Page 24 of Claiming His Mafia Princess

DALILA

Iwatch through the massive upstairs windows as Nevio climbs into his car, the collar of his long black trench coat pulled up over his face, hiding him from the world.

I’m angry, sulking, fuming, wanting to lash out even though there is no one to lash out at.

I still do not know what’s going on and now Nevio is leaving me here, not telling me where he’s off to - and he told me I wasn’t allowed to step out of the house. Not even into the garden.

What the fuck is going on with everyone and why am I a prisoner here?

His car pulls out of the long driveway and I watch it as he drives into the street and speeds away.

I shake my head.

I guess all of them have forgotten who I am.

All of my brothers, my father, did they really think I was just going to do as I was told?

I wait until I am one hundred percent sure that Nevio is gone and not coming back for some random reason.

Then I spin away from the window and start grabbing my things. My phone, my jacket, my sneakers.

I have to get out of here. I want to go home. I’m not sure if that is the best idea — but at least if I go home, I can confront Mas and make him tell me what this is all about.

He can’t avoid me forever.

Nevio trusts me - which makes me feel bad. The guards were not put on high alert to watch me, but rather to watch the perimeter of the property for possible intruders. I guess he assumes I am staying inside.

He s mistaken.

I bite my lip as I walk down the stairs towards the front door.

Wrapped up in my hand is the key to the security gate along the footpath leading out of the garden. It’s a quiet and less obvious route to take as opposed to trying to leave through the main gate.

I wait for the security guard to walk past and continue his routine around the garden.

I’ve been watching them all morning, so I am confident I know how much time I have to make it to the gate.

Counting in my head, I make a run for it, straight for the bushes along the edge of the walkway. I stay low and keep moving.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

Duck down.

Stay quiet.

I wait for the footsteps of the next security guard to move past me, then I look up over the bushes that are hiding me.

And go.

Now I’m just running flat out, feeling the burn in my lungs as the cold air smacks into them. I reach the gate and fumble with the key for a second because my fingers are so frozen.

It’s fine. I’ll warm up on the walk to town.

It would have been great to take a car, but there is no way I could have made it out of here with a car.

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