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"Fuck," I mutter, pulling Estella into a run. We sprint the last few yards to the gate, my hand already reaching for my gun. I've got six rounds. Not enough for all of them, but enough to buy us time.

The gate is locked with a heavy chain wound through the bars. I fire a shot at the padlock, the sound echoing through the garden. The lock shatters, and I kick the gate open, pulling Estella through.

We've barely made it three steps when four men round the corner of the wall. Vito's men, not Antony's—I think, anyway. I don’t recognize them, and they’re dressed in suits, whereas Antony’s security is usually dressed more casually. But then again, I didn’t recognize the men that Antony brought to beat the shit out of me, either.

The first one raises his gun, but I'm faster, putting a bullet in his shoulder. He goes down with a scream.

The other three hesitate, which is all the opening I need. I fire twice more, not aiming to kill but to disable. One takes a hit to the leg, another to the arm. The third ducks behind a hedge.

"Come on," I urge Estella, tugging her toward the service road that winds away from the mansion. We're exposed here, too visible. We need cover, and we need a vehicle. My motorcycle is parked in the staff parking lot, clear on the other side of the mansion. We’d never make it before Antony or Vito’s men caught us.

As if reading my thoughts, Estella points to a black sedan parked fifty yards down the road. "That's one of the catering staff's cars. Keys might be in it."

We make a break for it, keeping low. Behind us, I hear Vito bellowing orders, the sound of more men pouring through the gate. The sedan is our only chance.

We're halfway there when a shot rings out, the bullet kicking up dirt at our feet. I push Estella down behind a low stone wall that borders the road.

"Stay here," I tell her, peering over the top. Three more of Vito's men are advancing, using the trees for cover. I have three bullets left.

I take a deep breath, steadying my aim, then rise up and fire in quick succession. Two shots find their marks—one man goes down clutching his thigh, another his shoulder. The third bullet misses as my target dives for cover.

"Sebastian!" Estella cries out, and I turn to see two more men approaching from the other direction. They've circled around, cutting off our path to the car.

I'm out of bullets. But I'm not out of options.

"When I move, you run for the car," I tell her, my voice low and urgent. "Check for keys. If they're not there and it’s unlocked, get in and stay low. If it’s locked, hide behind it. I can hotwire the car, but we’ll have to be fast.”

Estella nods, a tight, quick motion, her eyes wide with fear and her face bloodless. But she’s not panicking, not outwardly at least, and I’m proud of her for that.

"Good. On my signal, run. Don't look back."

I don't wait for her to argue. I move forward with quick, sure strides, charging straight at the two men blocking our path. They're startled by the direct assault, hesitating just long enough for me to close the distance.

The first one raises his gun, but I'm already on him, knocking it aside as I drive my fist into his solar plexus. He doubles over, and I bring my knee up into his face. The second man gets a shot off, but it goes wide as I pivot, using the first man's body as ashield. I lunge forward, tackling him to the ground. We grapple in the dirt, his gun trapped between us. I slam my elbow into his throat—once, twice, until his grip loosens. I wrench the weapon free and crack the butt of it against his temple. He goes limp beneath me.

"Now, Estella!" I shout, turning the gun on the men still advancing from the gate. I fire twice, forcing them to take cover. I have no idea how many shots are left in the weapon I grabbed, but we need to be fast. There might only be one or two bullets left.

Estella sprints for the car, her dress billowing behind her, a flare of pink in the darkness. She reaches it, yanking at the door handle. It opens—thank God whoever drove it here was in a hurry—and she slides in.

I keep firing until the gun clicks empty, backing toward the car, keeping the men pinned down. Through the windshield, I see Estella frantically searching for keys, and I run for the driver’s side, motioning for her to get in the back as I bend down and yank at the wires under the steering column. The men will be coming now, fast, and we don’t have time.

Thank fuck I know how to hotwire a car in a few seconds flat. The engine roars to life just as I hear bullets pinging off the gravel, and I floor it, wrenching the steering wheel to one side as the sedan lurches forward for all it’s worth.

The tires spin, kicking up gravel before finding purchase. We lurch forward, accelerating down the service road.

In the rearview mirror, I see Vito emerge from the gate, his face a mask of fury as he watches us escape. He raises his arm, pointing at the retreating car, his mouth forming words I can't hear but can imagine:Find them. Kill him. Bring her back.

In the rearview mirror, I see Estella start to push herself up from the backseat, and I motion quickly with one hand for her tostay down. The knuckles of my other hand are white against the steering wheel as I make a hard left, heading to the highway.

“They’ll find us, Sebastian,” she whispers. “My father has connections everywhere. Vito, too. They’ll never stop hunting us?—”

“I have some connections.” Not the kind they do, and we both know it. But I have determination, and I love the woman watching me from the backseat more than I love my own life. That has to fucking count for something, right?

“Where are we going?” Estella asks after a moment, and I let out a long breath.

“In the long run? I don’t know. But for now?”

I look over my shoulder at her, disheveled and frightened in the backseat of the sedan. “We’re going home.”