51. Breakaway
51
brEAKAWAY
RORY
I walk numbly through the gate—still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for all of this to be just another cruel trick or a trap. I half-expect Matteo to be waiting outside, but a quick glance back-and-forth shows the alleyway is empty.
I pause, turning back and wrapping my arms tightly around my brother. Nikolai stiffens under my hold, but then wraps his own arms tightly around me, pulling me in close to his chest.
“Go,” he urges, gently pushing me away from him and out of the garden.
With one final look back at my brother, I disappear into the night, finding myself in a narrow alleyway meant for deliveries. The high walls of the garden at my back hide me from view. My heels click loudly against the pavement as I run down it.
Free of Matteo, and free from my father, I follow Niko’s advice and I run, slipping off my heels to move faster.
Bare feet on pavement, I run with no direction—no plan. The desperate need to escape spurs me forward—to anywhere—as long as it’s the opposite direction of the hell waiting at my back.
I don’t have any money. No phone. Hell, I didn’t even think to grab my purse when Niko steered me out of the banquet room. I can’t risk going back to the Kostalov mansion for my stash of cash.I can’t even risk stopping…
Niko said he would do what he could to stall them, but within minutes, Matteo could have his dogs hot on my trail. I picture my father assembling the Bratva to back up the Italians. Fuck . Would I even make it out of the city?
I hesitate on the street corner, hands trembling, unsure which way to go. I look nervously in every direction. Every man looking my way—Bratva; every black car—Mafia.
Feeling too exposed, I duck into a darkened alley and lean up against the brick wall. My chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. I need to get off the streets. The white taffeta mini dress I’m wearing sticks out like a sore thumb on the dark city streets.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, electrifying my nerves.
Think Rory, think, think.
I need somewhere safe… Somewhere I can hide…. To lie low while I work out a way out of the city and what to do after.
All of my plans require money —papers, documents, plane tickets to distant lands. I not only need to escape the Bratva but also the whole of the Italian Mafia. Matteo, I’m certain, won’t ever let me go. And to fail... and have them drag me back... I would rather be dead. My whole body shudders at the thought.
And for those same reasons, I can’t go to Elle or any of my prep school friends. Not without putting them at risk. It will be the first place they look. A police cruiser creeps by and I mentally scratch them off that list, too. With so many of them in Russian or Italian pockets, I’d never know which ones I could trust.I’d just left the police commissioner himself behind at my rehearsal dinner.
Lightning illuminates the sky, and in that moment, I know my destination. Leaving the alleyway, I take off running across the street, horns blaring as I dodge oncoming traffic. Heavy Boston accents shout obscenities after me. But I’m already gone, certain of my destination, and racing away from any second thoughts that might try and talk me out of it.
The rink is quiet this time of night. I don’t dare enter it. Too risky. Instead, I lurk outside in the shadows of the nearly abandoned parking lot. My eyes fixate on a single matte black bike, still parked in the second row.
Rain pours in sheets from the sky, unleashing with a vengeance as I was halfway here. Washing away the tears stinging the cut on my cheek, and the smell of Matteo on my skin. The rain soaks my white dress, and I shiver as a powerful gust of wind hits my face. It is rapidly dropping in temperature. God, I wish I had my jacket …
Keeping my eyes on the bike; I wrap my arms tighter around myself, teeth chattering as I keep up my silent vigil.
Movement at the rink’s back door immediately has my attention. I straighten at the sight of a hooded figure exiting out into the rain. He jogs toward the bike and I watch cautiously. From this distance, I can’t make out his face, but the familiar swagger of a certain arrogant six-three defenseman has me breathing a little easier.
I haven’t moved an inch yet, but he stills. Tilting his head in awareness, eyes scanning the shadows of the parking lot. He knows someone is watching. His hand drifts slowly to the gun strapped at his waist, pausing the moment I feel his eyes on me.
I'm caught, ensnared by the weight of his gaze, and, like a moth drawn to a flame, I move forward on hesitant steps, holding his gaze until I’m only feet away. Aidan hasn’t moved. The rain drips off his dark hair, running down his face, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
I break our stare to scan the parking lot—anxious—exposed. Standing here in my white dress, in the middle of the empty lot. I’m sure, by now, both the Italians and Russians have deployed their forces to hunt me down.
“What are you doing here?” He growls, his voice low and dangerous. “You know this is Irish territory.”
Our last conversation comes to mind… his threat… I keep my arms folded tight across my chest, teeth chattering involuntarily, my gaze on the pavement when I speak for the first time. “I—I didn’t know where else to go...”
Forcing my eyes up, I find Aidan’s familiar burning stare. His dark green eyes harden, a flicker of something dangerous, and I realize, only now, how stupid I’ve been. The daughter of the Bratva standing before the Irish Devil, disheveled and shivering, trusting him … trusting Aidan O’Rourke.
The Irish enforcer. The very one who declared war to my face just last week. I can honestly say Idon’t know what I was thinking when I came here… looking for him. Clearly, I wasn’t thinking at all. Aidan’s stare is colder than I’ve ever seen it. Chewing my lip, I take a hesitant step back, debating whether I can still make a run for it. Feeling like a deer caught in the sights of a very large and very unpredictable wolf.
Aidan remains silent, feeding my anxiety, but steps closer. I force myself to hold my ground as he closes the space between us. He’s so close I can feel the heat radiating off of him even in the rain. It becomes harder to breathe.
Looking up, I search his eyes, desperate in my attempt to read him, but his gaze is piercing, intense, a rage in his eye burning hotter the longer he looks at me. Eyes trail up my body—taking in the sight: my bare feet, soaked dress, the wet hair clinging to my face. His perusal halts at my mouth. The evidence of Matteo’s hit from the other night, on full display, make-up washed away.
I run my tongue over the rough edges of the cut and his jaw flexes, eyes darkening. Bitter hatred burns in them, and my blood turns to ice.
I drop my stare, wanting nothing more in this moment than to disappear.“I’m sorry, I’ll?—”
Warm fingers cup my chin, holding me in place before gently tilting up. I lift my gaze to find a stormy sea of green—Aidan’s eyes brimming with raw fury. The intensity in them sends a shiver racing down my spine.
His hand moves to my waist, pulling me against him. And maybe it’s the fact I’m freezing, or maybe it’s something deeper, that keeps me from resisting. I should push him away, should run while I still can. But instead, as starved for warmth as I am, I melt into his embrace. The heat of his body radiates through me, chasing away the cold.
There’s a lethal undertone in his voice when he finally speaks, “He’s a dead man.”