I don’t slow down. I can’t.
The image of his face when he finds his dad, murdered by his wife, propels me forward with desperate speed. My lungs burn as I gulp down air, throat still raw from Andrea’s grip.
“Alina! Stop!” Raffaele’s voice carries across the distance between us, the rawness in it unmistakable.
I don’t look back. The path to the dock stretches before me, winding down through lush tropical vegetation. My feet catch on roots and stones, pain shooting up my legs with each misstep, but I barely register it through the haze of terror clouding my mind.
How could Raffaele ever look at me the same way? I’ve taken his dad from him. He’ll never forgive me.
The dock comes into view, wooden planks stretching out over crystal-blue water that now seems threatening rather than inviting.La Fortunabobs gently at the end, tied securely the way Raffaele taught me. The sight of it ignites a spark of desperate hope.
I can get away. I can disappear.
“Alina! Wait!” Raffaele sounds closer now. I risk a glance over my shoulder and see him emerging from the path behind me, his face contorted with… it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that the distance between us is closing too quickly.
I reach the boat and fumble with the rope, my blood-slicked fingers struggling with the knots Raffaele showed me how to do.
The memory brings fresh tears to my eyes, blurring my vision as I finally manage to free the boat. I leap aboard, nearly falling as the vessel rocks beneath my weight. Behind me, Raffaele’s footsteps thunder down the dock.
My hands shake violently as I reach for the ignition. Which key? Which button first? The lessons Raffaele patiently gave me flash through my mind in disjointed fragments.
Check the throttle. Turn the key. Press the button.
I force myself to breathe, to focus through the panic. The key’s already in the ignition, and just as his footsteps grow alarmingly closer, I turn it with trembling fingers.
Nothing happens.
“No, no, no,” I sob, trying again. The engine remains silent, mocking my escape attempt. “Please!”
“Alina!” Raffaele is barely twenty feet away. “Stop fucking running and tell me what happened? Are you hurt?”
Ignoring his words, I stay on task. I just need to… oh. I remember now. The neutral switch. The realization cuts through my panic just long enough for me to flip it into position.
When I turn the key again, the engine roars to life, startling a cry from my throat. Relief surges through me for a split second before guilt crushes it. I’m running away from my husband after killing his dad.
“Alina, don’t do this!” Raffaele sprints toward me, his expression shifting from confusion to understanding as he realizes I’m trying to leave.
But we can’t fix this. No one can bring back the dead.
I grab the throttle and ease it forward as Raffaele taught me, the boat responding with a lurch that nearly throws me off my feet. Water churns behind me asLa Fortunabegins to pull away from the dock.
“Please!” Raffaele reaches the end of the dock, his hand outstretched toward me. “Don’t leave me!”
The raw pain in his voice nearly breaks my resolve. My finger hovers over the throttle, tempted to cut the power, to turn back, to face whatever comes next with him at my side.
But then I see the villa looming behind him, and I know what waits inside. Andrea’s body. Ian’s body.
I push the throttle further, tears streaming down my face asLa Fortunapicks up speed. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I know he can’t hear me. “I’m so sorry.”
Raffaele’s figure grows smaller as distance opens between us, his arm still outstretched, reaching for me across an expanding gulf that’s more than just water. The desperation on his face will haunt me forever.
I force myself to look away, focusing instead on the open water ahead. Where am I going? I have no plan, no destination, no supplies—just blind panic driving me forward. The mainland is somewhere ahead, but I’m not even sure which direction to head.
My knowledge of these waters is limited to what Raffaele showed me on our short excursions.
The island grows smaller behind me as I push the throttle to maximum, the wind whipping my hair into a frenzy around my face. Blood has dried on my hands in rusty patterns, cracking when I flex my fingers on the wheel. Andrea’s blood. Proof of what I’ve done.
Self-defense, a small voice in my head insists. He was going to kill you.
