Chapter 21: Escape Plan
"Shh, shh, it's okay, mio angelo. Non piangere," Vincent's deep voice rumbles, trying to soothe me. I'm a mess of tears and sobs, my heart running a marathon in my chest, my body shaking like a leaf in a storm. But his idea of comfort is as gentle as a bear trap - harsh, cold, and unwelcoming.
It's like being in the eye of a hurricane, everything else forgotten except for the warmth of my burning tears and the weight of his iron embrace. I want to scream, push him away, but fear-thick and cloying-cements me in place. Instead, I let the darkness swallow me whole, wishing it would end.
Moments, or maybe hours later, I sense Vincent's steady breath on my neck, the rise and fall of his chest against my back. I keep my breathing even, making no move to wiggle out of his hold. I need to be smart about this. It's time to draw on every acting class and every lie I've ever told, to make like I'm asleep.
I'm determined. This bird's going to fly the coop, no way I'm letting myself rot in this gilded cage. Gently, oh so gently, I shift, trying to ease his arm from around me. My heart jackhammers so loud I'm sure he can hear it, but I nudge a fluffy pillow into my place, inch by painstaking inch.
He doesn't stir, thank the stars. I'm out from under his arm now, a bobby pin clenched between my fingers like Excalibur. Careful, careful... Click! The barest of sounds as the lock gives, and freedom has never tasted so sweet. I'm unchained, literally, figuratively-so close to the finish line I can almost feel the sunshine on my face.
Like a wisp of smoke, I slip out of bed. Vincent's wallet; I need something from this hell to fund my getaway. And there they are on the dresser - his keys. These shiny pieces of metal are my ticket to liberty. I clutch them to my chest as if they were my last piece of sanity. The window's my exit; ground floor, thank goodness. I could kiss the sturdy frame for being easy to open.
Freedom, freedom at long last! I bolt across the dark estate like a deer escaping the hunter. I hear the distant barking of dogs, the tense hum of night, but the sleek car waiting in the shadows beckons more seductively than any danger could repel.
The engine roars to life, an untamed beast beneath me, the tires screech a love song to the lonely night. I'm a comet streaking away from my world of shadows, flying towards the airport-towards a chance at a sunrise without bars on my window.
But my heart can't quite find its rhythm, even as the distance grows, because I know what's waiting back at that mansion. The fury of a man scorned-a man like Vincent with power and men and madness on his side.
"Maledizione! She's gone, Boss," Antonio's voice slashes through the silence like a thunderclap. His words are a storm of anger and disbelief. "Gone! How? My Sammi, how could she betray con questo cuore spezzato mio?"
Vincent's roar fills the mansion, bouncing off the opulent walls, echoing down the twisting corridors. "Find her! Capisce? Trovatela! Turn every bloody stone if you have to! That angelo is MINE!"
The men scramble, footsteps an orchestrated chaos, the mansion a disturbed anthill. Vincent paces like a caged predator, wild-eyed, a force of nature wrought with possessive rage. His world has tilted, the axis of his obsession has fled, and balance must be restored at any cost.
Suddenly, a wail pierces the thick tension. Young Joey, hair tousled from sleep, emerges like an apparition at the top of the stairs. His little face contorts, understanding dawning that his 'mommy' isn't there.
"WHERE IS SHE?!" he shrieks, tears streaming, the desperation of a child melding with the cruel undercurrents he's been steeped in. "I want my mommy NOW!"
One of the men, a new recruit with less sense than a pigeon in a cat's nest, makes the mistake of approaching him. "Little Boss, we are looking-"
Joey's tiny fist connects with the man's face in a fury-stoked swing, and the man stumbles, more from shock than pain. The slap of flesh on flesh, quiet yet telling amidst the disarray. A six-year-old embodying the terror of his lineage.
Vincent freezes, his chest heaving, and then he's moving, grabbing Joey, crushing him in an embrace. "Nessuno toccherà la tua mamma, Joey. I swear on my life, she will come back to us. C'è una promessa da tuo padre."
But Joey isn't having it. He's kicking, screaming, a mirror of the tempest raging within Vincent. The sight would almost invoke pity, if not for the sheer terror they're capable of unleashing.
"Calma, ragazzo! Your tears give them power. Russo men do not cry. We fight, we claim, we conquer," Vincent coos, pressing a kiss to Joey's forehead, his whisper a venomous caress against the child's flushed cheek.
Outside the decadent prison walls, sirens wail in the distance, joining the symphony of the night. They're coming for her, for the light that escaped the darkness. But I'm a burst balloon in the stratosphere, ascending ever higher, Vincent's realm shrinking into a dot on the horizon. A memory, a nightmare, but one I refuse to be sucked back into.
As the wind whistles through the open window of the car, it seems to carry away shards of the terror that's haunted me. I can't help the delirious laugh that bubbles up from my chest. I've done it; I've escaped the grasp of Vincent Russo. But the road ahead is long, and the night only hides so much. They'll never stop looking, that I know. And as I glance into the rear-view mirror, I can almost feel the heat of Vincent's glare branding the back of my neck, a phantom sensation that speaks of the game of cat and mouse that's only just begun.
