27. Nowhere to Run
Nowhere to Run
Nichole
I pull into the quiet lot near the underground casino, cutting the engine.
The silence is suffocating.
The streets here are empty, dimly lit by flickering streetlamps, the neon glow of a nearby sign casting long, distorted shadows across the pavement. I grip the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles aching from the pressure, but I don’t loosen my hold.
I know what just happened. I know what I just did.
I left the Beretti estate without looking back. I drove away knowing full well that they will notice.
Antonio will hear about it. Dante will hear about it. And neither of them will be happy.
I exhale slowly, pressing my head against the headrest.
This was the only move I could make. The only way out.
Damian was right. That drink wasn’t a coincidence. It wasn’t an accident. It was meant for me.
And now?
Now, I’m on borrowed time.
I glance at my phone, the screen dark in my lap. No new messages. No missed calls.
Damian said to wait.
So I wait.
But even as I sit here, parked in the shadows, my heart hammering inside my chest, I know the truth—I will never be safe again.
They will come for me.
And when they do…I have no idea if I’ll be ready.
The minutes stretch, thick and heavy, as I sit in the stillness of my car.
I keep my hands in my lap, but my fingers twitch, restless. Every shadow outside the window looks like it’s moving. Every distant engine hum makes my pulse spike.
I’m hyperaware of everything—the faint glow of the streetlamp reflecting off my windshield, the way my breath fogs against the cool glass, the weight of my phone in my palm.
I shouldn’t be this on edge. I should feel relief that I made it out, that I’m here, waiting, alive.
But I don’t.
Instead, I feel like I’m still being watched.
Like I’ve only just stepped onto the board of a game I don’t fully understand yet.
I take a slow breath, trying to shake the unease creeping up my spine. Damian told me to wait. So I will. But my nerves are wound so tightly that every muscle in my body is coiled, ready to react, ready to run if I have to.
I flick my gaze toward the entrance of the casino, the iron doors looming under the dim glow of its concealed entryway. I remember what it felt like to walk through those doors with him before—thrilling, enticing, a game we both wanted to play.
But this?
This is something else entirely.
A flash of headlights in my rearview mirror makes my breath catch. A car. Approaching slow. Deliberate.
I grip the wheel, my heart hammering against my ribs as I watch the vehicle roll toward me.
This is it.
Damian… or someone else.
I hold my breath as the engine cuts off, the driver’s side door swinging open.
A figure steps out, the streetlight casting his shadow long against the pavement.
And when I finally see him—tall, broad, confident even in the darkness—
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
The second Damian’s eyes meet mine through the windshield, the tension in my chest loosens—but only slightly.
I don’t wait for him to come to me. I push open my door and step out, the cool night air rushing over my skin. He doesn’t speak right away, just watches me, his gaze sharp, assessing, like he’s checking to make sure I’m still in one piece.
I don’t know what I expect—maybe some reassurance, some acknowledgment of how close I just came to losing everything—but Damian isn’t that type of man. Instead, he steps closer, his presence commanding, his voice low and firm.
“You’re not going back there.”
There’s no hesitation. No question in his tone. Just a decision already made.
I cross my arms, my heartbeat still unsteady from everything that’s happened tonight. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
His jaw flexes. “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”
I don’t argue. We both know he’s right.
A heavy pause stretches between us, the weight of the night still thick in the air.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “So what happens now?”
Damian’s gaze darkens, and for the first time since I stepped out of my car, a shiver of something real slides down my spine.
Because I know what this means.
I know that whatever line existed before between us—the one we kept dancing around, pretending it was still there—is gone.
There is no going back.
Damian reaches out, his fingers brushing the inside of my wrist, his grip firm and grounding. A tether in the storm.
“Now?” His voice is lower, quieter, but no less intense.
“Now, you’re mine.”
Damian’s fingers brush against my wrist before he pulls back, his gaze sharp, calculating.
“You have GPS on your phone?” His voice is controlled, but there’s a deeper urgency beneath it—one I don’t ignore.
I shake my head. “No, nothing like that. But…” I hesitate, shifting my weight. “Antonio got me and Valentina small trackers a while ago, just so we could keep tabs on each other. It was supposed to be private—just us.”
Damian’s expression darkens. “And you think that’s still the case?”
I don’t answer right away. Because the truth is, I don’t know. I trusted Antonio, but trust in our world isn’t the same as certainty.
Damian exhales sharply, already moving. “Give it to me.”
I nod, pulling the small device from my purse and handing it over. It’s barely the size of a coin, lightweight and discreet. I never thought twice about carrying it before. Now, it feels like a liability.
Damian takes it without hesitation and points to one of his men to get out of the car. “Take this. Drive back to the Beretti’s and drop it off nearby.”
The man nods his head, acknowledges the order, and just like that, the problem is solved.
Or at least, part of it.
Damian pockets his phone and turns to me. “Your car can’t stay here.”
I nod. “I figured as much.”
Without another word, he gestures for one of his men, a tall, stocky guy with sharp eyes and an easy stance. “Drive her car. Leave it somewhere neutral.”
The guy nods, already moving. I don’t ask where he’s taking it. I don’t need to know.
Damian turns back to me, his voice calm but final. “You’re coming with me.”
I don’t argue.
I follow him to his car, sliding into the passenger seat as he gets behind the wheel. The second the door shuts, he pulls out of the lot, merging onto the road with controlled urgency.
He doesn’t say where we’re going.
And I don’t ask.
We drive for miles, leaving the city behind, the glow of streetlights fading into the darkness of the countryside. The air outside is thick with fog, the roads narrowing as we head deeper into the unknown.
After nearly an hour, we pull off the main road and onto a winding dirt path. Tall trees close in around us, their branches stretching overhead like a canopy, blocking out the moonlight.
Then, finally, we arrive.
Damian pulls up to a secluded house nestled deep in the woods. It’s not small, but it’s not ostentatious either. A solid, two-story structure with a wraparound porch and large windows, all darkened against the night. The house sits on a clearing of land, surrounded by dense forest.
One way in.
One way out.
A safe house. Completely off the grid.
Damian shuts off the engine and turns to me. “No one knows about this place.” His voice is steady, but there’s a weight to it—a promise of safety, but also a warning.
I nod, my throat dry. “Good.”
Because after tonight, I need somewhere they can’t find me.
Somewhere I can breathe.
And as I step out of the car, feeling the cool night air settle around me, I realize—
This is the first time in a long time that I don’t feel trapped.
The silence here is different.
Not the tense, suffocating quiet of the Beretti estate, where every hushed whisper hides something lethal. Not the eerie silence of a city at night, where danger lingers in every dark alley.
This is real silence.
The kind that makes you hyperaware of your own breathing. The kind that settles deep in your bones.
I follow Damian toward the house, my boots crunching over the gravel path leading to the porch. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, a stark contrast to the perfume and whiskey-soaked gatherings I’ve spent my life navigating.
Damian unlocks the door with a single, effortless motion, stepping inside before glancing back at me. “Come in.”
I do, crossing the threshold into the unknown.
The inside is warm, the wooden interior giving the space a rustic, lived-in feel. There’s a fireplace in the main room, unlit but inviting, a well-stocked kitchen just off to the side, and stairs leading up to a second floor.
The furniture is sturdy, functional, but comfortable. Not luxurious. Not flashy. Just safe.
Damian shuts the door behind me, locking it with a series of practiced movements before shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair.
“This place is off-grid,” he says, his voice steady as he moves deeper into the house. “No cameras, no signals, no way for anyone to track us here.”
I nod, letting my gaze wander over the space, trying to absorb the reality of it. I am off the map.
For the first time since this all started, I am completely untouchable.
Damian moves toward the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter and tossing it my way. I catch it, cracking it open and taking a long sip before meeting his gaze.
“This is yours?” I ask, gesturing vaguely at the house.
He leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “One of them.”
I exhale, letting that sink in. Of course he has more than one. Damian LaCampanella isn’t the type of man who puts all his faith in one safe haven. He prepares for everything.
A slow, creeping realization settles over me.
He didn’t bring me here just to hide me.
He brought me here because he’s making a move.
I set my bottle down, narrowing my gaze slightly. “What’s your plan, Damian?”
He watches me for a beat, then pushes off the counter, stepping toward me with calculated ease.
“My plan,” he murmurs, stopping just close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from him, “is to make sure they never get another chance to take you out.”
Damian pushes off the counter, his posture shifting, the weight of the last few hours settling into something more controlled. He gestures toward the hallway. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”
I follow him through the house, my boots padding softly over the wooden floor. The space is bigger than I expected, but not overwhelming. Everything here feels deliberate—functional but lived-in.
The kitchen is modern but not flashy, stocked with the basics. The living room is centered around a stone fireplace, the kind that looks like it’s been used often, its hearth darkened with years of past flames.
The walls are lined with bookshelves, each shelf carefully curated with well-worn novels and a few scattered files that I’m sure aren’t just bedtime reading.
Damian moves through the space with an ease that tells me he’s spent time here. This isn’t just a place he owns.
This is a place he trusts.
After a short hallway, we reach the stairs, and he leads me up to the second floor. The hallway is lined with closed doors, but he stops at the last one, pushing it open.
“This is yours.”
I step inside, and the first thing I notice is how… normal it feels.
A large bed with dark sheets, a thick comforter that looks soft enough to sink into. A dresser, a chair in the corner, a single lamp casting a warm glow over the space.
A closet, half-empty, with just enough spare clothes to suggest that someone’s used this place before but never stayed long.
I exhale, running my fingers lightly over the edge of the dresser. “It’s nice.”
“You’ll be comfortable here,” Damian says, leaning against the doorframe.
That’s when it hits me.
I don’t have any clothes.
The realization makes my stomach drop, but before I can say anything, Damian tilts his head slightly, his gaze flicking over me in **that way of his—**like he’s already five steps ahead.
“I’ll have my men bring you some clothes,” he says, as if he knew exactly what I was about to say.
I blink at him. “You thought of that already?”
His smirk is subtle, but it’s there. “You think I’d bring you all the way out here without a plan?”
I shake my head, huffing out a breath. Of course not. This is Damian LaCampanella. He doesn’t do anything without a plan.
He steps back toward the hall, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Get comfortable. I’ll grab you something to drink.”
I arch a brow. “No whiskey?”
“Not tonight,” he says, his tone final. “You need to rest.”
The moment Damian leaves, the silence settles in.
I exhale slowly, rubbing my hands over my arms as I take another glance around the room. This is safe. This is what I wanted—to be away from them. Away from the Beretti estate, away from the weight of Antonio’s expectations, and especially away from Dante’s watchful eyes.
And yet…
I run my fingers over the edge of the dresser, grounding myself. My mind refuses to settle, thoughts unraveling in every direction. This is real. I left. I actually left.
And they’ll know by now.
I step toward the window, parting the curtains just enough to look out into the darkness. Nothing. Just trees stretching into the night, unmoving, undisturbed. There’s only one way in, one way out. Damian chose this place for a reason.
Still, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve truly put distance between myself and the people who want me dead.
I sit on the edge of the bed, running my fingers through my hair. They’ll look for me. Antonio will want answers. And Dante?
I have no doubt he’ll want vengeance.
But for the first time, the thought doesn’t send fear crawling up my spine. It doesn’t paralyze me.
Because Damian isn’t letting them get near me.
And that changes everything.
The door creaks slightly as it opens, and I turn to see Damian stepping back inside. He holds out a bottle of water, his gaze flicking over me, reading me in that way he always does.
I take the bottle from him, twisting the cap open. “You really think this place is safe?”
He leans against the doorway, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if it wasn’t.”
I nod, taking a sip. The water is cold, refreshing, grounding.
He watches me for a second longer before stepping farther into the room. “What’s on your mind, princess?”
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. Too much.
But instead of saying that, I murmur, “Everything.”
Damian tilts his head slightly, his gaze never leaving mine. “Then let’s start with this—do you regret leaving?”
The question hits harder than I expect.
Because the truth is, I don’t.
Not even for a second.
I meet his gaze, steady. “No.”
Something shifts in his expression, something subtle, unreadable. Then he nods once, like that’s all he needed to hear.
No turning back.