Page 25 of Claiming His Mafia Princess

I’ll call an Uber when I’m far enough away from the house.

I click the gate closed behind myself then start on foot down the road, staying near the tree line, ducking low whenever a car comes past in case it’s Nevio.

It feels so good to be out in the open, away from the restrictions and the rules and people not telling me anything.

I grin as I jog, wanting to get to town faster.

But the grin fades really quickly when I see men following me on foot.

Surely the guards didn’t see me? If they did, they would have shouted or come after me in a car?

I glance behind me. Three of them, moving fast.

Wearing black gear and army boots. They are security — but they don’t work for Nevio. The uniform is wrong.

Fuck.

I run a little faster. I’m not cold anymore. My blood is pulsing though me at a decent pace and warming me up to where I want to take my jacket off. But I don’t have time for that.

Glancing left and right along the street, all I see are trees.

I’m going to have to go into them. It’s risky because then no one will see me along the road in order to maybe help me - but I have to because I can’t outrun these guys or hide from them out in the open.

I dart left, the wet ground mulches beneath my feet as I push through the trees into the forest. I can feel the dampness soaking into my clothing.

I’m dressed for town, not for a hike. And being wet and cold in the weather is a deathtrap in itself.

Don’t stop moving until you find somewhere good to hide.

I just keep talking to myself in my mind. It’s the best way to stay calm in situations like this.

I hear the men shouting behind me, somewhere in the trees, the sound bouncing in too many directions, echoing through the forest and making it difficult to know what direction they are coming from.

I have to hide. My legs are so cold they barely want to move anymore.

I can feel tears of panic and fear pressing against my eyes. No. Now is not the time to break down. Hide. Think. Move.

Ahead of me, I spot a massive rock outcrop and a fallen tree. I run towards it. There is a drop on the other side of the rock, down a steep slope that looks treacherous to be trying to walk on in this wetness.

I take a deep breath and step over the fallen tree.

My sneaker slips and I skid a few feet down the slope, grabbing onto some spiked shrubs to stop myself.

My hands are cut and bleeding.

I pull myself up into a small ditch on the muddy earth and press my body into it.

Holding my breath, I count.

Counting keeps me calm. It steadies my lungs; it slows my heart rate.

I hear the men, close, talking loudly, not afraid of being seen or heard like I am.

“Where did that little bitch go?”

“Malone is going to kill us if we miss this chance to get her.”

“Well, what the fuck are we supposed to do? This place is a shit show. It’s fucking cold.”

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