Matteo Vitiello POV:
I stared at the crumpled eviction notice in my hand. My knuckles were bone-white. The golden Moretti logo mocked me.
I used to control the fate of thousands in this city. I used to sign papers that decided who lived and who died. Now, I couldn't even protect a leaky, rat-infested room.
Luca began to wail. The violent entry of the police had terrified him. He curled into a tight ball in the corner, sobbing loudly, his hands covering his ears.
I dragged my useless, heavy prosthetic leg across the floorboards. "Luca, hey, it's okay. Look at me."
I reached out to touch his shoulder. Luca flailed wildly in his panic. His dirty fist flew out and smashed directly into my swollen cheekbone.
A sharp, blinding pain exploded behind my eye. I tasted fresh blood in my mouth. I didn't yell. I didn't hit him back. I just swallowed the metallic taste and pulled his shaking body against my chest, letting him cry into my wet shirt.
I looked around the room. The peeling paint, the stained mattress, the empty cupboards. There was nothing left here. My obsession burned hotter than ever. I had to go to New York. I had to see her.
I crawled over to the mattress and flipped it over. I ripped open the fabric seam and pulled out a rusted metal tin box.
My hands shook as I pried the lid off. Inside lay three crumpled one-dollar bills and a handful of sticky quarters. It wasn't even enough to buy half a bus ticket out of the state.
I closed my eyes. My gaze slowly dropped to my plastic leg.
If I sold it, I could get a few dollars. But I shook my head violently. Without the leg, I couldn't walk. I couldn't carry Luca to the station.
I grabbed a black trash bag from the corner. It was filled with heavy copper wires and rusted pipes I had dug out of dumpsters over the last week. I slung the heavy bag over my shoulder, grabbed Luca's hand, and limped out of the doomed apartment.
***
The underground pawn shop in the black market was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of unwashed bodies.
I dropped the heavy trash bag onto the scratched glass counter. The metal clanked loudly.
The pawn shop boss, a massive man with a scarred neck, peered into the bag. He sneered, showing yellow teeth. He reached into his register and tossed two five-dollar bills onto the glass.
"Ten bucks," the boss grunted.
"No, please," I begged, my voice cracking. I pushed the bills back. "This is solid copper. I need more. I need enough for two bus tickets to New York."
The boss laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "New York? Look at you, cripple. You wouldn't survive a day. Take the ten or get the fuck out." He nodded to a massive security guard standing by the door.
I gripped the edge of the glass counter. Desperation clawed at my throat. I couldn't fail. Not now.
I opened my mouth and reached two fingers past my lips. I clamped my dirty fingers around my back molar—my last solid gold tooth. It was the final physical piece of the billionaire prince I used to be.
I bit down on my own fingers and yanked violently.
The root tore. Flesh ripped. A sickening crunch echoed in my skull. Blood instantly flooded my mouth, spilling over my lips and dripping onto the glass counter.
I pulled the bloody gold tooth from my mouth and slammed it onto the glass right in front of the boss.
The boss blinked, staring at the bloody molar in shock. He looked at my bleeding mouth, disgusted. He reached into the register, pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill, and threw it at me.
I snatched the bill. I didn't care about the searing pain in my jaw. I grabbed Luca's hand and rushed out the door.
***
The Chicago Greyhound bus station was cold and desolate in the middle of the night.
I stood at the ticket window, my clothes soaked, my mouth still dripping blood. I pushed the crumpled fifty, the ones, and the sticky quarters under the glass partition.
The ticket agent looked at the bloody money with pure revulsion. She used the tip of a pen to slide the coins closer.
"Two tickets to New York. The cheapest ones," I mumbled, my words slurring from the missing tooth.
The agent typed on her keyboard. The printer buzzed. She slid two thin, cheap paper tickets under the glass.
My trembling fingers snatched the tickets. I held them to my chest as if they were made of diamonds. They were the keys to my salvation.
I turned my head, staring out the dirty glass doors toward the dark highway pointing east. A sick, manic fever burned in my eyes.
I smiled, blood leaking over my teeth.
"We are going to New York. To see her."
