Chapter 44 The Escape
Alessia lay on the narrow mattress, staring at the ceiling as if it might crack open and give her answers. The ceramic blade pressed cold and solid against her skin, a quiet reminder that this wasn’t a nightmare she could wake up from.
Seventy-two hours.
That was all Liam had.
And she was locked in a federal cell with charges that didn’t exist, walls that didn’t care, and a clock that wouldn’t stop ticking.
Unless she stopped waiting.
Her mind kept circling back to one thing Katherine had said—one lie she hadn’t noticed until now.
Witness protection.
Thorne had told her, over and over, that her grandmother was hidden away under FBI supervision. Safe. Untouchable. That any wrong move from Alessia would put Elena at risk. It had worked. Fear always did.
But the Council had produced that photograph without hesitation. Madame Volkov had known exactly where Elena was.
Which meant the FBI never had her.
Her grandmother hadn’t been protected. She’d been contained. Watched. Allowed to exist as long as she stayed quiet.
And Thorne had used that lie to keep Alessia obedient. Small. Grateful.
But if Elena could send Katherine, could arrange elite counsel and smuggle a weapon into federal custody, then she wasn’t powerless.
She was choosing to break the rules.
Alessia exhaled slowly, sitting up. The blade shifted with her movement, grounding her.
Her grandmother hadn’t survived the Council by playing fair. She wasn’t asking Alessia to be safe.
She was asking her to fight.
And to do that, Alessia had to leave.
_________________
The chance came eighteen hours later.
Transport.
They told her she was being moved for processing. Different facility. Same cold tone. Same indifference.
Two guards. Shackles. Routine.
She shuffled along the corridor with her head down, shoulders rounded, every step carefully wrong. She let herself look tired. Defeated. Like someone who had already given up.
The loading bay doors opened. A van waited, engine humming.
One guard went ahead to open the doors. The other stayed behind her, close enough that she could feel his breath.
Now.
She stumbled forward, catching her foot, crying out as she went down hard.
“Fck ” the first guard muttered, reaching for her.
The second his hands touched her arm, she moved.
Her body knew what to do before her fear could argue. She twisted sharply, drove her elbow into his throat. He choked, stumbling back, gasping for air.
The second guard went for his weapon.
She kicked low, brutal and precise. His knee gave out with a sickening sound and he collapsed.
The blade was already in her hand.
She sliced through the plastic cuffs, fast and clean, adrenaline steadying her shaking fingers.
The first guard lunged for his radio.
She slammed the blade into his shoulder—deep enough to drop him, not deep enough to kill. He screamed. The radio clattered across the concrete.
Alarms erupted.
Too loud. Too fast.
She yanked the keys from the fallen guard, unlocked the leg shackles, fingers slick with sweat. Her breath came in harsh bursts.
She stripped the jacket and cap from the injured guard, shoved them on, clipped the ID badge in place.
Then she ran.
Past shouting voices. Past guards racing in the wrong direction. She kept her head down, stride purposeful, like she belonged there.
Cold air hit her as she burst out the side door.
She didn’t stop until her lungs burned and her legs shook beneath her. Six blocks later, she ducked into an alley, ripped the jacket off, and stuffed it into a dumpster.
She stood there for a moment, bent over, gasping.
Free.
Wanted.
Alone.
But free.
She moved through the city on instinct.
Disappear. Blend. Don’t look back.
Everything she knew about hiding came from the FBI—and that meant nothing now. She needed somewhere invisible to them.
Somewhere personal.
The safe house.
Liam’s.
The boutique on the Lower East Side.
It was reckless. He could have changed the codes. Could be gone. Could be waiting.
But it was the only place that still felt real.
She stole clothes from a laundromat, nothing memorable. Jeans, hoodie and a jacket. She looked like anyone else walking home too late.
The street was empty when she reached the boutique. Lights off. Windows dark.
She checked for surveillance. Nothing obvious.
Her fingers hovered over the keypad.
Please.
The lock clicked.
She slipped inside, heart racing, the familiar scent of fabric and polish filling her lungs. Mannequins loomed in the darkness as she moved through the space she’d once felt safe in.
The hidden panel was still there.
So was the code.
The door opened.
She descended slowly, every step careful, already planning where she’d hide, how long she’d stay.
The lights were on.
Alessia froze.
Someone was there.
She edged forward, pulse roaring in her ears.
And then she saw him.
Liam sat on the couch, a glass of whiskey loose in his hand, like he’d been waiting.
He looked up.
“I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Her chest tightened. Words stuck in her throat.
He looked exhausted—hollowed out, worn thin, like the weight of everything had finally started to crush him.
“They put out an alert two hours ago,” he went on quietly. “Dangerous fugitive. Armed. Highly trained.” His eyes flicked over her. “Seems accurate.”
“Liam—”
“I told you if I ever saw you again, I’d kill you.”
Her hand twitched toward the blade without thinking.
He noticed. Didn’t react.
“So,” he said, setting the glass down, “why shouldn’t I just call the FBI right now or rather kill you here?”
Her voice came out rough. “Because the cartel will kill you in seventy-two hours. And I’m the only one who can stop it.”
Something flickered across his face. Then suspicion hardened it again.
“How do you know about that?”
“Because I know everything,” she said, stepping closer. “The debt. The deadline. Siobhan.”
His shoulders sagged, just slightly.
“I can’t pay it,” he said flatly. “Everything’s frozen.”
“Then we don’t play their game.”
He laughed, bitter and broken. “You still think there’s a we?”
“I know I don’t deserve one,” she said, tears burning.
“But your sister doesn’t deserve to die because I was afraid. Because I let them use me.”
He studied her for a long moment, then stood and crossed the space between them.
She didn’t move.
“If you betray me again,” he said quietly, “I will destroy you.”
“I know.”
“And if this is another lie—”
“It’s not.” Her voice cracked. “I’m done lying. I’m done being owned. You were the only real thing in my life, and I’m not letting them take you too.”
Something in him broke.
He pulled her into his arms not gently, not forgivingly but like he needed her to keep standing.
She held on just as hard.
Two people ruined by the same game.
Still choosing each other.
“Seventy-two hours,” he said into her hair.
She nodded. “Then we start now.”