Chapter 52 Thirty seconds before freedom
Lina’s POV
I woke up before dawn, but this time it isn’t hesitation that's keeping my eyes open. It’s decision.
Carlino’s arm is heavy around my waist, his breathing slow, steady. Possessive even in sleep. I lie still, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant shuffle of guards changing shifts. The house hums with quiet vigilance.
For days, I told myself I was thinking. Now I know I was stalling. I don’t owe anyone my loyalty. Definitely not a man who bought me, a man who rules with fear.
A sharp wave of nausea rolls through me, sudden and cruel. I press my hand to my stomach and close my eyes.
Maternal fear is different from ordinary fear. It isn’t loud. It’s calculating. Protective. It whispers of worst-case scenarios and forces you to look at them without blinking.
If something happens to him, they’ll come for me.
If something happens to me—
I don’t let the thought finish.
Carefully, I slide out from under his arm. He shifts but doesn’t wake. I grab a robe and step into the corridor. Two guards stand near the stairwell.
“Donna,” one greets, straightening.
“Good morning,” I reply, calm. “You changed rotations early.”
The older one nods. “Don’s orders.”
Of course they were.
“Everything quiet?” I ask.
A glance passes between them. “Always quiet before it isn’t.”
That’s not comforting.
I walked slowly, aware of cameras tucked into corners, of the way the house breathes information. Every movement recorded. Logged. Reviewed.
Paranoia has become muscle memory.
I head toward Carlino’s study. The door is locked, but I know the code. I shouldn’t.
But I do.
Inside, the air smells faintly of leather and cigarettes. His desk is immaculate. I move quickly, scanning drawers. I’m not searching for weapons. I’m searching for leverage.
A small safe behind a painting.
He once told me the code jokingly, testing if I listened, days after Kailen spilled the truth about my existence. Did he spill it or he said it?
I did listened.
The safe clicks open. Passports. Not just his. Several. Different names. Different countries.
My pulse steadies.
So this is how kings disappear.
I take photos with my phone, careful not to shift anything out of place. Beneath the passports is a sealed envelope labeled “Contingency.”
I hesitate.
Then I open it.
Cash. Foreign currency. A list of offshore accounts. A contact in Marseille. Another in Tangier.
He always has an exit. Of course he will. He is a Mafia king.
The realization cuts deeper than I expect.
“You never planned to stay,” I whisper.
Footsteps echo faintly in the hallway. I close the safe just as the handle turns.
The guard from earlier steps in halfway.
“Donna? The Don is asking for you.”
I don’t flinch. “I couldn’t sleep.”
His eyes scan the room subtly. Loyal. Suspicious. “You shouldn’t be in here alone.”
A small smile curves my mouth. “Then perhaps the Don shouldn’t have taught me the codes.”
The guard doesn’t smile back. “He trusts you.”
That might be his first mistake.
I brush past him before he can respond. Carlino is in the kitchen when I enter, sleeves rolled, speaking quietly into his phone. He ends the call when he sees me.
“You disappeared.”
“I went for a walk.”
“In my study?”
Straight to it. Always.
I pour myself water, unfazed. “If you didn’t want me in there, you would have changed the code.”
His jaw tightens. “Curiosity can get you hurt.”
“I’m not curious,” I reply evenly. “I’m observant.”
A flicker passes through his eyes. Assessment. “You’ve been restless,” he says. “That’s dangerous.”
“For you?” I tilt my head.
“For anyone who thinks leaving me is safer.”
There it is.
I set the glass down. “Not everything is about you, Carlino.”
“It always is when you’re involved.”
“That’s the problem.”
Silence stretches thick.
He steps closer. “If you’re planning something, Lina—”
“What? You’ll lock another door?”
His expression hardens. “I will do what it takes to keep you alive.”
“And what if what keeps me alive is distance from you?”
The words land heavy between us. For a second, I see it—the crack beneath his composure. “Who’s been talking to you?” he asks quietly.
“No one.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m losing you?”
I was never yours to begin with.
Instead: “You can’t lose something you never set free.”
His hand grips the counter. White knuckles. “Don’t mistake protection for imprisonment.”
“Don’t mistake possession for love.”
A guard clears his throat in the doorway, interrupting whatever might have followed.
Carlino straightens instantly. Mask back in place.
“Prepare the car,” he orders. “We’re leaving in an hour.”
“For what?” I ask.
“A meeting.”
“With?”
“You don’t need details.”
Of course I don’t.
The house shifts after that. More men arrive. Tension coils in the air. I catch fragments of conversation—territory disputes, shipments delayed, someone skimming profits.
I retreat to the room and pull a small suitcase from the back of the closet. Not to pack. To measure.
How much can I carry without drawing suspicion? Cash only. No cards. No digital trail.
I make a list in my head:
Fake passport. Untraceable phone. Currency exchange in stages. No flights from major airports. Disappearing from a mafia empire isn’t romantic. It’s math.
I need someone outside his circle. Marseille. Tangier. But those are his contacts.
I think of Elena, an old friend who once forged documents for activists before vanishing into academia. Switzerland, last I heard.
Trusted.
Maybe.
Or maybe that’s how betrayals begin.
Flashbacks come uninvited. A past lover who traded secrets for protection. A business partner who smiled while wiring funds elsewhere. A friend who swore loyalty before selling names to the highest bidder.
Trust is expensive.
And I can’t afford to make another mistake. A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. It’s the guard from earlier, again.
“You’re packing?” he asks carefully.
“Organizing.”
“For the meeting?”
“For clarity.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You should tell him if something’s wrong.”
“I’m not obligated to confess every thought I have.”
“You are to him.”
I meet his gaze, steady. “That’s exactly why I won’t.”
Something shifts in his expression. It wasn't anger. Concern. “He would burn the whole world for you.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel safe?”
He hesitates. “You think you can outrun him?”
“I don’t need to outrun him.” His silence is telling.
\~~~
In the evening, Carlino returns, tension clinging to him like smoke. He studies me across the living room. “Tesoro, talk to me.”
“And tell you what exactly?”
“What has changed.”
“Really? You look at me like I am fragile but I've told you countless times, I am not glass.”
He laughs once. Low. “Fragile?”
“One more wrong alliance. One more betrayal. One more bullet. That's all it takes.”
His gaze sharpens. “You think I’m vulnerable?”
“I think you pretend you’re not.”
He approaches slowly. “And you?”
“I don’t pretend.”
He cups my jaw suddenly, firm but not cruel. “If you’re afraid, say it.”
“I’m not afraid for me.”
His thumb stills.
“For what, then?”
I don’t answer.
Maternal fear doesn’t need witnesses. He searches my face like he’s trying to decode something slipping beyond his reach.
“You’re changing,” he murmurs.
“No,” I correct softly. “I’m choosing.”
“Choosing what?”
“Freedom.” The word lingers.
He exhales sharply. “Freedom from me?”
“Freedom from being leverage.”
His eyes darken. “No one would dare.”
“They already have.”
That lands. A long pause.
“If you walk out,” he says finally, voice dangerously calm, “I will find you. And when I do?”
I hold his gaze. “Make sure it’s because you understand. Not because you want to win.”
His jaw tightens. “You think this is a game?”
“No,” I whisper. “It’s survival.”
He releases me slowly. That night, I lie awake again. But this time, I’m not torn.
I’ve mapped the routes. Calculated the timing. Identified the weakest guard rotation—2:17 a.m., when the east gate cameras reboot for thirty seconds. Thirty seconds is enough.
The fake passport will take three days if Elena responds. Cash transfers need forty-eight hours to settle. I don’t know where I’ll land. Only that I will, with my family.
Beside me, Carlino sleeps lightly. He thinks the walls are solid. He doesn’t realize I’ve already found the cracks.
Tomorrow, I begin the final steps. When I leave— It won’t be because I was stolen. It will be because I chose myself.