Chapter 2 - The Mud and the ClawThe heavy footsteps of Vivienne LaRue faded back toward the gravel path, leaving only the violent lash of the storm.
Sophie didn’t think. If she had allowed herself a single second of logical reflection, she would have remembered who she was: a maid with no money, no power, and a bank account in the negative. She would have remembered who Henry Lawson was, and what happened to people who crossed his inner circle.
But all she could see was the small toy boat Leo had held under the grand piano. All she could hear was the dull, terrifying thud of wet dirt landing on wood.
She broke cover.
The mud of the overgrown garden sucked at her cheap sneakers, nearly pulling her down. Sophie fell to her knees beside the fresh mound of earth. She didn't have a shovel. She didn't have gloves.
She used her bare hands.
“Leo!” she screamed, but the wind tore the sound from her lips and scattered it over the ocean cliffs. “Leo, I’m here! Hold on!”
The earth was heavy, cold, and mixed with sharp gravel that sliced into her fingers almost instantly. Blood, warm and slick, began to mix with the rain and the black soil. Sophie clawed at the ground like a wild animal. Her fingernails cracked, sending sharp jolts of pain up her arms, but she didn’t stop.
Claw. Dig. Fling.
Her hands struck something hard. Wood.
“Leo!” She pressed her ear to the wet wood.
Through the storm, she heard a faint, rhythmic scratching from inside. He was waking up from the sedative. He was realizing he was in the dark.
Sophie redoubled her efforts, clearing the dirt from the edges of the crate. It was a sturdy shipping box, secured with heavy industrial screws. She couldn’t pry it open with her bare hands. Looking around wildly through the blinding rain, her eyes landed on a discarded iron rod from the broken stone fountain.
With a guttural cry, she wedged the rod beneath the lid and threw her entire weight onto it.
The wood groaned. The screws resisted.
“Please,” Sophie sobbed, her tears freezing on her cheeks. “Please, just give him back.”
With a loud, splintering crack, the lid gave way.
Inside, curled into a tight ball, was Leo. His gray eyes were wide, vacant with terror, his lips blue. He was shivering so violently his teeth clicked together.
Sophie reached in and scooped his tiny, mud-streaked body into her arms. He felt impossibly cold. He didn’t scream; he simply clung to her neck with a grip so tight it nearly choked her.
“I’ve got you,” Sophie whispered, wrapping her damp apron around him. “I’ve got you, little prince. We’re going. We’re leaving.”
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She looked back toward the towering monolith of the Lawson mansion. Light spilled from the high windows, warm and mocking. She couldn't go back inside. If Vivienne saw them, neither of them would live to see the sunrise.
Sophie turned toward the dark tree line at the edge of the estate, carrying the heir to Chicago's most dangerous empire into the freezing night.
