Page 64 of Claimed Through Deception

Now I just need my exit.

I fold the polishing cloth and carry a tray of discarded glasses toward the back scullery. This is where I find Leo. He is one of the younger perimeter guards, barely out of his teens, and for the past three days, I have watched him unravel. I overheard him crying into a burner phone behind the greenhouse yesterday, pleading with a bookie for more time to pay off a gambling debt that is clearly threatening his life.

Leo jumps when I push the scullery door open, hastily shoving the phone into his tactical vest. He looks at me with wide, bloodshot eyes, running a trembling hand through his soaked hair. "You aren't supposed to be back here," he mutters, trying to sound authoritative and failing miserably.

I set the tray down on the counter and pull the wad of crumpled hundred-dollar bills from the pocket of my jean. I have been hoarding the cash for weeks, stealing from the careless stacks Niccolò leaves scattered across the nightstands and the study desk. I hold the money out. The stack is thick.

Leo stares at the cash, his Adam's apple bobbing. "What the fuck is that?"

"It is five thousand dollars," I say quietly, keeping my voice smooth and level so I don't spook him. "It is enough to clear your debt and get whoever is threatening you off your back. I will give it to you right now, Leo. No questions asked."

He licks his chapped lips, his eyes darting to the hallway to make sure we are alone. "What do you want for it?"

"The eastern service gate," I tell him. "You patrol that sector at midnight. I want the iron latch left open, and the security camera looped for ten minutes. That is all."

Panic flashes across his youthful face. He takes a step backward, shaking his head. "Are you insane? If the Don finds out I helped you with whatever the fuck this is, he will gut me alive. He will butcher my entire family. Do you have any idea what he does to traitors?"

"He is busy," I push, stepping closer and pressing the stack of bills directly into his hand. "He won't be back until dawn, and by the time anyone realizes I am missing, I will be in another state. You just tell them the storm blew the gate open. You blame the weather. Please, Leo. You need this money to survive, and I need that gate open to do the same."

He looks at the cash, his fingers curling tightly around the edges. The desperate need to save his own skin wages a brief, chaotic war against his fear of Niccolò Severato, and the debt wins.

"Midnight," he whispers, shoving the money into his pocket. "You get a five-minute window. If you miss it, I lock it back up, and we never had this conversation."

Hours bleed away, each ticking minute a brutal assault on my nerves. The weather mirrors the chaos inside my head. A massive thunderstorm rolls in from the Atlantic, swallowing the Boston skyline in a torrential, freezing downpour. Lightning fractures the pitch-black sky, followed by crashes of thunder that rattle the glass panes of the master suite.

I stand in the center of the opulent bedroom, staring at the physical evidence of my captivity. I retrieve my old, battered canvas duffel bag from the bottom of the closet, tossing two pairs of jeans and a few faded sweaters inside. I walk over to the mahogany vanity and open the top drawer, staring at the velvet jewelry boxes. The diamond necklace, the emerald earrings, the gold bracelets he bought to decorate his favorite possession. I leave them exactly where they are.

I strip off the expensive silk robe he likes to see me wear and pull on my own worn clothes, zipping my hooded jacket up to my chin.

My hands are shaking so violently I can barely manage the zipper. I press my palms flat against my stomach, trying to steady the frantic churning of nausea and terror. I am carrying the child of a ruthless mobster, a man whose hands are stained with the blood of countless enemies.

A vicious ache tears through my chest. God, it hurts. It physically hurts to leave him.

My mind flashes to the way his broad hands swept the broken glass off the floor to protect my feet, the way he surrendered his father’s crown just to keep me safe. I crave the blinding, consuming heat of his touch, and the thought of never seeing those obsidian eyes again rips a sob from my throat. I love him. I love a fucking monster, and the guilt of that affection makes me want to scream.

But I cannot let my baby breathe the violent air of this syndicate. I cannot raise a child in a fortress where murder is a business transaction and power is maintained through brutality. If I stay, Niccolò will mold this baby into a soldier, feeding them the same poison that ruined my own childhood. I have to protect my blood, even if it means leaving my soul behind in this room.

The grandfather clock in the hall chimes midnight.

I swing the duffel bag over my shoulder, taking one last look at the massive bed, and slip out the bedroom door.

The estate is quiet, the storm outside masking the sound of my sneakers on the floorboards. I navigate the service avoiding the main rotunda where Enzo usually lingers. I reach the rear kitchens, unlatching the back delivery door, and step out into the raging storm.

The freezing rain hits me like a barrage of tiny knives, soaking my clothes in seconds. The wind howls, whipping my wet hair across my face as I sprint across the manicured lawns. Mud slops against my shoes, making the ground treacherous, but I do not slow down. Lightning illuminates the sprawling grounds in jagged flashes of white, revealing the looming stone walls of the perimeter in the distance.

I bypass the greenhouse, my lungs burning with the exertion. The cold bites into my bones, shivering through my soaked jacket, but the adrenaline pushes me forward. Every step away from the mansion feels like a victory and a tragedy simultaneously. I am abandoning the man I love, choosing the unknown over a gilded cage. I push through a row of thick, thorny hedges, ignoring the branches scratching my cheeks, and finally spot the eastern service gate.

It is a solid wrought-iron structure set into the towering stone wall. I rush toward it, my chest heaving, wiping the relentless rain from my eyes. I reach out with trembling hands, gripping the freezing metal bars.

The latch is flipped up.

A breathless, frantic laugh escapes my mouth. Leo did it. He actually did it. The taste of freedom is intoxicating, a wild, euphoric rush that makes my knees weak. I am going to make it. I am going to vanish into the city, catch a bus heading west, and disappear from the syndicate forever.

I shove the heavy iron gate, the rusted hinges groaning in protest as it swings outward to reveal the wet, empty pavement of the street beyond.

I take a step forward, ready to sprint into the night, when the toe of my sneaker hits something soft.

I stumble, looking down at the grass just outside the threshold. Another flash of lightning rips across the sky, casting a brilliant light over the ground.