The twin engines of the private jet vibrated through the leather seat. To Emily, that low, mechanical hum sounded her salvation.
She leaned her head back, finally letting her grip on her passport loosen. "It is over," she told herself. "No more someone's property."
Through the thick glass of the cabin window, the grey, rain-slicked tarmac of the private airfield stretched out toward the runway. The pilot was already taxying, pivoting the nose of the aircraft toward the open sky.
Emily let out a long, anxious sigh of relief, her hand gently resting over her abdomen.
We made it, she thought. The heavy terror that had choked her for weeks was finally beginning to lift. She closed her eyes, imagining a life where she could breathe again. A life far away from the toxic reach of the Torredo family. A life where she will raise her child in love and not hostility.
Suddenly, the aircraft lurched to a violent, screaming halt.
