Page 107 of Possessive Mafia Vows

I swallow. Inhale. Count to three.

If they catch me here, they won’t give me a second chance.

I hobble through the door and close it behind me with a gentle click. It’s a little warmer here, only a little. There’s floor covering underfoot, and the walls have been plastered and papered, even if the pattern has faded over time.

A few awkward steps, and I can see the window that overlooks the sea.

I jump when rain batters the pane of glass and instinctively back away, turning around to face another long corridor. There are doors on either side. All closed.

But my heart skips when I spot what must be the entrance at the far end.

This corridor is all that stands between me and freedom.

I’ve just got to get there.

Another step. My ankle holds. I can do this.

Then, voices.

Panic batters my ribcage, and my head screams at me to find some Tylenol and sleep until this is all over. Where are they coming from? Which room?

Closer. Laughter. A man speaks in a language that I don’t recognize, and then I hear the click of a door handle being turned.

Shit!

What do I do?

Where do I go?

My heart feels as if it’s trying to escape, but self-preservation kicks in. I open the door closest to me and step into a darkened room. There isn’t time to check out my surroundings. I push the door gently, using it to support me, and study the narrow sliver of a gap between the edge of the door and the frame.

Someone strides past, and my breath hitches in my chest.

I didn’t see his face. Is he going down to the basement to check on my father? He’ll raise the alert, and then it’ll be too late. I have to get out of here now.

I count to three and, when he doesn’t return, I open the door again.

I step out into the corridor.

The voices are still there. Loud. Banter. Jovial almost.

It’s my cue to leave.

I stumble along the corridor, limping on my sore ankle, the front entrance firmly fixed in my sight. Closer. Closer still. The voices fade into the background behind me.

I don’t look behind me when my hand closes around the doorknob. I turn it, and relief floods my chest; I didn’t even consider that it might be locked. But my captors were confident that I wouldn’t escape.

Their failure.

Then, I’m outside in the slanting rain, and my clothes are immediately soaked through, mingling with tears of relief. Sticking close to the wall, I make my way around the building in darkness, my saturated hair clinging to my face and drifting into my eyes. The wind snaps at my skin, raising goosebumps, the building providing little shelter.

I reach the corner and stop.

The trees are my only option, but I have to clear the distance between the house and the edge of the woodland first.

A glance behind me, and I’m not being followed. They must not have discovered my father yet.

“Go, Sienna.Go!” I mutter to myself.

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