From there, I can use our forged documents to get us out of the country. It won’t be easy without having them physically with me, but they’re clean enough to pass a cursory check and will be able to be pulled up with the details I can provide.
If all else fails, I’ll beg for asylum.
I step back from the window and turn toward the wardrobe, my pulse picking up speed. My hands shake as I open it but not enough to slow me down. I reach past neatly hung clothes and pull out the small bag hidden behind them.
It’s already prepared. I packed it the day Dante told me about the bounty. I told myself it was just in case things went south like they did the night of the raid. Every folded item inside feels like confirmation that I’ve been planning this escape since the moment he spoke.
Cash I swiped from a few of the maids when they weren’t looking, a burner phone I stole from Dante’s study. A change of clothes for both of us, compressed tightly to save space. Everything essential, nothing sentimental.
I sling the pack over my shoulder and stand there for a moment, listening.
The house is quiet.
My gaze flicks instinctively toward the bed. My chest tightens painfully at the thought of waking him and pulling him out of bed to travel in the dark with no explanation. I tell myself I’ll explain later. That his safety matters more than the comfort of knowing what’s going on.
But even as I think it, a knot twists in my stomach. I know what this will look like to Dante… that I’m running again and taking Luca away from him for a second time. I close my eyes briefly, pressing my free hand to my chest as if I can hold myself together from the pressure alone.
I don’t want to do this, but wants and desires have never kept anyone alive. Dante will understand eventually. And if he doesn’t… well, it can’t be helped. Whatever Dante promises, whatever vows he wants to make, they don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
I refuse to sit around and wait for someone else to decide our child’s fate.
I wake Luca gently, brushing my thumb along his cheek the way I used to when he was small enough to fit entirely against my chest. “Hey. Sweetheart. We need to go.”
He stirs, lashes fluttering as confusion knits his brows together before he fully opens his eyes. For a split second, panic spikes inside my chest—what if he cries out, what if he gets scared when he sees the bag?—but then he focuses on me and nods sleepily, lifting his arms toward me and trusting without question.
I help him sit up, move slowly. I keep my voice low and soothing as I carefully dress him. He doesn’t ask where we’re going. He never does when my hands and voice are steady like this. When I sound calm, he’s learned, somehow, that calm means safe.
Moving through the villa without alerting someone is almost impossible.
The house is designed to notice everything. Every corridor curves just enough to eliminate blind spots. Every staircasecarries sound if you’re careless enough to not know where to step. Thankfully, I now know this place inside and out.
I had to learn it the way I’ve learned everything else in my life, patiently, without ever letting on that I was paying attention under the guise of mid-afternoon walks and early morning strolls. It took weeks of counting steps and noticing which doors were locked and which were completely blocked off. Tracking the rhythms of the guards and the staff and the way their shifts overlapped had been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.
All of it without giving myself away.
I take the back servant stairwell first, keeping to the shadows with Luca pressed tightly against my chest. My heart hammers so loudly, I’m convinced it will give us away the deeper we move underground.
The hidden corridor behind the wine cellar is next. It smells faintly of dust and old oak barrels. I guide us through it with one hand placed on his back, my body angled to shield him instinctively from the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.
My breath doesn’t steady until I reach the final door that leads outside. I hesitate there, my fingers wrapped tightly around the handle as my knuckles whiten as I brace myself.
As soon as I push it open, the scent of rain hits me. It’s already coming down in hard, heavy sheets, slicing through the night air like a curtain being drawn closed. Thunder murmurs faintly offshore, rolling low over the sea. The scent of salt hangs thickly in the air, carried up from the water beyond the cliffs.
I pull Luca’s hood up over his head before stepping fully outside, shielding his face from the rain as best I can. He makes asmall, sleepy grunt of protest, but he doesn’t fight me. Instead, he buries his face into the crook of my neck, arms tightening around me, instinctively seeking shelter.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, more for myself than for him.
I close the door gently behind us, easing it shut until it clicks softly into place. The sound feels final in a way that makes my chest ache. Then I turn and start walking, my steps quick, angling toward the back portion of the property I know has the fewest guards lingering at this hour.
Rain soaks into my clothes almost immediately, the chill biting through fabric and plastering my hair to my face. I keep my head down, my body angled to shield Luca from the worst of the weather. I glance back over my shoulder just as we clear the first edge of the villa.
That’s when I see it. The light is on in Dante’s study.
The soft, unmistakable glow spills through the tall windows, warm and golden against the dark, rain-soaked night.
My heart stutters painfully.
For a split second, I imagine him looking out at the storm the same way I am now. Imagine him sensing, somehow, that something is wrong. That something is slipping beyond his reach.
