Chapter 13: Midnight Run

Nico’s POV

The dashboard clock glows 21:47.

Less than three hours until wheels-up.

The bunker feels like a coffin now—too quiet, too clean, too full of the scent of her skin and the ghosts of what we just did. Bella is asleep between us on the bed, curled on her side, one hand resting protectively over her lower belly even in sleep. Her breathing is slow, deep, the kind of exhausted peace that only comes after your body has been pushed past every limit.

I can’t sleep.

Victor can’t either.

He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, elbows on knees, staring at the weapons laid out on the steel table like they’re old enemies he’s forced to work with. His shirt is unbuttoned halfway down his chest, raven ink stark against pale skin. He looks like a man counting down to execution.

I stand. Walk to the monitors. Check the feeds again—third time in ten minutes. Streets still empty. No black SUVs. No shadows moving wrong. Yet.

Victor speaks without turning.

“She’s going to hate us if we don’t make it out tonight.”

I grunt. “She’ll hate us more if we stay and let your corporate assassins or my uncle’s cleaners turn this place into a slaughterhouse.”

He finally looks at me.

“We could still split. You take her to the Caymans. I draw the heat. Buy you time.”

I laugh—short, ugly.

“You think she’d go? After what we just did?” I nod toward the bed. “She’d claw your eyes out before she let you play martyr.”

Victor’s mouth twitches. Almost a smile.

“She would.”

Silence stretches again.

Then he stands. Walks over to me.

We’re close enough that I can see the fresh bruise on his jaw from where one of the cleaners clipped him earlier. Close enough to smell cedar and gun oil on him.

He looks past me to Bella.

“She’s carrying our future,” he says quietly. “One of us, both of us, doesn’t matter. That kid is ours. And I’m not losing either of them because we’re too proud to share a jet.”

I meet his eyes.

For the first time since the gala, there’s no challenge in his stare.

Just grim acceptance.

I nod once.

“Then we get her out. Together.”

He exhales. Steps closer.

And kisses me.

Not soft. Not tentative.

Hard. Bruising. Teeth and tongue and three years of hate turned inside out.

I kiss him back.

Fist his open shirt. Drag him against me. Bite his bottom lip until I taste copper.

He groans into my mouth.

We break apart breathing hard.

Bella stirs. Murmurs something incoherent.

We freeze.

She doesn’t wake.

Victor’s eyes flick to her, then back to me.

“Later,” he says. Voice low. Rough.

I nod.

We move as one—silent, practiced.

I scoop her up. She nestles against my chest without waking, face tucked into my neck. Victor grabs the go-bags—two black duffels packed with cash, weapons, fake passports, her prenatal vitamins (he insisted on packing those himself).

We slip out the back stairwell—same route we used to get in. Up three flights. Through the warehouse loading bay. Into the waiting blacked-out Escalade.

Victor drives. I sit in the back with Bella across my lap. She finally stirs when the engine rumbles to life.

Eyes flutter open.

“Where…?”

“Jersey airstrip,” I murmur against her temple. “We’re leaving tonight.”

She tenses. Looks around. Sees Victor in the driver’s seat, sees me holding her, sees the duffels.

Then she looks down at herself—still wearing nothing but my hoodie, thighs sticky, body marked head to toe.

A small, broken laugh escapes her.

“You couldn’t even let me put on pants?”

Victor meets her eyes in the rearview.

“We’ll dress you on the plane. Right now I want you close. And safe.”

She exhales. Leans her head against my shoulder.

“I’m scared.”

I tighten my arms around her.

“I know.”

Victor’s voice cuts through the quiet.

“We get to the airstrip. We board. We disappear. And when we land—wherever we land—we figure out the rest. Together.”

Bella nods against my chest.

Then she shifts. Turns slightly. Kisses the underside of my jaw.

Then reaches forward. Touches Victor’s shoulder.

He covers her hand with his.

The rest of the drive is silent.

No music.

No radio.

Just rain on the windshield, tires on wet asphalt, and the three of us breathing the same air.

We hit the private airstrip at 23:52.

The jet is waiting—lights on, engines idling, stairs down.

Victor kills the engine.

We sit for a second.

No one moves.

Then Bella speaks—voice soft but steady.

“If we do this… no more running from each other. No more secrets. No more choosing.”

Victor turns in the seat. Looks back at us.

“Agreed.”

I nod.

“Agreed.”

She smiles—small, tired, beautiful.

“Then let’s go home.”

We get out.

I carry her up the stairs—her legs wrapped around my waist, arms around my neck.

Victor follows. Closes the door behind us.

The cabin is dark except for the runway lights filtering through the windows.

He locks the hatch.

The pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom.

“Wheels up in five.”

Victor hits the call button.

“Make it ten.”

A pause.

“Copy that.”

Victor turns off the intercom.

Turns to us.

I set Bella on her feet.

She looks between us.

Then reaches for the hem of my hoodie.

Pulls it off.

Stands naked in the middle of the cabin—bruised, marked, glowing under the low lights.

Victor steps forward first. Kisses her slow. Deep.

I step up behind her. Kiss her neck. Slide my hands around to cup her breasts.

She moans into Victor’s mouth.

We don’t rush.

We take our time.

Victor lifts her. Sits on the wide leather seat. Settles her astride him.

She sinks down onto him slowly—eyes locked on his.

I kneel behind her on the floor. Kiss her spine. Her ass. Spread her cheeks gently.

My tongue finds where they’re joined—licks around Victor’s shaft as he thrusts up into her. Tastes them both.

She cries out. Fingers digging into Victor’s shoulders.

Victor fucks her slow. Deep. Grinding.

I rise. Press against her back entrance—not entering, just teasing. Rubbing my cock along the crease while my fingers find her clit.

She comes like that—shuddering, clenching around Victor, whispering both our names.

Victor follows—groaning against her throat.

I pull her off him. Turn her. Sit on the seat.

She straddles me. Sinks down.

Victor moves behind her.

This time he pushes in—slow, careful—beside me.

Double again.

She sobs. Claws at my shoulders.

We move together—slow, synchronized, deep.

No rush.

No violence.

Just us.

Three bodies.

One rhythm.

One future.

When we come—together, shuddering, breathless—it feels like surrender.

And promise.

The pilot’s voice crackles again.

“Runway clear. Ready when you are.”

Victor reaches over. Hits the button.

“Wheels up.”

The engines roar.

The jet rolls.

We lift off.

Into the night.

Into whatever comes next.

Together.