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The entrance to the wine cellar is on the bottom floor, to the left of the house. I walk Bella briskly down the stairs, keeping a watch for anyone passing by. I see a maid, who glances in our direction, but she drops her gaze and scurries past, clearly not wanting to involve herself in anything having to do with Bella.
The grand foyer is empty. I turn Bella to the left, heading towards the door that will lead down into the wine cellar—and almost immediately come face to face with a tall, bulky man in black fatigues, his blond hair buzzed short to near-nothingness.
“You.” He barks out the word in a thick Russian accent. “Where are you taking her?”
It’s not one of the men who came with Igor to my house. That, I can work with.
My hand tightens on Bella’s arm. I don’t dare look back at her to see what her expression is, but I have a feeling that it’s frightened enough to sell what I’m about to say.
“The pakhan wants to see her. I’m taking her to him.”
The guard’s eyes narrow. “The pakhan’s suite is upstairs. Why do you need to bring her down here?”
“He requested she bring a bottle of wine with her.” I shrug, as if it makes no sense to me, but it’s not my place to question. “Said to have her pick it out. He wants to know her taste.” I laugh, smirking at the other guard as if we’re sharing a private joke. Inwardly, my stomach writhes at the lie, at objectifying the woman I’ve grown to care so much for, even if it’s for her own safety.
The guard looks at me for a long moment, as if trying to discern whether or not I’m lying—if I’m taking Bella down to the wine cellar for my own pleasure, perhaps. Or trying to recall if he recognizes my face, maybe. That last thought makes my gut twist again, but I keep my expression steady, trying not to let it show.
I can tell he’s weighing the need to verify what I’m saying against the potential ramifications of delaying Igor getting what he wants, if I’m telling the truth. Finally, the guard shrugs. “Don’t keep him waiting,” he says, and pushes past me, walking briskly away.
My heart slams against my ribs, and I have to fight not to exhale loudly with relief. Instead, I tug Bella forward, towards the door that leads down to the wine cellar, picking up my pace. Now that someone is aware of the lie, time is ticking faster than before. If that guard thinks to go and verify anything at all, we’ll have a pursuit within minutes.
“We have to hurry,” I murmur quietly as I lead Bella down the steps, into the dark wine cellar. I’ve memorized the path to the back entrance, and I lead her through the shelves, towards the back left corner of the room. She stays very close to me as she follows, almost touching, and my pulse leaps in my throat, speeding up at the feeling of the warmth of her so close to me.
Above us, I hear the quick patter of footsteps. “Shit,” I breathe, walking faster. We’re within a few feet of the back entrance, and I lead Bella up the steps, shoving the heavy door open as we hurry out into the humid night air. The door closes behind me heavily, the noise uncomfortably loud in the silence of the evening, and I don’t let go of her arm.
“We have a car waiting. Follow me. They’re going to be right behind us.”
Bella makes a choked noise, but I feel her speed up, sticking close behind me as we veer away from the mansion into the shadows of the nearby trees. I see the outline of the waiting car, just as thunder rolls across the sky, darker than usual because of the heavy cloud cover that’s come in. I’m thankful for it—the lack of moonlight will make it harder to see us as we both break into a jog, heading for the black car. Behind me, I hear the sound of the door to the wine cellar opening, just as we duck behind the trees.
I can see how hard Bella is trying not to hyperventilate as we reach the car. She twists around, looking back towards the house, and for a brief moment, I think she’s going to run from me. She looks back at me, her eyes wide as a frightened deer.
“I could still go back,” she whispers. “I could tell Igor I ran and apologize. Maybe he wouldn’t?—”
“No.” I shake my head, grabbing her hand before she can make good on that comment, and flee. There’s no time to be cautious about touching her now—I can’t lose her again. I can’t let her go back to him. “Bella, please. It’s going to be okay.”
Edgar flings the back door of the car open, and I see her flinch back automatically at the sight of him—a man she doesn’t immediately recognize—before I press my hand to the small of her back.
“They’re with me,” I murmur, and I feel her relax a fraction, although there’s still tension running through every inch of her. “Some of your father’s men.”
“My father—” she whispers it weakly, her voice shaking slightly. Still, she slides into the car, her hands knotted tightly in her lap as she looks up immediately to see if I follow. I slide in next to her, and her hand seeks out mine automatically, gripping it tightly. At that moment, despite the danger, despite everything we still need to overcome before I can get her back home, I feel something let go inside of me.
She still wants to touch me. She’s seeking me out for comfort. Whatever happened to her there, it didn’t undo all the progress she’s made. And that’s enough for me to feel a wave of relief, regardless of what’s still to come.
“Drive,” I tell Edgar sharply, and he throws the car into gear, the tires spinning slightly as he veers out onto the street. It’s starting to rain, and I wince, knowing it will be harder to see who might be following us. But it will also be harder to track us, as well.
Edgar is an excellent driver. He whips through the side streets at a speed that would make other drivers slide and crash, especially with the wet highways. Bella comes back to herself just long enough to look out of the window, a frown creasing her brow.
“Where are we going?” she asks, her voice shaking slightly.
“A hangar where my private jet is waiting.”
“Your—private—” She licks her lips, looking confused. I can see that she’s struggling to put together what’s happening, all the stress and fear muddling her thoughts. “Where am I going?” she asks, her voice softer, and my heart cracks a little as I realize that she thinks I’m sending her away.
“It’s where we’re going,” I reassure her. “We’re going to Italy. I have business there. Another car is bringing Cecelia, Danny, Agnes, and Aldo right now. They’ll meet us there. We’re getting out of here, until I can be sure that it’s safe to come home.”
“Oh.” Bella barely enunciates the word, her mouth forming the shape as she looks ahead. “Italy.”
She doesn’t say anything else. The rain is coming down harder now, Edgar still speeding through the streets, and I see her lips press together thinly, white around the edges. I think of us speeding down the back roads near my house in the Ferrari, of her excitement and the thrill that we shared, and I wish we could go back to that. To a moment when flying down a darkened road in a fast car was exciting, instead of terrifying.
