I stood in the center of the master suite, staring at the blood-red dress crumpled on the floor like a dead thing. My face was clean now, the smear of Arthur Vanguard's blood washed away, but I could still feel the phantom pressure of Kyle's hand on my arm.
"He was right," I whispered to the empty room. "I should have stayed in the water."
The arrogance of the man was a poison. He'd blamed me for his father's wound, for his crumbling empire, and then locked me away like a haunted heirloom. If I was the curse, then it was time to lift it.
I didn't try the doors. the guards were stationed every ten feet in the hallway. Instead, I went for the one place Kyle's ego wouldn't let him secure: the laundry chute. It was a narrow, vertical drop that led to the service basement, designed for linen, not people. But I was thin, and I was desperate.
I stripped out of the silk robe, putting on a pair of black leggings and a dark hoodie I'd swiped from Kyle's closet. I tied my hair back, my fingers brushing against the cold, unyielding weight of the diamond collar. It was still there. A tracker. A leash.
"I'll find a way to cut you off later," I hissed at my reflection.
I squeezed into the chute. It was a tight, suffocating slide, the metal scraping my shoulders, but I didn't stop. I hit the pile of sheets at the bottom with a muffled thud. I was in the service level. No guards. No cameras. Just the smell of detergent and the hum of machinery.
I moved through the basement like a shadow, found the delivery exit, and stepped out into the crisp, morning air of Milan.
I was free.
I didn't head for the train station; Kyle would have people there within minutes. I headed for the Navigli district—the canals. I knew a man there, an old contact from my days in Rome, who could help a person disappear for the right price.
I was three blocks away from the safehouse when a black car screeched to a halt beside me.
My heart climbed into my throat. I turned to run ready to scream, but the door flew open and a hand caught my hood, yanking me backward. I hit the leather seat hard, the air leaving my lungs in a sharp gasp.
"You really are a creature of habit, Valentina."
It wasn't a guard. It was Kyle.
He was sitting in the back seat, still wearing the tuxedo trousers from the night before, though his shirt was open and his eyes were bloodshot. He didn't look like a savior. He looked like a man who was one second away from snapping.
"Get off me!" I shouted, swinging a fist at him. "I'm leaving, Kyle! You said I was a liability! You said I was the reason your father was shot! So let the liability walk away!"
Kyle caught my wrist, his grip so hard it pinned my arm against the seat. He lunged forward, his body weight crushing me into the upholstery. He didn't use a weapon. He used himself—his chest pressing into mine, his face so close I could see the flickers of raw, madness in his pupils.
"I told you... you don't leave," he rasped, with a low voice that was terrifying "I don't care if you're a curse. I don't care if you're the end of me. You are mine."
"I am nobody's!" I spat, my face inches from his. "You're so cocky you'd rather see your whole world burn than admit you've lost one little thief!"
"I haven't lost anything," he growled. He reached up, his hand tangling in my hair, pulling my head back until I had to look at him. His thumb pressed into the hollow of my throat, right above the diamond collar. "You thought I wasn't around? I was watching you on the monitor the moment you stepped into that chute. I wanted to see if you'd actually do it. I wanted to see you fail."
"You let me get this far just to humiliate me?" My voice broke, the stubbornness finally cracking under the weight of his cruelty.
"I let you get this far so you would understand," Kyle whispered, his lips grazing my jaw, his touch a brutal mix of possession and punishment. "There is no world outside of me for you, Val. Not anymore. Moretti isn't hunting a 'thief' anymore. He's hunting a Vanguard. And I'm the only one who decides when a Vanguard is done."
He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine, his hot breath on my face making my heart move in a funny way The physical contact was suffocating—the heat of his skin, the scent of expensive scotch
"You should have stayed in the fire, Val," he breathed. "Because now, I'm going to make sure you never even see the sun without my permission."
He signaled the driver. The car sped off, heading back to the penthouse.