From Mafia Doll To Montana Queen

Olivia POV

The lock disengaged with a heavy, echoing clank at exactly 3:00 AM.

My father was there, a shadow dressed in black. He reached in and helped me stand. My legs buckled instantly, trembling under my own weight, but his grip was unyielding.

"Quiet," he hissed.

We navigated through the shadows of the basement, heading toward the old prohibition tunnels that ran like arteries beneath the estate.

The air in the tunnels was damp and stale, heavy with the scent of wet earth and decay, but to me, it smelled like freedom.

David stopped abruptly and handed me a silver flask. "Drink. It's brandy. It'll warm you."

I took a desperate swig. The liquid seared my throat, a welcome fire spreading through my shivering body.

"I heard them," David whispered as we hurried forward. "Marcus and Izzy. They're planning to tell the commission you had a mental breakdown. That you voluntarily went to a convent in Italy."

"A convent," I scoffed, the sound scraping against the quiet tunnel walls. "How convenient."

"He doesn't know you," David said, his voice tight. "He thinks you're weak."

We reached the end of the tunnel. It opened out into the dense woods behind the estate, spilling us out near the old stone fountain.

We emerged into the night, and the sky opened up. It was pouring rain—sheets of icy water that soaked me instantly, plastering my clothes to my skin.

"Wait," David said, yanking me behind the massive trunk of an oak tree.

Through the curtain of rain, I saw them.

Marcus and Izzy were standing by the fountain, sheltered by a large black umbrella.

My breath hitched. Why were they out here?

Then I saw the smoke curling into the rain. Marcus was smoking a cigar. Izzy was leaning into him, her head resting possessively on his chest.

She reached up, standing on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. She looked toward the woods, staring directly into the darkness where I was hiding, and smiled. She couldn't see me—it was impossible—but it felt like she knew.

Marcus didn't push her away. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His face was softer than I had ever seen it.

He looked... at peace.

A sharp pain sliced through my chest, cutting deeper than the whip ever had.

I gripped my father's coat, my knuckles turning white. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run at them and tear them apart.

"They say he treated you differently," David whispered, his eyes fixed on the couple. "Looking at that... it was all smoke and mirrors."

"He wasn't my protector," I whispered to the rain, the realization settling in my bones like the cold. "He was my jailer. And today, the jailer forgot to lock the gate."

We turned to leave, moving silently through the brush.

Suddenly, a flashlight beam sliced through the darkness, sweeping over the trees.

"Mr. Hayes?"

It was Dante, Marcus’s right-hand man.

We froze.

Dante stepped closer, squinting through the downpour. He saw my father immediately. He didn't see me crouching low in the bushes.

"Where are you going at this hour, David?" Dante asked, his hand drifting instinctively to his holster.

"Just checking the perimeter," David said, his voice steady and bored. "The alarms were glitching. You know how this weather is."

Dante looked suspicious, his eyes narrowing. "You should be inside. Boss is on edge."

"Going now," David said.

Dante turned to leave, but his flashlight beam swung low, grazing the mud inches from my boot.

I held my breath. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought he’d hear it.

He didn't stop. He kept walking.

"Close one," David breathed.

I looked back at the fountain one last time. Marcus was laughing at something Izzy said.

*Laugh,* I thought, venom mixing with the grief. *Because you'll never see me again.*

We reached the service road. A black sedan was waiting, the engine idling softly.

"This car will take you to a private airfield in Jersey," David said, opening the rear door. "From there, a plane to Montana. My brother John is waiting for you."

"Montana," I repeated. The word tasted like clean air.

"Here." David handed me a thick envelope. "Cash. New ID. A phone that can't be traced."

I looked at him, panic flaring. "Come with me."

"I can't," he said sadly, cupping my face. "If I leave now, they'll hunt us both. I have to stay and cover your tracks."

He kissed my forehead.

"Go, Olivia. Be free."

I slid into the car. The leather seat was cold against my legs.

I didn't look back at the house. I didn't look back at the room where I painted him. I didn't look back at the Ice Cellar.

"Drive," I told the driver.

The car surged forward.

As the estate faded into the rainy darkness behind me, I felt a physical snap in my chest. The tether was cut.

I touched the window, watching the city lights of New York blur into streaks of gold and red.

"I am not his Olivia Hayes," I whispered to the glass. "I am not a princess. I am not a victim."

I watched my reflection in the dark glass. My eyes were hollow, but dry.

"I am Olivia," I said. "And I am gone."

The car sped into the night, leaving Marcus behind in his castle of lies, completely unaware that his bird had finally flown.