Chapter 5 - The Lake House Escape
Rocco moved with terrifying speed. In a fraction of a second, he brushed past Marin and grabbed Clara by the shoulders. “What do you mean, she’s gone? Where is she?”
“Her room is empty,” Clara stammered, trembling under his grip. “The French doors leading to the balcony are unlocked. I found this on her bed.”
Clara held out a folded piece of stationery. Rocco snatched it from her hands, his eyes scanning the hurried handwriting.
“You can’t lock me up forever. I’m going to the boathouse. Don’t follow me.”
Rocco crushed the paper in his fist. “The boathouse. In the middle of a November gale with freezing rain?” He didn't wait for an answer. He bolted out of the room, his heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Marin followed him immediately, her practical shoes clicking against the hardwood as they sprinted down the grand staircase and toward the rear exit of the mansion.
The storm outside had intensified into a howling monster. Freezing rain whipped across the stone patio like shards of glass, and the wind off Lake Michigan roared with a deafening fury. The path leading down to the lake was slick with mud and half-melted ice.
“Rocco, wait!” Marin shouted over the wind as she caught up to him near the edge of the lawn. “If she’s panicked, chasing her will only make her run further out onto the docks!”
“She doesn't know how treacherous the north docks are in a storm!” Rocco yelled back, his voice raw with panic. The cold, calculated crime boss had completely vanished; in his place was a desperate older brother terrified of losing the only family he had left.
They reached the edge of the property where the wooden boardwalk began. The private boathouse sat at the end of a hundred-foot pier jutting out into the churning, black water of the lake. Giant waves crashed against the wooden pilings, sending plumes of freezing spray high into the air.
Through the sheeting rain, a small, dark figure could be seen standing at the very edge of the pier, right beside the slip where the family’s motorboat was moored.
It was Bianca.
She wore only a light sweater over her nightgown, her dark hair thrashing wildly in the wind. She was staring down into the dark, churning water as if trying to measure its depth.
“Bianca!” Rocco roared, breaking into a dead sprint down the wooden pier.
The girl turned her head, startled by the shout. “Stay back!” she screamed over the wind. “Don't come any closer!”
“Bianca, stop this right now!” Rocco shouted, slowing his pace as he reached the wooden platform, holding his hands out placatingly. “Step away from the edge. The boards are iced over; you’ll slip.”
“I don't care!” Bianca sobbed, her whole body shaking violently from the cold and exhaustion. “I hate this house! I hate the guards, I hate the doctors, and I hate you! You’re not protecting me, Rocco—you’re keeping me in a cage!”
“I know,” Rocco said, his voice breaking in a way Marin had never expected to hear from him. He took another slow step forward. “I know I messed up, B. But let me help you. Please.”
Before Rocco could reach her, a massive wave slammed against the underside of the pier with the force of a small earthquake.
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The wooden planks shuddered violently. Bianca lost her footing on the slick ice, her arms flailing wildly as she slipped backward toward the open water.
“Rocco!” she screamed.
