Page 48 of Forced to Marry the Russian Bratva

I use all my strength to boost her up toward the window without her having to struggle for it, and she catches the ledge, pulling herself up.

For a split second, I allow myself to admire the curve of her body as she wriggles through the tight opening.

But then, someone starts banging loudly and rapidly on the door. Gela gasps as she throws me a petrified look through the window.

Whoever is on the other side now kicks so hard that the door rattles.

“Hurry, they’re coming!” she whispers.

I grab the trash can, jump onto it, grab the window ledge, and pull myself up as quickly as I can. The window frame scrapes against my back as I force myself through.

Just as I tumble out into the alley behind the café, I hear wood splintering. The door won't hold much longer.

“Run!” I grab Gela's hand, and we sprint down the alley.

The alley opens onto a side street, and I pull her sharply to the left, toward where I parked.

“Almost there,” I pant as we round another corner.

Behind us, I hear shouting. Those men must have figured out where we went.

We reach my car, both of us breathless. I unlock the car with the remote and run to the driver’s side. “Get in!” I urge Gela.

Within seconds, we’re both inside with the doors closed. I slam down on the tires, driving away as fast as I can. When I look into the rear-view mirror, I see the two men from the café stop just where the car had been parked.

“Fuck,” I hiss. “That was close.”

“Too close.” Gela’s voice is small and terrified. I throw her a look, and she’s ashen in the face. Her shoulders are pressed into the seat so hard it’s like she’s in a permanent state of feeling threatened.

“I’m going to take a different route home, okay?” I say, keeping my eyes on the road ahead and behind. “Just in case they’re following.”

She doesn’t respond. She’s still trembling.

I take a bunch of random turns, and only when I’m sure there’s no car I recognize behind us, do I take the turn for our house.

“Do you see them?” Gela asks, curling into herself like she’s too tired to look back.

“No. I think we’re good,” I mutter, but take a look around just for safety.

Twenty minutes of paranoid driving later, we finally pull through the gates of my estate, where armed guards patrol the perimeter.

“You can breathe now,” I tell her, though my own heart is still pounding.

She doesn't say a word. She just stares straight ahead, and her silence worries me more than if she were panicking. I’d take her yelling over this hollow look any day.

I park in the garage, and we sit there for a moment, during which neither of us moves. I wait for her to register we’re back, but I don’t think she does.

“Gela,” I say softly. “We're home. We're safe.”

She nods but doesn't move.

I turn in my seat to face her properly. “They didn't follow us. We're okay.”

“This time,” she whispers.

I reach for her hand, and she doesn't pull away.

“Come on,” I say gently. “Let's get inside.”