CHAPTER 5 - ESCAPE

"Arabella, are you insane?" Bianca asked through the phone. Her voice shook, but I heard the sharp tone she always used when she was serious. "You have been missing for five years. I thought you were dead."

"I thought I was dead too," I said. I pressed my free hand against the thick bandages on my stomach. "I do not have time to explain right now. Raphael Bellini has me in his private hospital. He took my kidney."

"He did what?" Bianca yelled. I heard the sound of keys jingling in the background. "Tell me where you are."

"Bellini Medical Center," I answered. "Seventh floor. VIP recovery wing. Can you get a helicopter to the roof?"

"Give me twenty minutes," Bianca said. "Do not let anyone keep you in that room. Move toward the stairwell."

"I will," I promised, and I ended the call.

I looked up. The nurse stepped forward. She looked panicked, so she reached for the call button on the side of the bed.

"Mrs. Bellini, you must stay in bed," the nurse warned me. "You are risking internal bleeding."

"Do not push that button," I told her. I stood up straight. I ignored the burning sensation in my side. "If you call security, I will make sure Raphael fires you. You know he hates public scenes."

The nurse hesitated. She pulled her hand away from the button. "You are bleeding through your gown."

"I am fine," I said. "Where are my clothes?"

"They took your personal items to Mr. Bellini's office," the nurse lied. I saw her eyes dart toward the closet.

"Do not lie to me," I told her. I walked over to the small wooden door near the bathroom.

I opened the door and found my jeans and a loose black sweater. I dropped the hospital gown to the floor. I pulled the clothes on. Bending over to tie my shoes sent a jolt of pain through my abdomen. I gasped and leaned against the wall.

I walked back to my duffel bag. I unzipped the front pocket and reached inside. My fingers brushed against a thick manila envelope. I pulled it out and stared at it.

These were the divorce papers. I asked a lawyer to draft them six months ago. I hid them in my bag because I was too afraid to show them to Raphael. I kept hoping he would change. I kept hoping he would look at me and see a wife. I wanted him to hold me and tell me I mattered.

Now, I knew he never saw a wife. He saw a captive, or he saw a spare organ for his stepsister. He let me bleed for a woman who hated me.

I pulled the papers out of the envelope. I laid them flat on the bedside table. I found a pen in the side pocket of my bag.

I wrote my name on the signature line. The ink was dark against the white paper. I did not feel sad. I felt angry. Five years of my life were gone because of his lies.

I looked down at my left hand. The diamond wedding ring felt heavy on my finger. Raphael bought it for me the day we got married. He never held my hand when he gave it to me. He just told me to put it on and wear it every day.

I slid the ring off my finger. I placed it in the center of the divorce papers. The metal made a small clinking sound against the table.

I grabbed my duffel bag and slung the strap over my shoulder. I looked at the nurse. She stood in the corner with wide eyes.

"If Raphael asks," I told her, "tell him I left a gift for him on the table."

I opened the heavy wooden door of the recovery room. The hallway was empty. The bright overhead lights hummed. I looked down the corridor toward the elevators, but I knew I could not take them. Security would check the cameras and stop the elevators.

I needed to find the emergency stairwell.

I stepped out of the room and closed the door behind me. I heard voices coming from the other end of the hall.

"We need to check her vitals again," a male voice said. I recognized the voice. It was Dr. Evans, the head surgeon.

"Mr. Bellini wants to see her chart," a second voice replied. It was Marco.

They were coming. I turned left and walked fast. The pain in my side flared with every step. I held my hand against my stomach and forced myself to keep moving.

I saw the red exit sign above a heavy metal door. I pushed the push-bar, so the door opened. I slipped inside the concrete stairwell just as Marco and the doctor turned the corner.

I let the heavy door close behind me. The stairwell was dark and cold. The concrete walls echoed with the sound of my breathing. I looked up. The roof access was two floors above me.

I grabbed the metal railing and took the first step.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the screen. It was Bianca.

I answered the call and put the phone to my ear.

"I am in the stairwell," I told her. I paused to catch my breath. "I am heading up to the roof now."

"Keep moving," Bianca said over the sound of loud wind. "I am two minutes away. Do not let them catch you."

"They will not catch me," I promised.

I climbed the next set of stairs. My legs felt weak, and my vision blurred. I stopped on the landing and leaned against the cold wall. I needed a minute to rest.

The heavy metal door two floors below me slammed open. The sound echoed up the concrete shaft.

"She is in the stairwell!" Marco shouted. His voice echoed off the walls. "Lock down the roof access!"

I froze. Marco was fast. He would catch me before I reached the top.

I pushed off the wall and forced my legs to move. I ignored the pain. I ignored the dizziness. I climbed the stairs two at a time.

"Arabella, stop!" Marco yelled from below. I heard his heavy footsteps pounding against the concrete steps. "You cannot run in your condition. You will kill yourself."

"I would rather die than go back to him," I shouted down the stairwell.

I reached the top floor landing. The roof access door was right in front of me. It was a thick metal door with a heavy electronic lock.

I pushed the handle. The door did not move.

I pushed it again. A red light flashed on the keypad. The security team had locked the door from the control room. I was trapped.

Marco's footsteps grew louder. He was only one floor below me.

I hit the metal door with my fist. Panic set in. I looked at the electronic keypad. I did not know the code.

"Bianca," I spoke into the phone. My voice cracked. "The door is locked. I cannot get out."

"Look at the keypad," Bianca ordered. "Is it a standard numerical lock or a keycard scanner?"

"Numerical," I answered.

"Punch in Raphael's birthday," she said.

"I do not know his birthday," I realized. He never told me, nor did we ever celebrate it.

"Try your own birthday," Bianca suggested.

I typed in the numbers. The red light flashed again. Incorrect.

Marco rounded the corner of the stairs. He stopped on the landing just a few feet away from me. He was out of breath. He looked at my bloody clothes, and his eyes widened.

"Arabella, please," Marco pleaded. He held his hands up in a calming gesture. "Step away from the door. Let me help you."

"Stay back," I warned him. I pressed my back against the locked door. "If you take one more step, I will throw myself down these stairs."

Marco stopped. He saw the determination in my eyes. He knew I was not bluffing.

"You do not understand what you are doing," Marco said. "Raphael will find you. He will tear this city apart until he brings you back. You have nowhere to run."

"I am not running," I told him. "I am leaving. There is a difference."

"He owns the police. He owns the airports," Marco argued. "You will not make it out of the state."

"Watch me," I said.

I looked at the keypad again. I thought about the numbers. Raphael never cared about my birthday. He never cared about anniversaries. But there was one date he cared about.

The day he saved me. The day my father died.

I typed the date of the car crash into the keypad.

The light turned green. The heavy lock clicked.

Marco lunged forward, but I pushed the door open and stepped out into the cold night air. The wind whipped my hair across my face. The loud roar of helicopter blades filled the night.

Bianca leaned out of the open side door of a black helicopter. She reached her hand out to me.

"Arabella, let's go!" Bianca yelled over the noise.

I grabbed her hand and pulled myself into the cabin. I collapsed onto the leather seat.

Marco ran out onto the roof. The wind from the helicopter blades pushed him back. He stopped near the edge of the helipad. He looked up at me. He did not look angry. He looked defeated. The noise of the engine grew louder, but I knew he could hear me. I leaned out of the open door.

"Tell Raphael I know who I am," I shouted down to Marco as the helicopter lifted off the ground. "And tell him I am coming for my family."