“Get out. I’m serious, I don’t need your Michael Myers-looking ass in my room.”
“What? I don’t even look like Michael Myers. Get a grip.”
There’s something so annoying about my brothers that makes me want to hurl sharp objects their way. My precious older brother doesn’t seem to get the memo, because he continues with his hideous rant.
“Either start packing and be down in thirty minutes or I’ll have Nicolo drag you out of here kicking and screaming with the clothes on your back.”
I turn to look at him and narrow my eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me, sis,” he says before turning his back and leaving my room.
Of course, he leaves my bedroom door open. Men only respect one kind of power. I learned that at a young age.
Eli’s voice still echoes in my head, full of steel and warning. I glance at the half-packed black bag on the floor next to my vanity.
I’m not going to Italy. That’s not happening. This is my space.Mine.
My eyes drift to the soft cascading curtains that veil the large window behind me. The light filters through like a dream: deceptive, almost sinister in its quiet. There’s a trellis placed right under my window, flowers snaking their way upward.
I push myself up, ignoring the ache building in my chest. I can’t cry again. Not now.
When I get to the door that Eli so conveniently left open, I slam it shut, but not before shouting, “I told you to shut the door!”
I lock it with a twist so tight, I can hear the key snap into place, but I know it won’t stop Nicolo if Eli sends him up to take me.
I don’t want to leave New York. I just lost Ma, and now I’m on the verge of losing whatever “freedom” I have here. This can’t happen. Irefuseto let it to happen.
Run.
Yes, I should run. Go to Lucio’s apartment. No one will be there. Not after Lucio left for Vegas with that girl. All of this is her fault. I can’t believe he betrayed us for some reckless girl who got our Ma killed. As iflovejustifies betraying your own blood.
I have less than thirty minutes to get out of here. This is the only chance I’ll get. Once I’m in Nicolo’s grasp, I won’t be able to escape him. I don’t want to lose my freedom. I’ve already lost too much.
I cross the length of my bedroom. The ceiling is high and decadent, framed in elegant moldings I used to admire. Now they feel like gilded bars.
I move past the bed, the heavy pink blanket catching around my ankle like it’s trying to pull me back.
No.
I keep going, stepping onto the herringbone floors that always seem too polished, too perfect. Everything here is curated. The world of the Folonaris isn’t lived in, it’s maintained. If Emiliano thinks Nicolo Esposito can control me, he’s dumber than he looks. Men like him crumble when you pull at the right thread.
Opening the window quietly, I scan the yard. No one in sight.
I take a breath. Then I climb.
Sticking out one foot on the thick edge of the second floor, I make sure to hold on to the thin metal rod that lines the entire house as I hang over the edge just outside my bedroom window. I slide over to the trellis.
This is terrifying.
I can’t believe I’m even doing this. I climb down as slowly as I can, and when I get more than half the way down, I try to hurry.
My foot slips on some of the flowers that are wrapped around the trellis and I slip off the entire thing. I slam my eyes shut.
Is this how I die?
My heart slams against my ribcage. But instead of landing on hard concrete, I land against what feels like a hardchest, and big arms catch me.
“Going somewhere, nixie?”
