Lupo. Tears prick my eyes. There’s no way I can go back for him first. If I make a run for it now, I can’t bring him with me. The best chance I have is to leave now…to leave him behind.
My heartbeat races with anticipation, but I force myself to walk at a regular pace, to keep my expression sex dazed. Because of the party, he’s avoiding the front staircase. Doesn’t want people to see me escorted to my room under armed guard, I suppose.
Instead we take the back way, the servants’ stairs. Perfect.
I spy the hidden door as we move up the narrow stairs. I’m still close enough that I couldn’t get in before he reached me. I can hear him breathing, his steps loud and ominous. Then someone comes down the stairs from the top, holding a tray. That’s all I need.
I pause and press against the hallway as if being courteous. I feel Romero’s frustration behind me, but he doesn’t say anything.
The maid doesn’t meet my eyes. “Excuse me,” she murmurs.
I feel bad for involving her in this, even in a small way. I hope she doesn’t get in trouble. But I can’t waste my one chance for freedom. She takes the steps in front of me. Then another. Another.
Her body blocks Romero’s view of me for half a second.
With a sudden burst, I press down the wooden lever that’s hidden in the wall. The panel swings open, revealing the dark tunnel. As I dive inside, I hear Romero’s confused shouts, “Hey! What the fuck?”
This is the most important part, locking it closed before he comes in after me.
I slam the panel shut and fumble in the dark for the small metal chain Honor and I added. The tunnels were already here—we found them painstakingly, over years. We added the locks so that if we were inside, we couldn’t be found. A sharp pain stabs my fingertip, and I let out a whimper. Shit. It’s like the metal is a needle and thread, my hands thick and clumsy.
A kick slams into the panel, jarring me to the side. I fall back but scramble up again, pushing against the panel with my body. Finally the metal hook finds the small hole, and it’s done.
That lock won’t hold for long, not with him kicking it. Especially not if he shoots it.
That means I have to get out of here as quickly as possible. I’m sure I can move faster than him in this small space. And once I get forward about twenty feet, the tunnel splits. He won’t know which way I’ve gone.
The cut on my finger smarts, especially when I have to put it on the dusty ground to crawl along the shaft. That would be just my luck, to catch some horrible disease while making my escape. I don’t let it slow me down, not even when my knees feel bruised, not even when I bump my head twice. This was a lot easier as a kid.
Something furry brushes my hand, and I yelp. Cautiously, I push forward again and feel something plastic. A Barbie doll, I realize with a sigh of relief.
I reach the fork in the tunnel and turn left. If I remember correctly, this will eventually lead to a pantry on the east side of the house, where I’m hoping I can sneak outside and hop the fence. It feels like hours that I’m crawling through here, but I know it’s no longer than fifteen minutes. I have a thousand tiny cuts on my palms and my knees, a pile of dust in my hair.
My strappy heels keep sliding off, and eventually I let them go, leaving bread crumbs that will be found too late—or not at all. Artifacts, like the Barbie doll, of girls who once lived here. Girls who once escaped.
I emerge into the dark pantry like a wild forest woman, a little out of breath and frantic. I know I’ve successfully shaken Romero, but there are still guards everywhere. And with dust and spiderwebs adorning the gold beads of my dress, I’ll be conspicuous if any of the guests see me.
Pushing open the pantry door, I hear the sound of shoes squeaking on the floor.
Quickly I back inside the dark room, praying they aren’t coming in.
There are two people, I realize as hushed voices filter through the thin crack.
“Where did he come from?”
“The south gate. He was dressed up like a guest, trying to blend in.”
Not security, I’m guessing. Household gossip. Who’s trying to sneak inside? Is it some rival criminal organization, the same one my father was worried about years ago? Or is it different, something related to why Giovanni had taken me? He already has power, but he took me. He must need more for some reason. I supposed I could just assume he’s power hungry like my father, but he’s shown himself to be just different enough… or maybe I want to believe he’s different.
God, a part of me regrets being this close to escaping. How messed up is that? I loved Giovanni for so long, most of my life, that being with him still feels like something I want.
Could it work? A real marriage.
No, normal people go on dates. They didn’t drug the glass of water beside your bed. Except what if it did work? What if the boy I loved was still underneath all that armor?