Page 42 of Twisted Vows

"We need to move her soon."

A second voice responded, lower, rougher."Not until Leonardo gives the order. We wait."

Isla’s pulse quickened. They weren’t planning to keep her here much longer. If Matteo didn’t find her soon, she’d be gone—moved somewhere even harder to reach. Somewhere Matteo wouldn’t find her in time.

She clenched her jaw, her mind racing. She couldn’t afford to wait. Matteo would come for her. That much she knew. But he couldn’t save her if she wasn’t here.

She twisted her wrists again, ignoring the sting of rope cutting deeper into her skin. The movement jostled her wound, sending a fresh wave of pain tearing through her ribs. Her breathing hitched, sweat dampening her brow. She couldn’t afford to pass out. She couldn’t afford weakness.

One thing was certain.

She had to get out—before her father made her disappear for good.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The ropes burned against Isla’s wrists as she twisted, testing the weak spots in the bindings. Every second that passed was one step closer to whatever fate her father had planned for her, and she refused to let him win. The murmurs outside the door had quieted, but she knew the guards were still there, waiting for the next order.

She forced herself to stay calm, to think. Leonardo had underestimated her, thinking her weak, thinking she would sit still and wait to be used as a pawn in his game. But she wasn’t that girl anymore. She was a fighter. And she wasn’t going to let him decide how her story ended.

With one final sharp tug, the fibers of the rope frayed enough for her to slip her right hand free. Pain flared in her wrists, but she didn’t stop. She worked fast, freeing her other hand before carefully untying her ankles. The moment she was loose, she rose to her feet, her body sore but fueled by adrenaline.

She had to get out. Now.

She moved to the door, pressing her ear against the wood. Silence. The guards had left—maybe to report to her father, maybe to take a break. Either way, she wouldn’t get another chance like this. She reached for the ornate letter opener on the nearby desk and slipped it into her palm before easing the door open just enough to peek through. The hallway was dimly lit, empty except for the flickering light at the far end.

Her heart pounded as she stepped into the corridor, keeping low, staying in the shadows. The house was large, but she had paid attention when they had brought her in. She knew which way led to the main exit. She just had to move fast enough.

A voice echoed from a nearby room, making her press herself against the wall.

"Leonardo wants her moved before midnight. We leave soon."

The other guard replied, lower, rougher. "Not until Leonardo gives the order. We wait."

Isla clenched her jaw. She was running out of time.

She took a deep breath and moved. Silent, calculated steps carried her down the hall, past the open doorway where two men sat talking. She kept her head down, resisting the urge to run, knowing that speed wasn’t her ally yet—stealth was. She slipped past them, reaching the staircase that led down to the main floor.

She was almost free.

Then a door slammed open.

"She’s gone!" A voice shouted from behind her.

Isla didn’t think. She ran.

She bolted down the stairs, her feet barely touching the ground as shouts exploded behind her. The front door was in sight, the cool night air just beyond the entrance. She pushed forward, but heavy footsteps thundered behind her.

A hand grabbed her wrist.

She spun, driving the letter opener into the man’s shoulder. He howled, staggering back. She yanked the door open and threw herself outside, the cold night air hitting her like a slap. But she didn’t stop. She ran.

The villa grounds were vast, she knew she had to reach the tree line. If she could get into the woods, she could disappear. She barely made it twenty feet before headlights blinded her.

An SUV skidded to a stop in front of her, doors flying open.

Gunshots rang out.

Isla ducked, throwing herself to the ground as bullets tore through the air. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she turned her head, just in time to see the familiar figure of Matteostepping out of the SUV, gun raised, his face a mask of pure, lethal rage.

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