Page 27 of Twins for the Mafia Heir

Is the first time like this for other girls? I think dazedly.Does getting their V-card punched throw their worldviews into chaos too?

I shake my head. I’m getting so far ahead of myself that I’m wandering into absurdity. It pays Achilles to treat me well when he thinks I’m mafia princess Raleigh Warwick, whose money his boss is after. If he knew my true identity, or if I didn’t have some concrete use, things would not be the same. No matter how physically good he made me feel, I need to be on alert for the next opportunity to escape.

In fact, that might be what I have on my hands right now.

I have no idea what time it is, how long Achilles has been gone, where he went, or when he’ll be back. But he’s not here now, and that gives me a chance. If Iris were in my position, she might try to grab some intel on her way out of the house. But the more I get to know her, the more I realize how superhuman Iris actually is, and how far I fall in comparison. I’m not trying that. I’m justrunning.

Slipping out of bed is almost painful when the cold air hits my bare legs and ass, but I brace myself and scoop up my clothes. The floor creaking beneath my own feet is enough to make me freeze and listen. After scaring myself half a dozen times, though, I’m dressed and ready to move out.

There’s no internal lock on the door for me to pick, but that’s not surprising. Achilles bows to Fantasia, sure, but he wouldn’t put himself in the position to be locked away. What is surprisingis that he left me alone and completely unrestrained in the first place.

A treacherous voice in my head tells me that must mean something, but I shove it aside. What it means is that I can escape. End of story.

The hall outside the door is empty, and the house is eerily quiet beneath me. I wonder if the men from dinner last night are busy sleeping off hangovers. Fantasia too, I hope. I crouch and creep down the hall to the corner, listening again before I peek. No one, again. The path to the stairs leading to the first floor is clear.

Behind me, faint but approaching, I hear footsteps. I turn to see someone’s shadow moving along the wall, approaching the corner at the opposite end of the hall. Just before they can come around it and spot me lurking, I lunge around my corner for the stairs like a silenced bullet.

I take the steps down two at a time, hopping along the outsides of them to keep them from creaking too badly. On the first floor, I make for the dining room, remembering the door on the far end that looked like it could lead to the exterior of the house. I’m not sure of the time- the hazy blue light of the house could be due to the hour or the cloud cover- but itfeelsearly.

Too early for the table to be set for breakfast? That’s my hope.

Sure enough, the only sign of the staff in the dining room is a maid poking at sleepy embers in the fireplace. There’s something black stuck into her ear- bluetooth earbuds? That works for me. I keep low so I don’t make a shadow on the wall of windows and slink down the opposite length of the room from her, watching her with one eye and the door in front of me with the other. She doesn’t even flinch when I turn the handle and slip outside- into a wall of mist.

God,fuckthis English weather. I almost jump back into the house, like a cat that’s accidentally stuck its paw in water. The cold cuts right through to my bones, and the mist is already condensing on my clothes and hair. I’ve got nowhere to go but forward, though. Gritting my teeth to keep them from chattering, I keep my hand on the wall and use it to guide me around the house.

I can only pray I’m going in the right direction, toward the back of the property instead of the front. The mist is absolutely impenetrable, which is a blessing and a curse. Even walking out in the open, someone would have to come right up on me before they see me. At the same time, sounds echo strangely in this cloud. It might just be my own anxiety, but I can’t tell if the birds are chirping near or far away from me. Are those my footsteps or the sound of someone behind me-

I almost stumble over the marble stairs that appear in front of me, leading up to what I assume is a back terrace. I don’t want to go up there, where I’ll probably be walking in front of windows. Instead, I feel my way around the stairs to the front of the terrace, leaving the grass for a brick walkway, and keep following the stonework-

And stop hard as a shadow melts out of the mist before me. There’s an ironwork table and chairs set up along the walkway, and a man sits at it, hunched against the weather and his own grim thoughts.

It’s Achilles.

I’m too close to retreat, and anyway, it’s too late. At the same time I see him, he looks up from his folded hands and sees me. His brow is furrowed, his eyes dark with thoughts I can’t fathom. I expect him to demand what I’m doing out here, creeping around in this cloud. But when he opens his mouth, all he says is,

“It’s freezing out here.”

My heart is in my throat, but I fight to display my fear as a reaction to the cold instead. I rub at my arms and step closer like I’m not horrified to be caughtagain.

“You’re not wearing a jacket either,” I say, sitting across from him and wincing at the chill of the iron chair through my pants.

“I like the cold,” Achilles says, almost defiantly. “You’re not used to the climate-” He presses his lips together, and I can almost see the thoughts move behind his eyes.

And whose fault is it that I’m here?

He clears his throat and rests his arms on the table. “I’m sorry, Raleigh,” he says heavily. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought-” He stops himself again, shaking his head like he’s disappointed in his own words. “You’re so young, and now you’re chained to me for god knows how long. I took something from you that you should have been able to give to someone you love- Anyway, it’s done now.”

This is too much right now. I don’t know why his words are making my stomach twist, but I need him to stop. It’s not important to my goals of escape to reassure him about this. Still, I find myself opening my mouth to do it.

“You did what you could,” I say quickly. “And you didn’t hurt me. You- It-” I flush. “It wasn’t… bad.”

Achilles’s chocolate eyes hold mine for a long moment. Did he look at me this way last night? I’ll never know. Next time, I’ll keep my eyes open to find out.

No, I shouldn’t be thinking about anext time. I should be searching for chinks in this man’s armor. He regrets bringing me here, regrets the situation we’re in, is clearly upset about the orders Fantasia gave him. Is there something there? Can I convince him to side with me instead of Fantasia? Or, at the very least, can I get him distracted by his anger at Fantasia, enough to give me more chances to slip away?

“So… now what?” I ask. “I mean, am I just supposed to live here like normal? Fantasia wants my share of my brother’s money, but what happens when she gets it? Why does she need it in the first place?”

Something closes behind Achilles’s eyes. I didn’t think I pushed too hard, my questions were fair. But perhaps he’s kept Fantasia’s secrets for so long that even if I deserve these answers and he feels bad for me, he won’t spill them.

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