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When I return to the living room, Sebastian has changed too, into similar dark clothes. He's packing the duffel bag with essentials—cash, a laptop, changes of clothes, what looks like a burner phone, and a gun that he tucks into his waistband.

"Ready?" he asks, zipping the bag closed.

"Where are we going now?"

"Hotel for tonight. Somewhere they won't expect." He checks his watch. "We need to ditch my car too. It's registered in my name."

The reality of our situation hits me anew. "We're really doing this. Running."

Sebastian pauses, looking at me intently. "It's not too late, Estella. I can take you back. Tell them I forced you to come with me. You could?—"

"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended. "I'm not going back. Not to Vito. Not ever."

Relief flashes across his face before he nods. "Then let's go."

We leave the apartment the same way we came, cautious and alert. In the garage, Sebastian leads me to a different car—his own, I assume—and we drive out into the night.

"We need to get rid of this car," he says after we've been driving for about twenty minutes. "I know a place."

He pulls into a gas station on the outskirts of the city, one of those old, rundown places with more rust than paint. An olderman sits outside, smoking beside a collection of cars that have seen better days.

"Wait here," Sebastian tells me, then approaches the man.

I watch through the window as they talk, Sebastian gesturing to one of the cars—an ancient sedan that looks like it might have been blue once. Money changes hands, more than the car is worth, I'm sure. The man looks suspicious, but not enough to turn down cash.

Sebastian returns with a set of keys. "It's not much, but it can't be traced to me."

We transfer our few belongings to the old car, and Sebastian hands the keys to his car to the man, along with what looks like more cash. A deal to keep quiet, I assume.

The old car smells a little musty, like old cloth and dust, but the engine starts without protest. Sebastian drives us back onto the highway, heading away from the city.

"We’ll drive for a few hours," he says. "Find some out-of-the-way roadside motel, somewhere that takes cash, no cameras. We can rest there, figure out our next move."

I nod, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that's been keeping me going is fading, leaving behind bone-deep weariness and the first tendrils of delayed shock. I lean my head against the window, watching the city lights recede in the side mirror.

"What happens after tonight?" I ask quietly.

Sebastian's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "We keep moving. Head west, maybe. Find somewhere to lay low until we can figure out a more permanent solution."

"They won't stop looking for us."

"I know." His voice is grim. "But they have to find us first."

We drive in silence for a while, the hum of the engine and the occasional passing car the only sounds. I find myself watching Sebastian's profile in the dim light—the strong line of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the focus in his eyes. For years, he'sbeen a constant presence in my life, at a distance at first, then gradually closer and closer, until everything collapsed into the silent, warm intimacy that lies between us now. The thread of two people depending on each other, now.

“Luis would never have let my father do what he did,” I whisper. “Force me to marry someone like Vito. Marriage eventually, yes, but never—never to someone I so badly didn’t want to marry. He—” I swallow hard. “He would be glad to know that you were there to get me out.”

Sebastian glances over at me, and he reaches out with one hand, gently touching my leg. Heat flares through me from where his fingers are brushing against my thigh, even through the thick material of the sweatpants, and I look up at him, biting my lip.

“I’m scared,” I whisper, and his hand presses against my thigh, tightening for a moment before letting go.

“I will never let anyone hurt you, princess.” Sebastian refocuses on the road, driving into the night. “I promise you that.”

23

ESTELLA

Ireach up, taking his hand as he draws it away, interlacing my fingers with his. His hand is warm and calloused against mine, strong, and I stroke my thumb against the side of it. I hear the breath he draws in, and something jolts through me at the idea that so small a touch could evoke a response from him. I can feel the air drawing tighter around us, but Sebastian doesn’t pull away, only lowers our joined hands to the space between us as we drive into the darkness, miles and hours passing by until I drift off without realizing it, coming back to consciousness only when the car turns and starts to slow.