Chapter 2 Mistaken Identity

Anya Santini De Luna POV

(Eighteen years old...)

Glancing around me, it’s still hard to believe I’m in Metro Manila.

I was supposed to take this trip with my father – Rocky Ace De Luna, the Italian Mafia Boss but he died in a car accident on New Year's Eve.

Next month will be a year since he passed away. The grief still comes in waves, especially when I see one of the sights Papa always talked about. Besides, Papa named me – Anya Santini De Luna – I don’t know why. Papa did not tell me the name of my mother.

We planned this trip for over a year, and it was meant to be my graduation gift. With he’s gone, I decided to honor his memory by going ahead with the vacation; the Philippines, Scotland, and Hawaii. We each chose a destination, and right now, I’m on the first leg of the trip.

Sometimes I’m struck by a wave of panic. Honestly, it’s a little terrifying exploring a foreign country alone. But Papa Rocky Ace told me that the Philippines are great for tourists. It’s terrifying being alone in this big world.

The only families I have left are Papa Mafia’s Friends, Papa best friends – Uncle Craig, Uncle Montero, who lived together with us in Italy, but I barely have contact with them. There is Matthew, Papa’s son, and he’s offered that I move in with him, but he has four kids of his own, and I don’t want to intrude.

I inherited enough to live comfortably for the next ten years or so. Money is the least of my worries. It’s the fact that I don’t have my Papa anymore that’s scaring the hell out of me.

I was going to study literature and played with the idea of becoming an editor, but that flew out the window when I lost my parents.

Actually, I lost more than just my parents. I lost my friends as well. They tried to be patient with me, but I was too consumed with unbearable grief, and one by one, they stopped interacting with me.

By the grace of god, I managed to complete my final year of school, and now, as I’m traveling through Philippines, I have no idea what I’ll do once the vacation is over.

Do I study further? My father and personal assistant are supposed to be here to help me make this decision. Shaking my head, I draw myself out of my morbid thoughts and glance up and down the busy street. The city is alive, and my eyes land on three girls as they giggle. It looks like they’re heading toward a nightclub.

I used to be that carefree.

Finishing the last of the coffee I bought thirty minutes ago, I get up from where I’m sitting in a Starbuck’s Café. Instead of going back to my hotel, I follow after the girls at a slow pace.

Two girls are holding hands. I remember I used to be that close with Bernadette in Rome, Italy before they moved to New York, USA because her father was transferred there for work.

The girls join the back of a long line of people waiting to enter the nightclub, and I stop behind them. They’re talking Tagalog, but from the excitement in their voices, it’s clear they can’t wait to get inside.

Wearing a pair of tight, black jeans and a cozy sweater over a white long-sleeve shirt, I’m not dressed for the nightclub.

All the other girls are glammed up for the night.

Feeling a little self-conscious, I lift my hand to my head and pull my hair free from the braid before placing the tie around my wrist. I tug my fingers through the strands and take a couple of steps forward as the line moves.

Are you really going into the nightclub?

I glance around me, taking in the happy faces, and I feel the excited vibe filling the air. It’s better than sitting in my hotel room where my grief will overwhelm me.

Two guys come to stand behind me, and I feel overly aware of my appearance. Like any other girl my age, I notice boys, and for some reason, they seem more appealing just because they’re foreign. It’s weird.

My eyes sweep over the group of girls in front of me, and as we move forward again, I notice their high heels. My sneakers might not fit the dress code.

Tugging my bottom lip between my teeth, I contemplate giving up on this silly idea, but something keeps me from leaving the line.

When we get closer to the entrance, I can hear the music coming from inside the nightclub.

A night out will do you good.

The girls ahead of me are allowed to enter then the bouncer’s eyes land on me. His stern gaze sweeps over my outfit then he shakes his head. “Hindi pwede.” His tone is harsh when he says something else, and the guys behind me chuckle, which has my cheeks going up in flames.

From my limited knowledge of Tagalog, I know the bouncer said no.

As I let out a sigh and turn to leave the line, a gorgeous woman comes toward us, her eyes flicking from me to the bouncer. She says something in Tagalog, then hooks her arm through mine, a bright smile on her face. I notice the group of men behind her. They look like bodyguards, making me wonder who the woman is.

My heartbeat speeds up, and caught off guard, I listen to her rambling in her native tongue as we enter the nightclub before I think to say, “I don’t understand Filipino language.” I pat my hand against my chest. “Italian and I know English language.”

Her smile widens, and her eyes fill with surprise. “Really? So cool.” Her accent is thick, and as she tugs me toward the lower floor where people are dancing, she leans into me. “My name is Olga.”

Thank God she understands English.

A smile forms on my face as I meet her eyes. “I’m Anya…ahh…thanks for getting me into the nightclub.”

I glance at the orange and blue décor, the strobe lights, the bar counters, and sitting areas. Olga leads me up a narrow staircase, and at the top, we enter a much more luxurious area than downstairs.

“You come alone?” Olga asks in broken English.

I nod, conscious of the men still following behind us. “Are they your guards?”

“Yes, ignore them.” I’m pulled toward a bar counter, then she asks, “What do you drink?”

Getting a good look at her face, I have to admit she’s stunning. Her hair is a couple of shades lighter than my light brown strands, and her blue eyes are downright mesmerizing. She’s wearing tight leather pants, a silk blouse, and a three-quarter-sleeve jacket. Paired with high heels, the woman looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine.

I almost declines a drink but remember the drinking age in the Philippines is eighteen. Shrugging, I sit down on a stool. “I don’t drink much. You can get anything.”

Olga also takes a seat, and then asks, “Are you visiting the Philippines?”

I nod, and slipping the strap from my shoulder, I set my backpack down by my feet. “Italy is beautiful.”

“How long will you be here?”

The bartender interrupts her, and Olga holds up two fingers without saying anything.

“Just another week.” My eyes dart between the bartender and her, then I ask, “Do you come here often?”

She nods, and when the bartender places two shot glasses down, she picks up one.

“Why did you help me get into the nightclub?”

“My father is owner, and it looked like you could use favor,” she answers. We clink glasses, and hen she adds, “Welcome to Manila, Anya.”

That explains the bodyguards. Olga’s father must be wealthy, the same as my Papa.

We drink the shots, and the alcohol tastes like dishwashing liquid. My body shudders, and I struggle not to cough. “God,” I chuckle. “It’s bitter.”

She lets out a burst of laughter, and a moment later, her face lights up, and she waves excitedly. “My friends are here.”

I follow her line of sight and see two men and four women approaching us. Olga stands up and hugs each of them.

While I’m watching the group interact, I think about the random encounter with Olga. It’s not in my nature to talk to strangers, but she looks the same age as me, so I don’t think there’s any harm in socializing with her.

Also, the energy pulsing through the nightclub is a nice change of pace. I’m tired of watching TV in the hotel room every night.

Olga gestures for me to follow them as they head toward a luxurious sitting area. Picking up my backpack, I join the group, and while they’re all sitting down, Olga pats the seat next to her. “Come. Sit down.”

She waves a hand at me while saying something in Tagalog. I make out the word ‘American,’ and everyone smiles at me.

Feeling out of place, I shift on the seat, doing my best to return their smiles. I am Italian, not American. This is the most awkward and impulsive thing I’ve ever done.

One of her friends says something I don’t understand, and it has Olga glancing over my clothes. She replies to her friend before she gives me a wide smile. “I want to ask favor.”

My eyebrow lifts, and I feel a tinge of apprehension. “What?”

“You come to bathroom with me and exchange clothes.” She shoots a glance at her guards. “We will go to dance floor, and you pretend to be me.”

Frowning at her, the apprehensive feeling grows. “Why?”

Olga lets out a chuckle. “I want to escape guards for one night. Do me favor. Please.”

Yeah, I’m not so sure about this.

Olga has guards protecting her for a reason.

“I’ll get in trouble,” I state the obvious.

She waves a careless hand. “No. You just wear my clothes and dance. Nothing will happen. You can leave after I’m gone.” She gives me a pleading expression. “I just want one night. Please.” She takes hold of my hand. “My life is ahh… suffocating. I want normal life.”

We’re just swapping clothes.

Feeling sorry for her, I give in and nod.

A bright smile spreads over her gorgeous face, and I’m yanked to my feet as she gets up. “Thank you! Let’s go.”

I quickly grab my backpack. The other girls join us and surrounded by their giggles and Tagalog words, I’m ushered to the restroom.

“Thank you,” Olga says again when she shrugs off the jacket.

We begin to exchange clothes, and while I put on her high heels, I think about the long walk back to the hotel.

Hopefully, I can get a taxi cab.

Olga fluffs my hair out, her eyes perusing me. “Good. This will work.”

Honestly, her guards are stupid if they don’t notice the swap.

I’m already regretting my decision to help her. I should’ve told her no and gone back to my hotel.

“I’ll carry backpack to dance floor,” she says while shoving her purse into my hands. Hooking her arm through mine, she gives me another smile. The other girls walk in front of us, and I notice they try to block our faces as we head to the stairs.

The two men who are waiting at the table get up and follow us to the lower level. Olga quickly pulls me into the dancing crowd.

“Wait ten minutes before leaving,” she says right by my ear. She sets my backpack down by my feet and takes her purse from me.

“Let’s go,” one of the guys says while nervously glancing around.

The other guy and four girls stay with me while Olga makes her escape. I dance so I don’t look like an idiot and keep giving Olga’s friends awkward smiles.

Okay…this is not weird at all.

It’s only been five minutes when one of the girls waves at me and the group leaves to join Olga. I feel a flutter of nerves and continue to dance while glancing around me. I try to see where Olga’s bodyguards are. I didn’t get a good look at them, though.

Ugh, I hope this doesn’t bite me in the ass.

Sweat starts to bead on the back of my neck as I wait another ten minutes. Feeling the urge to make a run for it, I grab my backpack and rush toward the exit.

I hear Olga’s name being called behind me and shove my way through the dancing crowd.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

With my heart beating a mile a minute, I make a beeline for the exit.

XXX