The escape
1707 Words
Ruthlyn’s POV
My lungs were screaming.
Every breath tasted like pulverized marble and expensive gunpowder. The air was too thick, like the Cathedral was trying to choke down what had just happened.
George’s hand was a vice around mine, dragging me through a door I hadn’t even noticed behind the heavy velvet curtains of the dais.
Behind us, the Cathedral was a nightmare of echoes,shouts, heavy boots, and the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of submachine guns.
“George, wait…” I stumbled, my torn emerald hem catching under my foot.
He didn’t slow down. He didn't even look back. He kicked open a rusted iron grate, revealing a narrow stone staircase that smelled like damp earth and ancient rot.
,“You fall behind, you stay behind.” he rasped, his voice low and vibrating with a lethal edge. “Move.”
We descended into the dark, the sounds of the m******e fading into a dull, heavy vibration above our heads.
George’s POV
My adrenaline was a jagged blade in my throat.
I checked the corner of every turn, my Glock raised, my thumb hovering over the safety. We were in the "Lower Veins"—the catacombs the Council used when the daylight world became too loud.
I could hear Ruthlyn’s frantic breathing behind me. She was terrified, but she was moving. After what she’d just done,using a three-thousand-pound table to crush a Valenti sniper,I realized I didn’t have a "shipyard girl" on my arm anymore. I had a liability that had just promoted herself to a target.
“Arthur,” I barked into my earpiece. “Extraction at the River Gate. Now.”
“Sir, the Valentis have the bridge blocked. We’re rerouting the armored unit to the South Tunnel.”
Damn it.
I stopped at a junction, the dim orange glow of the emergency lights casting Ruthlyn’s face in sharp, terrifying detail. She was covered in white dust, her eyes wide, staring at the blood on my cuff.
Ruthlyn’s POV
The silence down here was worse than the noise. It felt like the walls were leaning in, listening to us.
“That money…” My voice cracked before I could stop it. “The eighty-nine million… that wasn’t medicine, was it?”
George finally turned. He didn't look like the billionaire on the news anymore. He looked like the ghost of every person his family had ever stepped on to get to the top.
“It’s leverage, Ruthlyn. In this city, that’s better than medicine.”
“You’re not just a monster,” I whispered. “You’re the reason they exist,the realization finally settling into my bones. I wasn't just married to a rich jerk. I was married to a war.
George stepped into my space, pinning me against the damp stone wall. He didn't touch me, but his shadow swallowed me whole.
“I am the man who is going to get you home alive,” he hissed. “And right now, that monster is the only thing standing between you and a Valenti interrogation room. So keep your judgment for the car ride. We have a gate to reach.”
A sudden, sharp metallic click echoed from the darkness of the tunnel ahead of us.
George didn't hesitate. He shoved me into a narrow alcove and raised his weapon, his eyes tracking the shadows.
“Uncle Vincent?” George called out, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on my arms stand up. “I know that’s your security detail. If they fire, I’ll make sure the Lion Head knows exactly who orchestrated the breach tonight.”
George’s POV
From the darkness, a figure stepped into the light. It wasn't the Valentis.
It was my uncle’s lead enforcer, his face a mask of cold indifference. Behind him, four men in tactical gear leveled their rifles at us.
.The enforcer stepped into the light, adjusting the silver lion-head pin on his collar,the same one Vincent wore at every family gathering.
“Your uncle is concerned. He thinks the ‘shipyard variable’ has become too loud. He’s requested we take her to a... safer location. For her protection, of course.”
I felt Ruthlyn stiffen beside me.
The betrayal didn't sting,it felt expected. Vincent didn't want the Valentis to win; he just wanted me to lose.
“She’s a Moretti,” I said, my voice as cold as the stone around us. “And she stays with me.”
I looked at Ruthlyn. She looked at the four rifles pointed at her chest, then back at me. For a second, the fear in her eyes vanished, replaced by that same sharp, shipyard defiance I’d seen at the table.
“George?” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
“I really hope you have more than one magazine.”
I felt a ghost of a smirk touch my lips. “Enough"
Ruthlyn’s POV
The air in the tunnel turned from damp to frozen.
I looked at the enforcer,a man I’d seen pouring wine for Uncle Vincent just hours ago,and something in my chest tightened. In this world, a smile wasn’t kindness. It was camouflage.
They didn’t care about the Gala. Not the dead. Not the chaos upstairs. This was something cleaner. Colder.
A handover.
“A safer location?” I asked, my voice echoing off the stone. “Is that near the northern crane assembly George mentioned… or is that just where inconvenient people disappear?”
The enforcer’s gaze sharpened. “You’re a quick study, Madam Moretti. That’s unfortunate. Quick studies tend to notice too much.”
George stepped slightly in front of me. Not fully shielding,just enough. A statement without noise.
“You’re overplaying your hand, Vincent,” George said calmly. “If she disappears now, the Council will tear him apart before sunrise.”
“Your uncle is willing to risk that,” the enforcer replied. His fingers drifted closer to his weapon. “He believes a grieving nephew is easier to control than a ruling one.”
A silence followed,tight, dangerous.
And in that silence, I noticed it.
The faint smell of gas.
George’s POV
The math was simple. And still suicidal.
Four rifles. One Glock. One tunnel that could become a coffin in seconds.
And Ruthlyn…who had just realized her life was no longer theoretical.
I didn’t have an advantage.
So I created one.
“Ruthlyn,” I said quietly. “Left pocket. Silver lighter. Take it.”
Her hand slipped into my pocket. Cold fingers. Controlled, but trembling just enough to remind me she was still human.
“What am I supposed to do with it?” she whispered.
“When I say now, you throw it at the gas main. Ten feet back. Then you run.”
Her breath hitched. “That will destroy the tunnel.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
Not hesitation.
Understanding.
Ruthlyn’s POV
He was insane.
Not reckless. Not careless.
Strategically insane.
I looked up. The rusted pipe ran along the ceiling like a forgotten artery. Old. Weak. Waiting.
The smell of gas was stronger now.
The enforcer stepped forward. “Hand her over, George. Don’t turn this into a story people regret surviving.”
George didn’t look at him.
“Everything in this family is a story people regret,” he said softly.
His eyes met mine.
Not asking.
Trusting.
Something inside me shifted.
“Now!”
I moved before fear could catch up.
The lighter left my hand.
Time slowed in that strange way it does right before disaster.
A metallic clink.
George’s POV
I didn’t aim at men.
I aimed at control.
Two shots.
The valve sparked.
Gas met fire like it had been waiting its whole life for permission.
The tunnel erupted.
Not just sound,impact. A living force.
The blast hit like a god waking up angry.
Bodies flew backward into shadow.
I grabbed Ruthlyn before she could think. Before she could become regret.
“MOVE.”
Flames chased our heels as we shoved through a service door and into a rusted ladder shaft.
The world above became motion and smoke.
We climbed.
Not gracefully.
Not safely.
Just alive.
Ruthlyn’s POV
We burst through the trapdoor into cold air that felt almost unreal.
Then silence hit.
Not peace.
Shock.
We were in a graveyard.
Fog wrapped around marble headstones like breath that refused to leave the earth.
I collapsed instantly.
Not from pain.
From release.
My lungs burned like they were remembering how to exist.
George stood over me, coat gone, shirt smeared with soot and something darker.
He was reloading.
Efficient. Detached. Controlled.
And that scared me more than the explosion.
“We’re clear for now,” he said.
My laugh came out sharp. Unbelieving.
“You almost turned me into collateral damage.”
That finally made him look at me properly.
Something shifted in his expression—just a flicker.
Respect. Maybe something deeper he hadn’t named yet.
“You hit the valve on the first try,” he said. “Most trained men miss that under pressure.”
“I work on ships, George,” I snapped, pushing myself up. “I understand pressure systems. But don’t ever decide I’m expendable again.”
The silence between us stretched.
Then he stepped closer.
Not threatening.
Not apologizing.
Just present.
His hand came up,slow enough for me to stop him if I wanted.
He didn’t say anything for a moment.
Just looked at me like he was recalculating what I was.
“You’re not a grenade,” he said finally. “You’re the fuse.”
The words landed heavier than the explosion.
“And I think,” he added quietly, “my uncle just realized that too late.”
A sudden engine cut through the fog.
Headlights sliced across the graveyard.
An armored SUV rolled to a stop.
Arthur stepped out first,weapon raised, face tight.
“Sir,” he called. “They’re regrouping. And the Council is calling an emergency session.”
George didn’t move immediately.
He looked at me.
Not like a burden.
Not like protection.
Like consequence.
Then he turned toward the car.
“The war just changed shape,” he said. “And Ruthlyn…”
A pause.
Not soft.
Not kind.
Certain.
“…you’re already in it.”
- Writer
