Twins for the Mafia Heir (The Warwicks #3)

42. Emma

Chapter 42

Emma

N o sooner had I entered the dining room than Fantasia ordered her men to drag Achilles and me down to a cell.

Achilles is very unhappy to see me, but he’s whole and alive and here .

If we weren’t both locked in cages, I’d be happier now than I have been for the last month and a half.

As soon as our jailer leaves us alone in the honest-to-god dungeon sitting below Wesley Hall, Achilles presses himself up against the bars of his cell, across the hall from mine.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” he demands, his eyes so wide in the dim light that I can still see the whites of them.

“Being a captive, as usual,” I say smartly, and Achilles’s teeth grind together so hard I think I can hear it. I clear my throat and say with more gravity, “I was in London trying to figure out what happened to you. Before that, I stopped by the safe house because I- because I wanted to talk to you.”

Achilles’s expression tightens. “I… see.”

Does he?

I wrap my fingers around the bars of my cell, and Achilles’s eyes go to them. They flash with recognition when he sees the wedding ring that I’ve never forsaken.

His left hand isn’t visible- it’s impossible to know if he’s also wearing his ring, but I wouldn’t be surprised if not.

Swallowing hard, I ask, “What was your plan?” He came in here with a plan, at least, I’m sure of that. He didn’t share it with Piers, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t exist-

“Bluff,” Achilles says bitterly, and shakes his head. “This wasn’t any of your business, Emma. You shouldn’t be involved.”

I try to ignore the way that knife twists in my gut. It doesn’t work. “You’re the one who involved me in the first place,” I tell him, my words tasting bitter. “You tried to take it back, but it didn’t work.”

“It didn’t work because you came back ,” Achilles spits. “If you’d stayed where you belonged, you’d be-”

“I belong here !” I burst out, shocking him for the first time. I struggle to control my voice, but it still shakes when I go on. “I belong with you and Sidony.”

Achilles turns his face away, but I’m not going to let him ignore this. “I don’t care how I ended up here, Achilles. What matters is that I’ve never loved anywhere and anyone more!” My throat is too tight, my words too raw. I swallow, trying desperately to avoid begging him to let me stay. Instead I manage, “If you don’t want me, that’s something else completely. But you did want me. You can’t deny that.”

“Oh, I can,” Achilles says, glaring at the far wall instead of at me. “I’ve been doing it since I put you on that fucking plane.”

That’s it. I don’t want to hear anymore. Paul told me I should find the answer, and that’s as much an answer as I can bear to hear. Achilles has been trying to forget about me, about us, since the moment I left.

I just had to shove my way back into his life where I wasn’t wanted.

It takes me several seconds to steady my breathing and blink back any hint of tears. Once I’m composed, I say, “What’s your real plan?” Achilles’s gaze rises to meet mine, frustrated, and I clarify, “What do you know? Have the patrols changed? The people you were dining with- who are they? Shareholders, new generals, Ashwoods? Can I trust any of them? If we want to get out of here tonight, how much chance do we have in a fight? Also, where did you put my bracelet from the first night? Do you remember?”

Achilles blinks at me. “It’s in the middle drawer of my dresser in the closet. Under some shirts.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing. “What are you-”

I answer by slipping one foot past the bars- easy enough. I remember reading that older prisons often had wider bar spacing, a deliberate design for ease of ventilation and to make it harder for prisoners to conceal items. I twist sideways, carefully angling my hips between the cold metal. The old bars are uneven, with just enough of a gap to make it possible. I hold my breath, flatten my stomach and shift my ribs through the opening. Thank God I’m not any further along in this pregnancy, or this wouldn’t be possible.

My swollen breasts, though more noticeable now, don’t hinder my escape at all. I ease my shoulder past the widest part, turn my head, and wriggle my ears through. Once they clear, the rest of my head and body follow with a final, freeing twist- and I’m out.

Achilles stares down at me, his mouth open. I stare back at him, my heart aching so hard I almost double over.

I could sneak out of the house myself, rendezvous with Paul out in the city, and leave London forever. I’ve gotten my answer after all.

I won’t do that, of course. I would never be able to live with myself if I left Achilles down here on his own.

What I also won’t do is tell him about my pregnancy, since that would only complicate things for him. After tonight, I’ll go home and mourn and… eventually move on. Somehow.

But first, I’m getting us out of here.

“Answer the rest of my questions,” I tell him, keeping myself on the opposite side of the hall from him, as far as I can be while still being close enough to whisper. I need to focus on what happens next, or I won’t be able to keep from crying. “Hurry, before any guards come and find me loose.”

I find my old wire bracelet exactly where Achilles said it was. The Ashwoods I’m looking for are much less easily located.

There are seven of them, not counting various staff members they brought with them, and while the numbers seem far too small to be useful, I won’t turn my nose up to any help at this point. I creep through Wesley Hall, dodging patrolling mercs and any staff that might feel compelled to report my presence. I find two older Ashwood men in the drawing room, where Fantasia is conspicuously absent. They’re sipping scotch by the fire, murmuring together in low tones I can’t quite make out.

I slip into the shadows on the opposite side of the room, where the fire’s light can’t reach me. If I startle them enough that they pull a weapon on me, they’ll be too nightblind to see me before I’m back out of the room.

“Don’t shout,” I command in a low voice. The men leap out of their seats, heads whipping around to find the source of the voice.

“Who the devil-”

“I said don’t shout,” I cut him off sharply, stepping out from the shadows, my presence sudden and unmissable. “I’m Emma, from dinner. You’re Ashwoods, correct?”

“Robert and Carlisle,” one of them says, squinting towards me, confusion on his face. “How did you-”

“Achilles says it’s time to move,” I interrupt, my voice steady and firm. “Use your knives as long as you can. Avoid noise. He’ll be out in a minute to join you.”

The men exchange wary glances. The other steps closer to my corner. “I’m Robert,” he says, a hint of a polite but guarded smile tugging at his lips. “A pleasure. Tell him we’re ready. Are you armed, miss?”

“No,” I say, my tone even, not a trace of hesitation. “But I will be.”

Robert opens the front of his jacket and pulls two handguns out of a hidden pocket. I realize from the bulk of the jacket that he’s not as big a man as he initially looked, but that his suit is padded to hold these hidden weapons without being noticed by a pat down. He hands both guns to me. I have to assume he’s got more smuggled away on his person if he’s willing to give them up, so I take them without a second thought, offering a brief, silent thanks before slipping out of the room, my mind already focused on the next move.

I find three younger Ashwood men and an older Ashwood woman outside. They’re all sitting on the terrace, with the woman complaining loudly about her hot flashes and the men apparently trapped into entertaining her. When I whisper at them, the woman howls with shock. To her credit, she immediately covers it up with,

“By jove, Harry! Did you see that duck! I swear, it flew right at my face!”

“You’re all right, Auntie,” one of the men, Harry, says almost as loudly. “I’m sure they don’t bite.”

Once they’ve settled down, I repeat my message to them. To my surprise, the older woman seems the most anticipatory of the coming violence.

“I missed the fox hunt this year, so this will be a right fine replacement!”

There’s one more Ashwood to track down, and I finally find him in a room upstairs, drinking tea and reading in his armchair. He nearly flings the tea at me when I break in, but despite his enormous bottle glass spectacles, he recognizes me just in time. I relay my call to action, and am moving again in seconds.

I’m back at the bottom of the house and on my way through the cellar that leads to the dungeon when a shadow moves in the corner of my eye. I pull one of the guns Robert lent me- and immediately throw my aim up toward the ceiling.

“Paul!!” I hiss, my body sagging with relief. “You found me!”

“‘Course I did,” Paul says, coming to meet me out of the darkness on the other side of the room. “I had to know you’d somehow end up in the place we promised to avoid.”

I grin, feeling better about this entire plan already. “I’m springing Achilles, and his relatives are storming the house. You should probably stay close to us, since they don’t know you.”

“Sounds like a plan, kid. Lead the way.”