Page 77 of Twins for the Mafia Heir

I wrap my fingers around the bars of my cell, and Achilles’s eyes go to them. They flash with recognition when he sees the wedding ring that I’ve never forsaken.

His left hand isn’t visible- it’s impossible to know if he’s also wearing his ring, but I wouldn’t be surprised if not.

Swallowing hard, I ask, “What was your plan?” He came in here with a plan, at least, I’m sure of that. He didn’t share it with Piers, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t exist-

“Bluff,” Achilles says bitterly, and shakes his head. “This wasn’t any of your business, Emma. You shouldn’t be involved.”

I try to ignore the way that knife twists in my gut. It doesn’t work. “You’re the one who involved me in the first place,” I tell him, my words tasting bitter. “You tried to take it back, but it didn’t work.”

“It didn’t workbecause you came back,” Achilles spits. “If you’d stayed where you belonged, you’d be-”

“I belonghere!” I burst out, shocking him for the first time. I struggle to control my voice, but it still shakes when I go on. “I belong with you and Sidony.”

Achilles turns his face away, but I’m not going to let him ignore this. “I don’t care how I ended up here, Achilles. What matters is that I’ve never loved anywhere and anyone more!” My throat is too tight, my words too raw. I swallow, trying desperately to avoid begging him to let me stay. Instead I manage, “If you don’t want me, that’s something else completely. But youdidwant me. You can’t deny that.”

“Oh, I can,” Achilles says, glaring at the far wall instead of at me. “I’ve been doing it since I put you on that fucking plane.”

That’s it. I don’t want to hear anymore. Paul told me I should find the answer, and that’s as much an answer as I can bear to hear. Achilles has been trying to forget about me, about us, since the moment I left.

I just had to shove my way back into his life where I wasn’t wanted.

It takes me several seconds to steady my breathing and blink back any hint of tears. Once I’m composed, I say, “What’s your real plan?” Achilles’s gaze rises to meet mine, frustrated, and I clarify, “What do you know? Have the patrols changed? The people you were dining with- who are they? Shareholders, new generals, Ashwoods? Can I trust any of them? If we want to get out of here tonight, how much chance do we have in a fight? Also, where did you put my bracelet from the first night? Do you remember?”

Achilles blinks at me. “It’s in the middle drawer of my dresser in the closet. Under some shirts.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing. “What are you-”

I answer by slipping one foot past the bars- easy enough. I remember reading that older prisons often had wider bar spacing, a deliberate design for ease of ventilation and to make it harder for prisoners to conceal items. I twist sideways, carefully angling my hips between the cold metal. The old bars are uneven, with just enough of a gap to make it possible. I hold my breath, flatten my stomach and shift my ribs through the opening. Thank God I’m not any further along in this pregnancy, or this wouldn’t be possible.

My swollen breasts, though more noticeable now, don’t hinder my escape at all. I ease my shoulder past the widest part, turn my head, and wriggle my ears through. Once they clear, the rest of my head and body follow with a final, freeing twist- and I’m out.

Achilles stares down at me, his mouth open. I stare back at him, my heart aching so hard I almost double over.

I could sneak out of the house myself, rendezvous with Paul out in the city, and leave London forever. I’ve gotten my answer after all.

I won’t do that, of course. I would never be able to live with myself if I left Achilles down here on his own.

What I also won’t do is tell him about my pregnancy, since that would only complicate things for him. After tonight, I’ll go home and mourn and… eventually move on. Somehow.

But first, I’m getting us out of here.

“Answer the rest of my questions,” I tell him, keeping myself on the opposite side of the hall from him, as far as I can be while still being close enough to whisper. I need to focus on what happens next, or I won’t be able to keep from crying. “Hurry, before any guards come and find me loose.”

I find my old wire bracelet exactly where Achilles said it was. The Ashwoods I’m looking for are much less easily located.

There are seven of them, not counting various staff members they brought with them, and while the numbers seem far too small to be useful, I won’t turn my nose up to any help at this point. I creep through Wesley Hall, dodging patrolling mercs and any staff that might feel compelled to report my presence. I find two older Ashwood men in the drawing room, where Fantasia is conspicuously absent. They’re sipping scotch by the fire, murmuring together in low tones I can’t quite make out.

I slip into the shadows on the opposite side of the room, where the fire’s light can’t reach me. If I startle them enough that they pull a weapon on me, they’ll be too nightblind to see me before I’m back out of the room.

“Don’t shout,” I command in a low voice. The men leap out of their seats, heads whipping around to find the source of the voice.

“Who the devil-”

“I said don’t shout,” I cut him off sharply, stepping out from the shadows, my presence sudden and unmissable. “I’m Emma, from dinner. You’re Ashwoods, correct?”

“Robert and Carlisle,” one of them says, squinting towards me, confusion on his face. “How did you-”

“Achilles says it’s time to move,” I interrupt, my voice steady and firm. “Use your knives as long as you can. Avoid noise. He’ll be out in a minute to join you.”

The men exchange wary glances. The other steps closer to my corner. “I’m Robert,” he says, a hint of a polite but guarded smile tugging at his lips. “A pleasure. Tell him we’re ready. Are you armed, miss?”

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