Lara #2
Upon entering the mansion, I headed straight for the kitchen, a familiar refuge, to grab a bottle of water from the stainless-steel fridge.
The sound of Marta’s off-key humming floated through the air from the pantry, where she busied herself with her weekly inventory, her tune meandering like a lost melody.
Twisting off the cap of the chilled bottle, I prepared to leave the kitchen when something caught my eye—a cell phone lying unguarded on the countertop.
My heart skipped a beat as I glanced around the room, half-expecting to find eyes watching me, convinced this was some kind of trap.
Surely, Marta wouldn’t be careless enough to leave her phone out in the open like this.
The kitchen stood empty, the only sound Marta’s distant humming, oblivious to my presence.
The opportunity was too tempting, perhaps a once-in-a-lifetime chance to access a lifeline.
It was now or never. I swiftly snatched up the phone, its cool surface slipping easily into the pocket of my skirt, and made my way purposefully toward the gardens outside.
Once in the open air, under the watchful gaze of the garden’s lush greenery, I stealthily glanced around, ensuring no one was taking notice of my actions.
The guards, accustomed to my frequent visits to the gardens, paid little mind to my presence.
Settling on a secluded bench, I discreetly retrieved the phone from my pocket, keeping it pressed to my side to avoid drawing attention.
I wasn’t certain I could unlock the device when I first seized it, but the gamble seemed worth the risk.
As I powered it on, the screen flickered to life, revealing the home screen with a picture of a little boy, likely Marta’s grandson or perhaps another relative.
The urgency of my situation weighed heavily on me; I couldn’t afford to be caught using the phone.
Resolving to find a more secluded spot, I decided to move further away, ensuring my actions remained hidden.
I leaned against the rough bark of the tree, straining my ears to catch fragments of Dmitri’s conversation drifting through the air.
My heart pounded as I swiped the screen of the cell, the glow illuminating my trembling fingers.
Time was slipping through my grasp like sand, so my messages needed to be concise and urgent.
I quickly entered Chloe’s number and began typing her a message.
UNKNOWN : Chloe, it’s Lara. I’m in dire trouble. Dmitri Antonov has kidnapped me. You must find Angelo Balestrini. He is my brother.
Please, please, please, text me back.
I stared at the cell, nerves twisting in my stomach, praying Chloe wouldn’t dismiss my message as a cruel joke. Fear, colder than ice, gripped me tighter than ever before. My mother’s murder had haunted me, but at least there was an escape plan.
CHLOE : Oh, my God, Lara. Where are you?
ME : I don’t know. Somewhere in New York City, Antonov Mansion. I don’t have the address. Unsure how long I can keep communicating. Please hurry.
CHLOE : Wait, how do I know it’s really you?
I racked my brain, searching for a memory only she would recognize, something to prove my identity.
ME : Raptor, three years ago. The fake IDs you got us. I was Sara Jones, and you were Milly Andrews. Our toast to ‘turning over a new leaf’—your words.
CHLOE : God, I’ve missed you. Hang tight. Be safe, Lara.
ME : I’ll text you. Don’t text me. It’s too dangerous.
With a deep breath, I ended the text and swiftly deleted the thread, my fingers moving with practiced urgency.
The thought of Dmitri discovering my contact with Chloe filled me with dread; he would surely drag me back to those nightmarish torture chambers.
Clutching the cell, I realized I needed to hold onto it just a bit longer, despite the peril.
I had to know if Chloe could reach Angelo.
“Think, think, think, Lara,” I whispered fiercely to myself, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
The cell needed a hiding place; somewhere no prying eyes would uncover it.
If Dmitri ever learned I had taken it, his wrath would be swift and merciless.
Remembering how Marta had carelessly left it in the kitchen, I decided it was the safest spot.
With a final, determined nod, I powered off the cell and slipped silently back inside the mansion.
I exhaled a sigh of relief as I stepped into the kitchen, my tension dissipating upon discovering that Marta was no longer present.
The room was quiet, save for the subtle hum of the refrigerator.
I noticed the firmly shut pantry door, reassured that she wasn’t hidden inside, meticulously taking inventory.
Pulling the door open, I surveyed the compact room, which was crammed with rows of canned goods, vibrant spices, and an assortment of other kitchen essentials.
My mind raced as I searched for the perfect spot to conceal her cell phone.
My gaze landed on the top shelf, where items were densely packed and seldom disturbed.
With determination, I unfolded the stepladder, its metal legs clinking softly against the tiled floor, and ascended the three steps, feeling the coolness of the metal under my hands.
Once I reached the top, I carefully retrieved the cell phone from the concealed pocket of my skirt.
My fingers brushed against the fabric as I double-checked that the power was switched off, ensuring no accidental alerts would betray its presence.
Satisfied, I nestled the phone securely behind a large canister of flour and an unopened bag of sugar.
The concealment was flawless—only a deliberate search would uncover its hiding place.
When the time was right, I would easily retrieve it and place it in a spot where Marta, with her frequent visits to this pantry, would undoubtedly notice it.
She would surely assume she had absentmindedly left it there and forgotten its location, her typical hurried routine leading to such oversights.