Page 22 of Devil’s Gambit

BELLA

The balcony tiles are ice under my bare feet, November stealing warmth through the stone like it's trying to wake me from this dream. Or nightmare. I can't tell anymore.

The wind cuts through my silk nightgown, raising goosebumps that have nothing to do with the cold.

My body still hums from last night—Dante's hands, his mouth, the promises we made while planning murder like foreplay.

The bruises on my hips throb with each heartbeat, reminders that I chose him. Again. And again.

My fingers find the weight in my pocket, checking for the hundredth time. Still there. Cold metal warming against my palm, my insurance policy.

Behind me, through the French doors, my emergency bag sits on the bed like an accusation. A thousand in cash—skimmed from Dante's desk drawer, where he keeps bills like spare change. A change of clothes, nothing fancy, nothing that would draw attention. Everything a woman needs to disappear.

Plan B, if Plan A leaves me bleeding.

I lean over the railing until vertigo makes my vision swim.

The estate sprawls below like a maximum-security prison.

Security lights sweep in calculated patterns—seven seconds of darkness between each pass.

I've counted. I've memorized. From up here, the guards are invisible, but I feel them.

Walking their routes with military precision, earpieces crackling with check-ins every fifteen minutes.

The Dobermans are easier to spot. Two shadows coiled near the fountain, their breathing visible in the cold air. In daylight, they're Zeus and Apollo—playful names for animals trained to tear out throats on command. Now they’re sleeping demons, waiting for the wrong footstep to wake them.

My stomach clenches so hard I nearly vomit. How can I leave? After what we've been through, how can I vanish like smoke?

But how can I stay? The war I started is building like a storm. Bodies will pile up because I chose violence over surrender. And Sofia's whispered warnings echo: the FBI is closing in. Federal prison or a bullet—those are the only endings to this story.

The knock comes like a ghost's whisper, but my body was expecting it. Every muscle locks. My heart hammers so hard I taste copper.

I pad across the room.

Sofia stands in the hallway. Her servant's uniform is pressed to perfection, but her face has transformed—sharp angles and hunter's eyes, scanning for threats. She carries a bundle of fabric.

"Ready?"

"I'm going to die." The words tumble out, raw truth.

She pushes past me, closing the door. "Put these on. Now." The bundle hits my bed—a polyester maid's uniform, blonde wig, and thick-framed glasses that will turn me into nobody. "You need to be invisible."

The uniform feels like wearing my own death shroud—rough, cheap, wrong after weeks of silk and cashmere. My hands shake so badly I can barely work the buttons. Goosebumps explode across my exposed skin like a disease.

"If they catch us—" I start.

"They'll kill us both." No comfort, just fact. "Your boyfriend doesn't forgive betrayal. Ever."

"What if I can't do this?" The words come out strangled. "What if I belong here now? With him?"

Sofia's expression hardens into something inhuman. "Then you'll die in federal prison after watching everyone you love get destroyed. This house is built on corpses, Bella. The foundation will crack. It always does."

My fingers fumble with the pocket, transferring the weight from silk to polyester. Sofia's checking her watch and doesn't see my movement. The metal feels heavier now.

"We need to move." She cracks the door, peering out like a sniper checking for targets. "Shift change in twelve minutes. That's our window. After that, we're dead."

Every cell in my body screams to stop. To crawl back into bed. To wait for Dante to come and make me forget that any world exists beyond this beautiful cemetery.

But my feet follow her anyway, and each step feels like walking on needles.

The house transforms in pre-dawn darkness. It becomes a labyrinth, endless and malevolent. Our footsteps don't even whisper. Every shadow could hide a guard with a gun. Every creak could be our execution announcement. My heart pounds so loud it must be audible three floors down.

We descend the main staircase one agonizing step at a time. The grandfather clock in the foyer ticks like a countdown to death. Each second stretches into hours.

"Back door?" I barely breathe the words.

"Suicide." Sofia's response is sharp. "Three guards, two cameras, motion sensors. The front door—the obvious exit—has minimal coverage. Human psychology. Nobody expects you to walk out the front door."

She reaches for the handle, and my chest constricts so hard I see spots. This door has been my cage for days. The barrier between Dante's kingdom and everything else.

But to my surprise, the door opens without a sound. The cold hits my lungs like water, drowning me in terror. We step outside, and every nerve ending screams.

The estate lawn stretches before us; a nightmarish gray pre-dawn light draped over every inch.

We're halfway to the gate when death materializes from the shadows.

The figure emerges like a horror movie villain—black suit stretched over steroid-enhanced muscle, hand already on his weapon. My blood turns to slush. Can't breathe. Can't think. Can't?—

"Martinez." His voice cuts through the cold. "Early morning?"

"Friday, Rodriguez." Sofia's tone stays impossibly level while my world ends. "Weekend off. You know this."

Rodriguez. One of the morning guards. Ex-military, Marco told me once. Killed seventeen men in Afghanistan. Now he kills for Dante.

His eyes shift to me, dissecting layer by layer. "Don't recognize this one."

Behind him, Zeus lifts his massive head. His ears swivel toward us like radar dishes. His eyes reflect red in the security lights.

"New girl," I manage, though my throat feels lined with glass. "Hired yesterday. Mr. Marco Caruso personally recruited me. Said I had all the... qualifications he was looking for."

Rodriguez snorts. "Another one. Christ. Man's gonna catch something one of these days." He steps closer, and I smell gunpowder and cigarettes. "Protocol. Both of you. Arms out."

Sofia spreads her arms immediately. Rodriguez pats her down with military efficiency—ankles, waist, arms, checking for weapons or wires. Her bag gets dumped, contents examined like evidence. Nothing. Clean.

Then he turns to me.

My knees almost buckle. The weight in my pocket feels like it's glowing, screaming its presence.

"Bag first," I say quickly, shoving it at him before he can touch me. "Everything's in there. I don't trust pockets."

He opens it, whistles at the cash. "Jesus. That's more than I make in a month."

"Tips accumulate when you work the right parties," I lie, watching his hands and waiting for them to move to my pockets. "Rich men get generous when they're drunk and you're pretty."

He laughs—a harsh sound that makes Zeus's ears flatten. "Yeah, I bet they do." He hands the bag back, already dismissing us. We're through. We're actually?—

Zeus stands.

The Doberman rises to his full height, and I understand why Dante named him after a god. He stares at me with the intensity of something that smells prey. That knows I don't belong. His mouth opens, and the barking explodes into the morning like machine-gun fire.

"Fucking hell!" Rodriguez spins, shouting. "Zeus! Stand down! It's five in the goddamn morning!"

But the dog keeps barking, advancing now, hackles raised. Apollo joins from across the lawn, their barks creating a symphony of alarm that must be waking the entire compound.

"Move," Sofia hisses, her hand clamping onto my elbow hard enough to bruise. "Now."

We walk—not run, never run from dogs—but fast. Each bark feels like it's tearing pieces from my back. The sound follows us past the gate, into the road, into my bones where it will live forever.

The road is empty. Just asphalt cutting through the forest. No civilization visible in any direction. Dawn is starting to bleed purple and pink across the horizon, beautiful and terrible.

"We're still on Caruso property," I whisper, looking at the endless trees that could hide anything.

"I know." Sofia's scanning the tree line with purpose. "Just need to find... there."

She spots something invisible to normal eyes—a fake rock that doesn't match the others. From behind it, she pulls a device that looks like a TV remote. She runs it over both of us, and I hear tiny pops like firecrackers.

"Now we can actually speak," she says, grinding the dead chips under her heel. "We have maybe three hours before Dante realizes you're gone. Before he turns this state into a war zone looking for you."

The thought of Dante waking to find me gone makes my chest cave in. Will he think I betrayed him? Will he understand?

"I need to go back." The words explode out, desperate. "This is insane. I can't vanish. Not after everything?—"

"You can. You will." Her voice has steel in it. "You're going to be safer than you've ever been."

"How? How can you promise that? Who the hell are you?"

Just then, a car squeals around the bend. Black sedan. Too many antennas. It pulls up beside us.

"Front seat," Sofia commands.

I open the door, and my world tilts.

Behind the wheel sits the Korean waitress from last night's gala. The one with the canapés and the practiced smile. The one Domenico complimented.

"What the hell?—"

"Get in the vehicle, Miss Rossi." Her voice has transformed completely. "We're already behind schedule."

I slide in, mind fracturing, trying to piece together a twisted puzzle. Sofia gets in the back, and we're moving before I can process what’s happening.

The sunrise paints the world in false beauty—gold and rose and everything I'm leaving behind. My hands won't stop shaking. Violent tremors that make my teeth chatter. The heater's blasting, but I'm frozen from the inside.