I wince.
Lindsay: We promised each other. No matter what. Every month on the 15th, no matter what day it falls on, we're hanging out. You had better be there.
Me: Lin...
Lindsay: Don't "Lin" me. If you're not there, we're going to have a problem.
Me: Okay.
Lindsay: I'm serious, Val. Whatever "family stuff" this is, it can wait a few hours. I need to see your face. I need to know you're actually fine and not saying or typing "I'm fine" from a ditch somewhere.
Me: I said okay.
Lindsay: Good. Saturday. Our spot. 7pm. Wear something cute. We're getting wine drunk and you're spilling EVERYTHING.
I stare at the phone for a long moment.
Saturday is four days away. Four days to figure out how to explain to Salvatore Vitale that I need a night off from being his prisoner to get wine drunk with my best friend, who happens to be an assistant district attorney.
This should go well.
I read until I start to get tired but as I fall asleep, my mind drifts to Salvatore.
I know without a doubt, I’m diving into dangerous territory, but my body betrays me anyway.
I think about him pressed against my back, about the way his touch found my center and set every nerve screaming. I think about how instinctively I moved toward him when he was in pain, how my first impulse wasn’t fear or resistance, but care.
A shadow passes the door. My breath stills.
Rosa, I assume. Checking in. Making sure she hears movement, proof that I’m still where I’m supposed to be. Ormaybe, now that Salvatore is recovering, she’s locked the door again, the way she did the first few days when I wasn’t allowed to roam the house after dark.
What would be the point?
Even if I wanted to run, I wouldn’t. Not if it meant putting my family in danger.
But then my mother’s voice surfaces in my mind, soft but urgent. We can leave. Me, you, and your sister. If you see a chance, take it.
My pulse quickens. Is this my chance?
The guards keep a black car stationed out front at almost all hours. I’ve noticed it. Memorized the patterns. I wonder if the key is still inside. I know I could be gone in minutes. Slip out, get to my mother, disappear just like she promised.
I grab my phone. I’m sure it’s tracked, but I can ditch it on the road after I call her. Even if he’s listening, even if he realizes what I’m doing, he won’t reach me in time, not with his recent injuries. He’s better, but a wound like that doesn’t heal in a week.
I wait. Count my breaths. Make sure the hallway is quiet.
Then I step to the door, half-expecting resistance, half-expecting the click of a lock.
I turn the knob and the door opens.
No resistance. No alarm. Just the soft click of the latch releasing, and suddenly I'm standing in the dark hallway with my heart slamming against my ribs.
This is it. This is your chance.
My mother's voice echoes in my head again. If you see a moment, take it.
I slip off my shoes and carry them, padding barefoot across the cold marble. Every shadow feels like a threat. Every creak of the old house sounds like a gunshot. I know the guard rotation by now, I've been watching, memorizing, waiting for exactly this opportunity.
The east wing is empty at this hour. Rosa retires early. The guards do their rounds at the top of every hour, which means I have approximately forty-seven minutes before anyone notices I'm gone.
