city to city in the last few weeks, never staying anywhere more than one or two days, but I was growing tired of running constantly. I’d lost weight, and most of my clothes hung off me like they belonged to someone else. I wanted to belong again, to find a place to call mine.

I got dressed and stuffed my clothes into my backpack. I’d gotten rid of my suitcase four weeks into my journey. It wasn’t practical lugging a heavy suitcase wherever I went. I didn’t need most of my old belongings anyway. When would I ever wear evening dresses and high-heeled Louboutins again? That life was over. I stared down at my shabby backpack, at my cheap sneakers and jeans, and for a moment longing for something I’d thought I’d never miss came up in me. When I’d decided to run away from the mob, I’d known I’d miss my siblings horribly, and so far not a single day had gone by that I hadn’t considered returning to Chicago just to see them again, to talk to Aria again, to have a steady home again, but so far I’d managed not to miss the luxuries my former life had afforded me, at least not this insistently. So why was I suddenly missing the things I’d despised?

Everything I’d ever owned had been paid with blood money, and even my flight up till this point had been financed that way. But I was scarily low on cash and would have to find a job in the next place I stayed, though that would mean staying longer than just a couple of days unless I tried my hand at pickpocketing, which wouldn’t really be a big improvement over mob money, except that nobody got killed for it.

I swung my backpack over my shoulder and exited my small room. Fifteen minutes later, I’d checked out and left my alter ego ‘Liz, short for Elizabeth’ behind. I’d become someone new for my next destination. Maybe a Megan. It was August but heavy clouds draped over Vienna as I headed toward the train station. I’d loved the regal buildings but it was time to move on from Austria. I’d been living in the same country for almost two weeks and was getting antsy.

After I’d boarded my train to Berlin, I checked my cell-phone, a stupid habit I still hadn’t dropped. I never got a message from anyone. The date caught my eyes. August, 15th. The day I was supposed to marry Matteo.

Unwantedly the kiss we’d shared flashed in my mind and a small shiver ran down my back. I’d kissed three guys in the time since I’d arrived in Europe, all of them cute foreigners who weren’t interested in anything lasting, just like me, but none of those kisses had come even close to what I’d felt while kissing Matteo. Maybe it was because he’d had more practice than any other guy. Matteo was a gigolo, there was no doubt about it.

But what worried me most was that I found myself comparing every guy I met to Matteo, and they always fell short. They weren’t as good-looking, as interesting, they didn’t have a six-pack, and most importantly being in their proximity didn’t give me a thrill. It annoyed the hell out of me that despite being (hopefully) thousands of miles away from Matteo, he still held some power over me. I wished I’d never let him kiss me, then I wouldn’t have that problem.

I’d just have to find a nice guy who could make me forget Matteo and his annoyingly sexy and arrogant smile. Maybe my next destination, Berlin, would help with that.

***

I only stayed four weeks in Berlin before I decided to move on. Something hadn’t felt right, or maybe I wasn’t used to staying in a place for a longer period of time anymore. At least I’d worked as a waitress for the last three weeks and managed to earn some money. It wasn’t much but enough to buy me my train ticket to Munich and food for the next couple of days. I didn’t have anything left for a hotel room however, so that was a major problem.

I had spent too much at the beginning of my flight, never having learned to be economical. Money had never been an issue growing up. If there was one thing that women in the mob never had to forego, then it was money. I was a spoiled brat, that much I’d come to realize.

The moment I arrived in Munich I knew this could work. I loved everything about the city, but there was still the problem that I didn’t have any money to pay for a room. I didn’t want to spend the night on the streets. I wasn’t sure how safe it would be. As I walked through the city center, I noticed a few people singing and playing instruments, and they seemed to make a fast buck with it. There was always a heap of Euro coins in the hats they’d put on the ground.

I could play the piano. Father had forced Aria, Lily and me to take lessons from the moment we could talk but I had neither a piano, nor a keyboard I could use to make music. I had a decent singing voice, definitely nothing to get excited about but at least it didn’t make people want to hold their ears. Maybe it was worth a try.

A group of three girls with colorful hair was singing and playing the guitar at the next corner, and I headed for them. When they finally took a break, I approached them. I really hoped they spoke English. They looked to be in my age. “Hey. I was wondering if you know of any places where I could do what you do and sing for people? I’m out of money and this is pretty much my only shot at paying for a room tonight.”

The girls exchanged a look and I was half convinced they hadn’t understood me when the girl with short blue hair said in an accent I couldn’t decipher, “You need a permission. The authorities are pretty strict in Munich. They’ll fine you if you make music or any kind of other art in the streets without permission.”

“Damn. Is it easy to get a permission?”

The pink-haired girl shook her head. “No. They only hand out a few permissions and they make sure you can sing and actually play instruments before they allow you to make music here.”