Page 14 of Depths of Desire (The Emerald Dagger Mafia #3)

I’ll take the first flight out, wherever it goes. But will it be early enough? He’ll look for me there—that’ll be the first place he checks. So if I don’t go to Nice, where do I go?

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don’t want to answer it. But it’s Pippa—not Mia. So maybe… just maybe...I pick it up with a snarl. “What?”

“That’s a hell of a thing,” she starts. “You accused Mia of putting business before friendship.”

“But you and I both know… that’s what she’s doing. Don’t we?”

Silence.

“You’ve got to understand,” Pippa starts, “she’s under a lot of pressure.”

“I don’t have to understand anything. Mia is selling me out. I’m sure she’s telling Renzo right now.”

Pippa sighs. “What can I do to help?”

“Help with what?”

“I know you’re going on the run,” Pippa states.

“And I don’t blame you one bit. I wouldn’t marry him either—he’s a miserable son of a bitch.

And honestly? I think they’re being short-sighted.

Renzo’s under pressure, sure. But if you marry Comescu, then he gets a say.

If your father’s under his thumb, like you said, he’ll start lobbying for him.

Then the old guard will start making alliances.

You know how that goes. A lot of them aren’t pleased with Renzo—they think he’s not showing enough respect.

“They’re wrong, of course. The truth is, Renzo’s been more than kind to most of these men and let them get away with shit. If Mia’s dad were still in charge, he would have had our fathers' kill anyone who stood up against him. And they would’ve done it.”

A laugh bubbles up, halfway to a sob. It feels so good to have someone see this from my perspective.

“Oh, Pippa. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to hear you say all that. I’ve been so scared.”

“I wish you’d come to me sooner,” she says. “I might’ve been able to help.”

“I can’t let you get in the middle of this. If Luca or Renzo finds out…”

Pippa sighs. “Honestly? I think if you gave Mia a chance, she’d come to the same conclusion. It’s just harder for her.”

“Maybe,” I say, but I don’t sound convinced.

“None of this solves the problem of what to do with you,” Pippa points out.

“I know. I was just thinking that. I’ve got a bag packed, but even if I get off the property, I don’t know where to go. Nico will look at the Nice airport first.”

“Then don’t go to the airport.”

“Okay. But since I did the unexpected last time by going on the freighter where Nico found me, what will he expect me to do this time? Something normal? Something unexpected? I don’t know.”

“Take a breath,” she says. “We’ll figure this out.”

She goes silent, and over the phone line, I hear her nails clicking on something.

“A yacht,” she says finally. “You need to hide on a yacht.”

I rub my forehead. “To what end? And whose yacht? If we use any of the Valdici yachts, they’ll all know right away, and if they know, chances are good, so will my father.”

Pippa ignores my outburst. “If we can get you to sail—no.” She pauses. “That’s too close.”

More tapping. “Sardinia. Or Malta. Let’s get you to one of those islands. You can fly out and disappear.”

I bite my lip. “Okay, but once again, whose yacht? How do we do it without being found? The family yachts are off limits.”

“Yeah, but you know who isn’t under their control?”

“Who?” I have no clue who she is talking about.

“Royce Dunbar.”

“Oh my God, Pippa” I say, laughing. “I called him for his jet, but we never used it.”

“I know,” she replies. “I can reach out to him about the yacht. You never know when you’re going to need a friend.”

My stomach knots. “Do you think he’d do it? I mean we never used the jet, and he went to a lot of trouble for us.”

“I think if I asked him—and told him it was for you? Hell yeah, he’d do it. But it might take a couple of days. I don’t know where his yacht is.”

“And how do I get out of here? I mean, I’ve got the bag packed. But with everything going on, security’s going to be tight.”

“I’m pretty sure we can get you out,” Pippa says. “We just need to come up with a plan they won’t suspect. Something they’ll approve of. Leave it with me.”

“You can’t tell Mia,” I say.

Pippa hesitates.

“Don’t tell Mia. Please don’t tell her.”

Pippa finally relents. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything unless I know she’s totally on our side. We’re going to figure this out. I promise.”

I want to believe her, I really do, but doubt creeps up my throat.

“Is this your phone? I got the number from when Mia called earlier,” she says.

“It’s the one Carson gave me. The butler. I’ll keep it, but I won’t necessarily have it on me all the time. I’m afraid Nico’s going to take it. I kind of feel like I’m being held prisoner here.”

“All right. I’ll get back to you when I can. Hang in there.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Right back at you.” Pippa blows me a kiss by saying “Mwah.” And then she’s gone.

I lower the phone and look around the room.

Where can I hide it? It has to be somewhere they won’t think of looking.

I pick up my go-bag and wedge it between the dresser and the wall.

Then I step into the hallway and head for the third door on the right—the library. I noticed it on the way down earlier.

I slide inside. The walls are lined floor to ceiling with books.

French doors lead to a small balcony. There’s a desk in the corner with scattered papers—nothing urgent, just leftovers.

I drift toward the shelves. There are first editions, textbooks, and well-worn fiction.

Nico’s a reader? That surprises me. My fingers skim the spines. Some are my old favorites.

Then I see it—The Art of Escape. Oh, the irony.

I almost hide the phone there, but no. Too obvious.

I keep looking. Finally, I find the perfect book, The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness.

Totally me. I snicker as I tuck the phone behind it and then line everything up neat and tidy, so it doesn’t stick out.

I cross to the balcony doors and glance out.

Rolling hills slope down to the Mediterranean.

Now all I can do is sit tight and trust that Pippa’s going to get me out of here.

I want to trust her. I want to believe she’ll make this happen.

But a big part of me knows—it’s a long shot.

Which means I need a Plan B. And it has to be a damn good one.

Because I’m only going to get one shot at this. If I don’t make it out in the next couple of days…I’m never getting out.