Page 6 of Seized By the Mafia King
She glances casually out of the window and slides the shoes off, revealing perfect little feet. Good to see she’s getting comfortable, and I’m glad I carried her from the church because they look like torture devices. Maybe she’d lend them to Turner.
“Who doesn’t like cake?” she replies.
“I can take it or leave it.” I’d rather eat her. “I’ll get you more cake.”
“Oh, thanks.” She looks into my eyes, and behind the light chatter, there’s something else that I can’t identify. “Lemon drizzle is my favourite.”
“I’ll have the chef?—”
She grabs the handle, shoves the door open, and before I realise what she’s doing and grab for her, she’s dived out of the moving car. Fear surges through me as she rolls on the grassy bank.
Shit. What if she’s hurt?
“Stop!” I yell and bash my fist on the obscured glass between me and the driver.
We screech to a halt that jerks me forward, and I scramble after her, out of the car, just quick enough to see her white dress streaming behind her as she sprints into the woods. She’s lifted it so it doesn’t trip her, and I catch a tantalising glimpse of delicate ankles.
My heart thuds not for panic, but for life. She’s okay, and my relief at seeing her unharmed is so intense it’s like someone rewound time on a shooting.
I stare after her. My little bunny canrun. She’s trying to escape. She’s clever, and fuck, she’s sobrave. I admire that as much as the beautiful wrapping.
Did I just fall for her even more? That dignity in the church as my men walked in armed to the teeth to wreck her wedding, and when her unworthy fiancé was shot right beside her. Her humour and her fearlessness. She’s remarkable.
I should let her go. It would be consistent with all those fine thoughts about how I’m too old for her, and she’s too good for me. But my ideals are gone in the reality of her absence. Even after mere seconds, I can feel the empty sensation of being in a glass jar descending again.
I’ve waited forty-two years to find her. I’m never giving her up.
She wants a chase?
I’ll catch her.
3
WILLOW
I crash through the forest, cursing my stupid shoes, and the necessity of bare feet. Why-oh-why did I have to wear heels to the wedding?
At least the leaves are deep and cushioned as I sprint away from the man who took me. I hold the train of my dress in one hand, and my hair whips over my shoulders and drags behind, the air caressing my nape. The sun is dappled through the trees. It’s not even dark. I don’t have any advantage other than the surprise of my escape.
But this is my only chance, and I’m going to take it.
I run, forcing my legs to move faster than they want to, the muscles burning already. Damn cardio. I drag in breaths, open-mouthed, and run with a single focus: freedom.
The plan to escape Witham might have worked, but Bethnal? A London Mafia Boss? That’s a whole different, more dangerous, thing.
Besides, I’m just a girl. I’m of no use to someone like Zane Bethnal.
I don’t think he’ll even chase?—
“I’m coming for you, little bunny.” Zane’s voice bounces around the forest, making it seem like he’s everywhere. It’s eerie, despite the sunny day.
My heart thuds in my chest as my legs channel the fear that pulses from my heart. I cannot be trapped again. I weave through the trees, searching for something that might help. Could I climb a tree? No. Is there a house nearby where I can plead for help? No.
I curse that I didn’t get out earlier, but this small, winding road was the first time the car slowed down enough for me to have the guts to do it.
Faster. I have to be quicker and smarter than the mafia boss.
My body isn’t used to this and every part of it is screaming for me to stop. It hurts. My legs, my feet, my lungs, my heart.
