Page 27 of The Vagabond

“By myself.”

He blinked like I’d said something in another language.

“You’re not cleared to go anywhere alone.”

I laughed. Bitter. Low. “Cleared? Am I in a fucking prison again?”

Brando stepped forward, his voice tight. “You know that’s not what this is, Maxine. We’re just trying to keep you safe.”

“I’m not safe!” I snapped, suddenly louder than I meant tobe. “I haven’t been safe since the day they took me. And being wrapped in your version of it—it’s killing me.”

His jaw flexed. “We just worry?—”

“I don’t need you to worry!” I exploded. “I need to feel like I’m a person again. Not a project. Not some fragile thing you tuck away so no one can break it. You can’t control me forever, Brando!”

He looked wounded. Which made me somewhat smug. Because I’d been bleeding quietly for months, and no one noticed.

“No one’s trying to control you?—”

I cut him off. “You have a tracker on my phone. Guards that follow me everywhere. You check in like I’m five seconds from jumping off a bridge. You’re not protecting me, Brando. You’re suffocating me.”

His expression hardened, that Gatti steel creeping into his eyes. “You think walking into the city alone is the answer? After everything that’s happened to you?”

“I think doing anything on my own is the answer.”

I stepped closer. And I meant the next part with every shattered piece of me.

“If you don’t let me leave… I will disappear. I won’t tell Mia. I won’t call. I’ll vanish. Because if I don’t take back my freedom now, I’m going to forget what it feels like.”

He stared at me like I’d slapped him. Maybe I had. Because I meant every fucking word.

Silence stretched between us, filling the room like a thick fog. Dense. Choking. It felt like we were both standing on a landmine, neither of us willing to move, because we didn’t know what would happen if we did.

My chest rose and fell like I’d just run a marathon. My pulse was thundering. My palms were slick with sweat, fists clenched at my sides.

I love Brando. I do.

But love doesn’t mean obedience.

Not when I’m dying inside.

The door creaked open, and then?—

“What’s going on?” Mia’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. She walked into the room with wide eyes and her hand braced on the doorframe. “I could hear you guys from the other end of the house.”

She looked between us, trying to piece the puzzle together.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Because now that she was there, I felt the weight of it in my throat. I felt the tears pressing against the back of my eyes, burning with fury I’d held onto for too long. I blinked them back, refusing to fall apart in front of the two people who loved me the most.

Brando didn’t answer. He just shook his head like he’d been sucker-punched and didn’t know how to respond. His arms were folded across his chest, body rigid.

“I want to leave,” I managed, voice raw. “I need space. I need… air.”

Mia looked stunned. “You want to leave the estate?”

“Yes,” I snapped. “I need out of this place, Mia. Out from under the guards, the trackers, the fucking chokehold of being someone’s tragedy.”

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