Page 88 of Wicked Rivals

Time to run.

I left the kitchen, keeping my stride slow and casual, despite the adrenaline rushing through me. I called out to the guys who Stefano left behind and told them the cookies wouldn’t be quite as good if they fully cooled down. A lie.

One of the guards thanked me as he and another cohort hurried to the kitchen.

Smiling down at them, I climbed the stairs and headed to our temporary suite. When I opened the door, Enzo lay on his bed with his arms wrapped around the same pillow he rested his head on and watched a Disney movie on the room’s large flatscreen TV.

Nervousness kicked into high gear, making my hands shake.

“Get up, Enzo,” I said. “Get your shoes. We're leaving now.”

He stared at me for a minute, then he sighed in a big way that deflated his entire body.

Disappointment. I could handle that.

I knew he liked Stefano’s house, even if we hadn’t been there for a full twenty-four hours. He enjoyed the big bed and the TV, the space I’d given him, and the idea of having a father around.

Disappointing him was the last thing I wanted to do, but it was necessary. As his mother, I had to keep him safe first and foremost, and seeing my baby’s disappointment had to be the price I paid. And because of our dangerous situation, I would pay it ten times over if necessary.

He didn't argue, though. He nodded, slipped on his shoes, and grabbed his book.

After making sure I had everything we needed, I ordered a car to pick us up on the street behind the estate.

We crept down the staircase, careful to not make any noise.

The plush carpets along the hallway muffled the tapping of our footsteps. The challenge was crossing the open foyer to the front door. You could see the front door from the kitchen.

With my back pressed against the wall, I ignored my slamming pulse and the sweat dampening my hair on the back of my neck as I peeked into the kitchen.

The two men still hung around the island, talking loudly as they stuffed their mouths full of cookies. Good. The cookie distraction turned out to be a win.

I turned back to my son, nodded at him, and mouthed the words, “You go first.”

Enzo gazed into the kitchen to make sure no one saw him, then he darted over to the front door.

Using only my hands, I signaled for him to stay right there. He understood. Then I waited thirty seconds to make my move, counting them down in my head.

The loud conversation in the kitchen continued on and on.

Why weren’t they watching the door? Oh, heads were going to roll when their boss returned.

I stared into the kitchen for a few more seconds. Still clear.

Right now, these trained men working for the notorious Stefano Vignali were more concerned about who could fit more cookies in their mouth.

The cruel part of me hoped for one of them to choke.

With a deep breath and forced courage, I darted across the floor to join Enzo, where he waited for me by the door.

No shouts for me to stop. No running, no footsteps at all.

So, as quickly as we could, Enzo and I slipped out the front door. It seemed way too easy, and that pushed the level of my nervousness higher.

No way would I breathe easily again until I had the confirmation for our airline tickets in my hand, and Enzo and I sat on a moving train headed out of the city.

Strangely, in that very moment as we escaped down the front steps, I couldn’t help noticing how the bright afternoon sun warmed up the chilly autumn breeze.

Neither of us said anything as we crept along the cobblestone driveway, ducking behind trees and shrubs, only to run into the huge wrought iron gate holding us on the estate like prisoners. A brick wall stretched along the property on either side of the gate.

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