Chapter Eight AURORA #3
His expression softened. Just slightly. Enough to surprise me. "You always have a choice with me."
The words landed unexpectedly hard. Because despite everything… The kidnapping. The cathedral. The insanity. Part of me believed him. Which was probably a medical condition.
I narrowed my eyes. "What's the bet?"
The smile widened. Dangerous. Confident. Infuriating. He took one step closer. Not enough to crowd me. Just enough. My pulse betrayed me. Traitor.
"I bet," he said quietly, "that before this night ends..."
I already hated where this was going.
"...you'll choose me."
My stomach flipped. Hard. His smile didn't change. "You're very confident. I hate you."
Santino laughed softly. The sound wrapped around the room. Warm. Certain. Like he'd already won. Which made me want to win even more. I lifted the motorcycle keys. Shook them once.
"If I leave right now?"
His gaze dropped to the keys. Then returned to my face. "Then you leave."
"And the bet?"
His eyes held mine. Steady. Unwavering. "The bet continues until dawn."
A chill ran down my spine. Because somehow that answer felt more dangerous than any other. Not because he thought he could stop me. Because he didn't. He genuinely believed that even with the entire world open in front of me, I'd come back.
I should have left. Any sane person would've. Any intelligent person would've. Any woman with functioning survival instincts would've grabbed the motorcycle keys and disappeared into the night without looking back.
Instead, I spent three hours staring at them. Three. Entire. Hours.
The silver key sat on the bedside table beside me. Mocking me. Judging me. Existing aggressively. Every time I looked away, my eyes drifted back to it. Leave. The word echoed through my head endlessly. Leave. Leave. Leave.
The problem was that freedom felt suspicious. Maybe that sounded ridiculous. Actually, it definitely sounded ridiculous. But normal kidnappers didn't hand over motorcycles. Normal kidnappers didn't tell you the gates would be unlocked. Normal kidnappers didn't look at you like they'd already won.
That was the part bothering me. Not the keys.
Not the motorcycle. Not even the possibility of escape.
Santino. Because he'd looked entirely too calm.
Entirely too certain. Entirely too much like a man watching the ending of a movie he'd already seen.
And I hated being predictable. Especially to him.
Thunder rumbled across the ocean. The storm had weakened sometime during the night. Rain still tapped softly against the glass walls, but the violence had faded. The world beyond the guest house glowed silver beneath moonlight. Beautiful. Quiet. Open.
My gaze returned to the keys. Freedom. Right there. Close enough to touch. My chest tightened. God. Was this really happening? Because if it was… Then for the first time in my life... The choice was actually mine. Nobody else's.
Not Chiara's. Not Leo's. Not Sergio's. Mine. The realization terrified me.
I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw different versions of my future.
One where I stayed. One where I ran. One where I woke up tomorrow and discovered this entire situation had been a psychotic fever dream.
Unfortunately, wakefulness arrived. And Santino was still real.
The motorcycle keys were still real. And freedom was still sitting on the bedside table waiting for me.
By two a.m., I was angry. Partly because I’d put the earrings Santino had given me on…
I couldn’t resist. But mostly because I hadn't made a decision.
The sky outside glowed indigo over the ocean.
The estate remained quiet. Too quiet. Like it was holding its breath.
I climbed out of bed. Walked directly to the table.
Grabbed the keys. My pulse doubled. Well. Shit. I was doing this.
Twenty minutes later, I stood outside. Cold air whipped through my hair. The motorcycle waited near the guest house. Black. Sleek. Beautiful. Expensive. Terrifying.
"Of course." I looked toward the sky. "Of course this psychopath gives me transportation that could kill me."
The motorcycle remained unsympathetic. I narrowed my eyes at it. Then climbed on anyway. Because I was Aurora Ventura. And terrible decisions had apparently become my personality. The engine roared to life beneath me as I slid the black helmet on. My heart nearly exploded.
"Jesus Christ." The vibration traveled through my entire body. Power. Freedom. Possibility. For one terrifying second, I considered turning around. Then I thought about Santino's stupid face. His stupid confidence. His stupid bet. Absolutely not.
I twisted the throttle. And left. The gates opened. Just opened. No alarms. No guards stopping me. No dramatic chase. Nothing. The estate disappeared behind me while the motorcycle flew down winding coastal roads.
Wind tore through my hair. The ocean flashed beside me. The moon climbed higher. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I laughed. Actually laughed. The sound disappeared into the wind. No bodyguards. No family. No expectations. No wedding. No prison. Just me.
I rode for nearly an hour. Maybe longer. Long enough for the panic to fade. Long enough for exhilaration to take its place. Long enough to realize something uncomfortable. I wasn't thinking about escaping anymore. I was thinking about Santino.
The realization annoyed me. I pulled into a small overlook above the ocean and killed the engine. Silence rushed in. Waves crashed below. Seagulls drifted overhead. The motorcycle ticked softly as it cooled.
I pulled out the phone Santino had given me. Stared at Chiara's contact, already saved in there. Then pressed call. She answered before the first ring finished. "Aurora, please, is it you?"
The relief in her voice hit me like a punch. My throat tightened. "It’s me, and I'm okay."
"Thank God." I closed my eyes. For a moment neither of us spoke. The ocean crashed below the cliffs. A gull cried somewhere overhead. I missed her so much my chest physically hurt.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. Chiara made a sound that was suspiciously close to crying. Which was unsettling because Chiara Ventura cried approximately once every presidential election.
"Where are you?" she asked.
"I don't know." A pause. "I stole a motorcycle."
"You what?"
"I stole a motorcycle. It sounds worse when you repeat it,” I chuckled nervously. "It might actually belong to the man who kidnapped me."
"AURORA."
I smiled despite myself. There she was. My sister. The bossy one. The terrifying one. The one who loved me enough to yell.
"Come home," she said quietly. The words settled heavily inside my chest. Come home. Simple. Easy. Exactly what I wanted. Wasn't it?
I looked out at the ocean. The endless horizon.
The freedom stretching in every direction.
Then I thought about Santino standing in that office.
Talking about Angelo. About grief. About loss.
About moving forward while part of yourself stayed behind.
I thought about the watch. The photograph. The way he'd handed me the keys.
No threats. No conditions. No chains. Just a choice.
I wasn't sure.
"Aurora?"
I swallowed. Hard. Because I should have said yes. Without hesitation. Instead I found myself asking, "Are you safe?"
"Yes." She hesitated. “Nobody hurt us. They just took you.”
"Is Leo mad at me?” I asked, my bottom lip strangely close to wobbling. I hated that I still wanted his approval.
"He's… fine."
"Sienna?" I asked shakily.
A snort. "Sienna is currently trying to convince Leo to let her have a pet goat so she can do goat yoga at home."
"That sounds right." My chest tightened. “I’ll… I’ll call you later, Chiara.”
“No,” she argued, pleading with me. "You’re not safe out there on your own. Come home."
I stared at the ocean for a very long time. At freedom. At possibility. At the road stretching behind me. And for the first time since the cathedral, nobody was making this choice for me. Not my family. Not Santino. Not anyone. Me.
The terrifying truth arrived slowly. I could go anywhere. Anywhere at all. And somehow... I didn't want to. Not yet.
Because maybe Santino hadn't been betting on my captivity. Maybe he'd been betting on something far worse. Curiosity. And God help me, I wanted answers.
I ended the call. Started the motorcycle. And turned back toward the estate.