I Married the Wrong Mafia Prince

Chapter 11: Midnight Escape

Leandro Moretti was out of his mind and I’m losing my shit.

It was 10:30 PM.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the glowing numbers on my phone like they might somehow shift or disappear if I blinked hard enough.

Thirty minutes left.

Surely, he was bluffing. He’s bluffing, right? There were guards stationed all around the house. My parents were asleep in their bedroom. I’m also sure that all the alarms are on and ready to get me. There was no way of me escaping without getting caught.

Still—I opened my phone and sent a message:

Let’s meet tomorrow instead. It’s risky tonight. I don’t think I’ll be able to go.

For a second, there was silence. I exhaled, shoulders sagging in relief, thinking that he’s already asleep or maybe letting me go this once.

Then my phone buzzed.

One photo. A shot of a black clock. 10:32 PM.

Ticking like it’s chasing me. Waiting like it’s my dooms day. Mocking at me, luring me out. My stomach twisted.

He’s not bluffing and he will for sure come for me.

Panic gnawed at my chest. I needed a plan. Fast. I slipped off my bed and padded toward the door, opening it quietly. I zipped my jacket and walked out.

A figure loomed right outside — one of the guards. He eyed me suspiciously.

"Where are you going, Miss D'Angelo?" he asked gruffly.

I forced a bright, fake smile. "I’m just... hungry. I wanted to make a snack." His eyes narrowed.

He spoke into his radio. "She's moving. Keep an eye on her."

Fantastic. I got eyes everywhere now.

I plastered a sweet smile across my face and drifted downstairs toward the kitchen, my pulse hammering wildly. The guards watched me from the corners of the room, eyes sharp.

No way I’m getting out through the front door.

Despair curled inside me.

I texted Leandro again.

Too many guards. I really can't leave. Spare me this once, please.

No reply.

I cursed under my breath. I was halfway to the kitchen when one of the older maids — Maria — caught my eye. She looked nervous and she’s looking at me like she’s signaling me something.

"Miss Isabella," she said quietly. "Would you like something to drink or something to eat?" I blinked.

"Sure. Can you make me something? I want steak and pasta." She leaned in as she opened the fridge. She leaned in to me.

"There's a way out," she whispered almost too softly for me to hear. My heart slammed against my ribs. She nodded discreetly toward the pantry door.

"The tunnel," she murmured.

I stared at her, realization crashing into me. Maria wasn’t just a maid.

She was working for Leandro or the Morettis.

My hands shook as I closed the fridge. I made my way casually to the pantry, opened the door, and slipped inside. It was dark, the smell of old stone and earth thick in the air. Behind a stack of crates, I found a narrow trapdoor. I yanked it open and lowered myself into the darkness. The tunnel was cramped and filthy, but I didn’t care.

I crawled through the narrow passageway, heart racing so fast I could barely breathe. Minutes felt like hours. Finally, I saw light — faint and flickering — at the far end. I clawed my way toward it and pushed open another hidden door.

Cold night air slapped my face. I stumbled out onto damp grass, gasping for breath—

—and there he was.

Leandro leaned casually against his black motorcycle, arms folded, smirk plastered across his infuriatingly handsome face.

"Took you long enough, princess," he drawled. I gaped at him.

"You— you’re insane," I breathed.

He grinned wider.

"Indeed," he said shamelessly.

Before I could second-guess myself, I looked around to see if the coast is clear. He tossed me a helmet.

"Hop on."

I didn't hesitate. I climbed onto the bike behind him, wrapping my arms around his solid, leather-clad torso. The engine roared to life beneath us and then we were flying. The wind ripped at my hair. The city lights blurred past in a kaleidoscope of gold and black. I clung to him tighter, feeling the heat of his body through his jacket, the hard, powerful muscles moving beneath my hands.

I had never felt so alive. I had never felt so utterly reckless.

I had never felt so free.

We reached his apartment after he tested my adrenaline. He parked the bike and pulled off his helmet, raking a hand through his messy black hair. I slid off, legs shaky, heart hammering.

He turned to me slowly. Danger and desire burned in his dark eyes.

"You made it," he said softly.

"You gave me no choice," I said, trying to sound defiant. He laughed low in his throat — a sound that made heat coil low in my belly.

"You had a choice," he said, stepping closer. "You chose me." I should have been terrified. I should have run.

Not to mention that he was right. God help me, he was so right.

I had chosen the boy who should have been my enemy. The boy my father would put a bullet through if he ever found out. The boy who kissed like sin and danger and rebellion wrapped in leather. My heart pounded painfully in my chest.

Instead, I stepped into him, tilting my chin up. "Maybe I did," I whispered.

He caught my face between his hands and kissed me — hard, deep, claiming.

And just like that—I was lost all over again.