Page 155 of Freed

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I press harder into the wall, hand still clamped over my stomach.

The guard is closer now. “Miss Miller, are you all right?”

No. I am not all right. Because if Francesca was part of what happened to me before, then Lorenzo was right to distrust more than I wanted to admit. And if she has turned on her father now, then she is more desperate than she let me see.

Because if Cesaro helped her once?—

I go cold all over.

Cesaro.

Lorenzo still trusts him.

“Get me a phone,” I say.

The guard pauses. “Miss Miller, Mr. Conti’s instructions were?—”

“I don’t care.” My voice comes out sharper than intended, frayed at the edges. “Get me a phone. Now.”

She hesitates just long enough to tell me she is debating whether to refuse. Then she nods and crosses toward the console.

I push away from the wall and force my legs to move. One step. Then another. Slow. Careful. Breathing through the tail end of the panic.

My mind is still replaying Francesca’s voice.

I’ll help you leave.

Elizabeth Miller goes away.

I’ll make sure Lorenzo never finds you.

The sweetness of it turns my stomach.

The guard returns with a phone.

I take it with fingers that barely feel steady enough to hold glass.

“Do you need a doctor?” she asks.

“No.”

What I need is Lorenzo. The realization lands hard enough to make me close my eyes for one second. I need the man I was just begging to let me go.

Because if Francesca told the truth today, then her father is coming. And if Francesca lied today, then he may already be here.

I stare at Lorenzo’s number. Then at Cesaro’s.

My thumb hovers.

If I call the wrong one, I could be handing myself over all over again.

The baby shifts, and I want to cry out in fear. It’s a tug low in my belly. A reminder. A warning. A reason to get this right.

I lift my head slowly and look out over the city, all that bright distance glittering beyond the glass. This place is still a cage. But now I understand something I didn’t before. Sometimes the cage is the only thing standing between you and the wolves.

My thumb presses Lorenzo’s name.

The call rings.