Page 17 of Wicked Villain

Considering an escape attempt is crazy. But the way I see it, I’m damned if I stay and damned if I leave. I may as well choose the path that makes me look less weak.

I am a D’Auria. Nothing like my father or even my mother, but I am a D’Auria nonetheless. We may be many things, but cowardice is not one of them.

“My sister died so I could live,” I mutter, and that gives me all the strength and courage I need.

I will always owe my life to my sister, so doing what I can to stay alive is always the right answer.

Taking a deep breath, I force calm into my mind.

One thing at a time. The only thing standing in my way from leaving right now, at this very second, is the door.

The door, which has a lock.

All locks can be opened. You just have to find a way to open them.

My cousin Billy in Sicily taught Gabrielle and me how to pick a lock when we were younger. Yes, it only worked sometimes and on certain locks, but it’s worth a shot.

Before doubt creeps back into my mind, I reach for one of the hairpins holding my hair in the neat roll. Then another. I need two—one to maintain the pressure inside the lock and the other to feel for the mechanism.

My hair loosens as the pins come free, releasing some of the tension pulling at my scalp.

I bunch up my dress and crouch down before the door, slipping the first pin inside the lock. Once I have it positioned, I use the second and carefully probe inside.

I’ve only successfully done this once. The fact that I even remember this part is nothing short of a miracle.

Adjusting the angle, I work the pins until I feel a catch inside the mechanism shift. Holding my hands steady, I continue working the pin, then the mechanism gives with the same soft click I heard when Lev’s brother locked it.

“God. I did it.”

The door is open.

A surge of triumph flows through me, but I tamp it down. This is just the first step and may be a short-lived victory if my next steps aren’t quick or clever enough.

I take off my heels. I don’t like the idea of being barefoot, but I can’t run for my life in heels. Neither can I do it in this dress.

I grab the hem of my picture-perfect dress and rip it, tearing through the careful stitching and the delicate fabric. Papa would have my head if he saw this. He paid a small fortune for the one-of-a-kind design. I can’t care about that now.

Damn him for doing this to me.

I rip enough of the skirt off so that my legs can move freely.

I straighten, place my hand on the door handle, and take a deep, deep breath. It’s now or never.

Time is against me. The last thing I want is for either Lev or his brother to come up here and catch me. From the moment they put the key in the door, they’d know I picked the lock.

I don’t want to think about what they’ll do to me if they discover that. On that utterly scary thought, I turn the handle. Slowly. Carefully. Then I open the door. Praise God it’s not one of those doors with hinges that creak.

I poke my head out and look up and down the hallway. There’s no one here. I’m alone. At least for now.

Sure enough, there are cameras positioned around the house. But since no one has come yet, I have to take that to mean they haven’t spotted me.

I slip out of the room and just as carefully creep down the hallway. I can’t go back the way I came, so I try the opposite direction. The one leading to the huge window. There is another set of stairs there that looks like it leads back downstairs. Hopefully, it does, and hopefully, that section is clear, too.

Keeping close to the wall, I continue, picking up my pace the closer I get to the window.

Relief surges through me when I reach it and see the stairs lead exactly where I thought they would. I just need the other part of my wish to come true—no guards.

Holding my breath, I creep down the stairs. Praying. Praying to whoever will listen to me.