Leo’s lip curled in disgust. “Call me that again and I’ll make sure the only wildcats in your future are the ones at the zoo you’ll be visiting on your court-mandated community service after I report you for assault.”
Akiko pulled Leo inside with gentle insistence, murmuring soothing Japanese phrases that did nothing to calm the fury radiating from his slender frame. The door closed, but not beforeStefano caught one last glimpse of those amber eyes—promising retribution.
The three men melted back into the forest darkness, though Stefano lingered longer than necessary, watching the shadows move behind Leo’s upstairs window.
“That scent,” Marco murmured once they were out of earshot. “It’s stronger than the reports indicated.”
“Affecting all of us,” Matteo agreed, his usual economy of words strained by the lingering effects of Leo’s proximity.
Stefano said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes. Every alpha instinct in his body screamed to go back, to claim what belonged to him, to forget the careful plans they’d been constructing. Only iron discipline kept him moving away from the cottage instead of breaking down the door.
Soon, he reminded himself. Soon Leo would be legally theirs. Soon they could drop the pretense of hired security and claim what had always been meant for them.
And when that day came, Stefano would make sure Leo never thought about escaping again.
three
. . .
One Year Prior
The art of escape required three essential elements: meticulous planning, perfect timing, and the burning desire to tell one’s captors to go fuck themselves. I had all three in abundance on that sweltering July afternoon as I triple-checked my backpack’s contents.
“Water purification tablets, check. First aid kit, check. Maps with three alternate routes, check. Cash to bribe my way past any inconvenient questions, check.” I mumbled the inventory list like a prayer, fingers dancing over each item. “Emotional baggage and daddy issues, check and double-check.”
Outside, the summer heat pressed against the cottage windows like an overeager suitor. Blazing hot degrees of pure, sticky motivation. No one in their right mind would expect an escape attempt in this weather, which was precisely why I’d chosen today. That, and Aunt Akiko and Uncle Jiro’s monthly supply run to town, which gave me a four-hour window ofrelative freedom from their well-meaning but prison-guard-adjacent supervision.
I zipped the backpack closed and checked my watch. One fifty-two p.m. Perfect. Guard shift change happened at two fifteen, creating a seven-minute blind spot in the northeast perimeter that I’d spent six months confirming through careful observation. Not that I had much else to do with my time besides plot elaborate escapes and catalog the mating habits of the local squirrel population.
“Not this time, you bastards,” I muttered, thinking of the masked commandos who’d tackled me during last winter’s escape attempt. The memory still burned—both the humiliation of being caught and the confusing heat that had flared through my body when that alpha had pinned me to the ground. My father had promised to “look into it” when I’d ranted about the inappropriate manhandling, which in Yamamoto-speak probably meant he’d ordered them an edible arrangement as a thank-you gift.
I knelt down and pulled out the small electronics kit I'd ordered online under the pretense of "educational hobby projects." The ankle monitor had been my constant companion for seven years, but three months of careful study had revealed its weaknesses. The housing was designed to resist tampering, but whoever had installed it hadn't accounted for someone with unlimited time, internet access, and a burning desire for freedom.
"Sorry, daddy," I murmured, carefully inserting the thin metal tool between the monitor's casing and my skin. "But your electronic leash is about to experience a tragic malfunction."
The device came apart with a soft click, its blinking LED going dark as I severed the connection. I'd rigged a loop circuit that would continue sending the all clear signal forapproximately six hours—long enough for me to be far away when the deception was discovered.
I set the deactivated monitor on my nightstand like a discarded shackle. "Freedom, here I come."
I pulled on lightweight hiking boots, tucked my hair under a cap, and slung the backpack over my shoulders. Today's outfit—khaki shorts and a forest-green t-shirt—was carefully selected to blend with the summer foliage while allowing maximum mobility. Last time I'd worn dark clothes to disappear into the night, which had worked great until I'd been tackle-hugged by Special Forces Barbie and his merry band of boundary-issues enthusiasts.
"Lesson learned," I said to my reflection in the bedroom mirror. "No more night escapades. Just daylight, deception, and the desperate hope that daddy dearest fired those grabby guards."
The bedroom window would have been the obvious exit point, but obvious got you caught. Instead, I crept downstairs to the kitchen, where I’d spent the past month subtly sabotaging the window sensor with techniques gleaned from late-night online video tutorials. Amazing what one could learn when one’s entire social life consisted of baking shows and Top 10 Prison Escapes compilation videos.
The window slid open with barely a whisper, the disabled sensor blinking cheerfully green instead of alarmed red. I sent a silent thank-you to EscapeArtist426 and his unnecessarily detailed video on bypassing home security systems, then slipped through the opening like a well-moisturized eel.
Outside, the heat hit me like a physical wall. July in the mountains was still cooler than the valleys, but the sun felt determined to remind everyone that climate change was not, in fact, a hoax perpetrated by omega scientists to sell moresunscreen. I ducked into the shade of the massive pine trees surrounding the cottage, mentally reviewing my route.
Last time, I’d gone south toward the logging road. This time, I’d head northeast, following the creek that eventually joined the river flowing toward the nearest town. The route was longer but less patrolled, and I’d have access to water the entire way. Plus, the guard blind spot created a perfect window for crossing the perimeter fence.
I moved through the trees with the careful precision of someone who’d rehearsed this journey a hundred times in their head. Not running—running attracted attention and wasted energy—but walking with purpose, placing each foot to minimize sound and maximize speed. The weight of the backpack felt like freedom on my shoulders, each item inside representing one more step away from my gilded cage.
When I reached the perimeter fence, I felt the familiar surge of adrenaline that accompanied all my escape attempts. Twenty feet of chain-link topped with razor wire, because nothing said “loving family home” quite like prison-grade security. But I’d found the weakness in this particular stretch—a massive fallen pine that had created a natural bridge over the fence during last spring’s windstorm.
The security team had sawed off most of the trunk, but they’d left enough to work with if one was determined, flexible, and didn’t mind the occasional intimate encounter with pine sap. I was all three.
Climbing onto the fallen trunk, I inched my way across the natural bridge, careful to stay low and use the remaining branches for cover. The razor wire gleamed malevolently in the afternoon sun, but I kept a safe distance as I shimmied across. When my feet touched the ground on the other side, I allowed myself a small, fierce smile.
