Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“Hello?” I croak.
There’s a pause on the other line before Mariella speaks. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes.” I force the word out, even as every fiber of my being resists the idea.
Mariella knows the rules. It’s what we all agreed on. No questions asked. She can’t convince me to stay, and I know as much as it hurts her, she will keep her word.
“We’ll need a few minutes to lose our guards,” she tells me. “Go to Fox Run. We’ll meet you there.”
“Okay.”
I’m not sure how I’m even going to lose my guards, but one thing at a time. Fortunately for me, after her initial uncertainty, Mariella seems to have stepped into her role as the strategist.
“Are you in the primary suite at the penthouse?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Go to the walk-in closet.”
I follow her instructions, glancing around the space. There are a few of Angelo’s suits hanging from the rack, but not much else.
“Okay, I’m here.”
“Do you see the mirror on the back wall?”
“Yes.” I walk toward it.
“Press on the right side with your palm.”
When I do, it pops out, revealing that it’s a reinforced door. As I ease it open, I’m shocked to find a safe room, though I really shouldn’t be. The Vitales haven’t survived this long without preparing for every possible scenario.
“Okay, I’m in,” I inform her.
“Alright, here’s what you’re going to do,” she says. “Leave your phone in the bedroom when we hang up. Return to the safe room and engage the lock with the red button on the left side of the door. Then take the elevator to the maintenance tunnel. When you get there, you’ll need to go right, and it will take you to the adjacent building. From there, you’ll go to the service entrance, and I’ll have someone waiting for you. Look for a blue maintenance uniform.”
“Got it.” I release a shaky breath.
“See you soon.” She disconnects the call, and I waste no time following her instructions.
I leave my phone on the nightstand, along with everything else I brought with me. This is protocol, since we never know where tracking devices might be hidden.
I follow the series of instructions Mariella gave me to get out of the building, my heart racing the entire descent. When I reach the maintenance tunnel, my footsteps echo off the walls around me until I force myself to slow down and take a breath.
I navigate my way to the service entrance in the adjacent building, and just as Mariella said, there’s someone in a blue maintenance uniform with a toolbox. I can’t see their face beneath the blue cap pulled low over the wig, but I know, beneath that men’s uniform, it’s a volunteer for Aegis.
“Valkyrie?” I ask quietly as I approach.
She jerks her chin and gestures to a white transit van, opening the back door. I climb inside and into the hidden alcove beneath the workbench before she slides it shut, obscuring me in darkness.
Once the engine starts and the van’s tires roll down the street, I settle in for the long ride. Our network operates through a chain-based system. Outside of the founding members, each link in the chain only knows the identity of one to two links at most. Volunteers are recruited by invitation, only by well-established links, and each recruit is put through several rounds of testing to ensure their loyalty.
Within the network, we utilize code names and limit technology-based communications as much as possible. We’ve had to get creative with dead drops, using public restrooms, books, and messages sewn into the fabric of dry-cleaning pickups. We have trusted business contacts like salons, bakeries, flower shops, and charity groups—and specific orders or services alert those contacts to a woman in need. There are also codes for everyday situations—like a specific flower in a bouquet or a special blend of tea.
Once the women are transported, they’re given new documents and moved through a series of safe houses until they reach the destination where they’ll start their new life. But the first and most difficult task is getting the women out of their origin point.
My transporter drives for several hours before we finally stop, and when we do, she opens the panel again and lets me out. I thank her, she nods, and then she drives away.
As the dust settles in the driveway of the old farmhouse, what I see nearly brings me to my knees. All my girls are already here, lined up at the back of a flower truck, waiting for me in their masquerade gowns.
I press a trembling hand to my lips and choke back a sob as some of them gather round me in a group hug. For a few long minutes, nobody speaks because we’re all crying. But eventually, we gather ourselves, and they each give me a somber goodbye with words of encouragement.