THE DEBT BRIDE

3

FIORELLA

The house was too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that came with sleep, but the wrong kind—the kind that hummed in your bones and warned you that the night was holding its breath. Somewhere, deep in the belly of the manor, a pipe groaned. Then nothing.

I crouched by the hallway’s edge, I felt my fingers curl tighter around Liora’s wrist. Her pulse beat wildly against my palm, but her eyes were clear. No tears. No fear left to squeeze out. Just the same grim determination that had settled on both of us like ash the moment she agreed to run.

As we tiptoed through the hall way, I thought about what exactly was in Liora’s head. I know I wanted her to run away with me but the decision seemed too sudden. I wondered if she would be able to see it through. She had a really soft upbringing and never had to do anything dangerous at all. In fact, I expected that any moment, she’d change her mind and turn around.

But it never came.

A guard passed the hallway, whistling something lazy and off-key. He was sluggish and dragged himself along. Still we didn’t move until his shadow melted down the stairs and the sound faded into the thrum of the generator outside.

I tapped Liora once—go.

Planning the escape was relatively easy. It was her home and she knew every nook of the place, every schedule, every staff. It was seamless.

But now that it was happening, every second felt like a lie waiting to be caught.

The kitchen door was unlocked, as Liora had said.

I slid it open, and the cold hit us like a slap. The sea air curled into the manor’s warmth and chilled my sweat-damp shirt. Outside, the garden stretched out like a trap—moonlight scattered on the iron fence, and the hedges. It was way too open. Too exposed.

But our car was out there. Freedom was out there. We didn’t have much choice. I closed my eyes and whispered the Hail Mary .

And then We ran.

Branches scraped against my jacket as we ducked low, sprinting along the garden’s edge to the garage. My breath misted in the air. My heart was so loud I was sure the guards could hear it from their posts.

It felt like we had been running forever when we finally got to the BMW. it was parked closed to the east gate so it was quite the distance. we were already sweating quite a bit despite the chilling morning air.

I reached beneath the wheel well, fingers numb, and found the key. Not my car. Not technically. But it would be ours tonight.

Liora slid into the passenger seat, quiet as a ghost while I eased behind the wheel.

The engine coughed to life. I flinched.

Too loud.

A light snapped on inside the house. There were no thoughts.

“Drive,” Liora whispered, not pleading—commanding.

We moved, slow at first, wheels crunching the gravel like bones. The gate loomed ahead, closed. One guard, smoking. His silhouette propped against the small balcony of the small security house.

I rolled down the window halfway as we approached. My voice came out hoarse, fake-sleepy.

“He wants espresso. Real stuff, not the bitter s**t the cook makes.”

The guard squinted as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. My heart dropped.

“You’ll get yourself shot waking people up at this hour.”

“Better me than you,” I muttered as I hurriedly raised the windows.

He chuckled and opened the gate.

And we were through.

The second we cleared the bend, I hit the gas like our lives depended on it.

Trees blurred past. My hands gripped the wheel tight, like letting go would send us spinning into the night.

We didn’t speak. Like we were scared that somehow someone might still hear us. Liora just stared ahead, jaw clenched, as if she could will the world to get out of our way.

Ten minutes. That’s all we needed. A container ship was scheduled to leave at five. We had until then to disappear. I looked at the time piece on the dashboard: 4:47 AM

The highway was empty. The ocean shimmered on our right, black and bottomless. I let out a slow breath. We were making good time. We were winning.

Headlights suddenly bounced off my rearview mirror straight into my eyes.

A black sedan. No, Two. Headlights dim. No plates.

“Liora,” I said, not taking my eyes off the mirror.

She saw it too. Her shoulders tensed. “How did they....”

“They didn’t.”

“So how—?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know. It didn't matter now.

The sedan closed the distance by a few car lengths. I signaled a turn and took it—sharper than I meant. The sedan followed.

My stomach twisted.

This wasn’t paranoia. They were definitely after us.

I cut through a gas station and veered into the industrial district, where shipping crates towered over cracked roads. The car was still behind us.

“Okay,” I said, more to myself than her. “They want to follow? Let’s see how good they are.”

I made a hard left onto a loading ramp, killed the lights, and slid down a back alley behind a stack of rusted shipping containers. The BMW’s tires hissed against damp pavement.

“Out,” I hissed. “Help me push.”

We shoved the car behind a container that reeked of oil and dead salt. I popped the glove compartment, grabbed a crowbar, and smashed the taillights. No shine. No giveaways. Hopefully that might be enough.

From the street, we heard an engine growl.

We ducked low and climbed a chain-link fence, landing hard in the gravel on the other side. I tasted blood—bit my tongue, maybe. Didn’t care.

Gunfire cracked.

“They are shooting at us!”, Liora exclaimed.

The shots were distant and wild. These were professionals.

I grabbed Liora’s hand.

“They are just trying to herd us, scare us. Come on.”

It worked.

We sprinted through the maze of the dockyard, darting between forklifts and parked trailers. Voices echoed behind us. Flashlights skimmed across walls.

“There!” someone shouted.

We kept running.

The container ship loomed ahead, massive and grim. Its hull glistened with condensation, like it had been sweating out secrets all night.

The last crate was being hoisted onto the deck. The ramp was already starting to lift.

“Fiorella—”

“Jump!”

I grabbed her hand and pulled. We launched ourselves off the dock’s edge, landing on the suspended cargo netting with a painful thud. Rope bit into my arms as we scrambled upward, using the metal rungs along the hull to pull ourselves in.

Inside, the hold was dark and close. Diesel fumes and salt filled my nose. The ship groaned and vibrated beneath us. We were moving.

I found an empty container near the back, shoved open the door, and pulled her inside. We collapsed against a stack of crates.

We sat there, panting, shaking, more importantly alive.

Liora leaned her head against the wall. “Did we make it?”

I didn’t answer right away. The engine was humming beneath us. The night outside was dissolving. It felt like safety.

“We made it,” I whispered, almost surprised to hear myself say it.

I almost chuckled. Tonight was easily the most interesting night of both our lives. For me, that was saying something. I didn't grow up in a manor in acres of private property, the streets were my home. I had been in more interesting situations than I cared to remember. One of those led me to Liora.

Suddenly, something shifted, clanged against the side of the container, snapping out of my trip down memory lane. We were startled upright.

I reached slowly for the crowbar still strapped to my side.

A tall figure stepped into the light pooling in through the container slats. Coat dark, eyes unreadable. A scar ran down the right side of his jaw like a question mark.

“I was starting to wonder if you two would make it,” he said, voice low and patient.

Liora’s hand found mine.

My breath caught.