Susan's POV
I was too impatient to wait for the elevator, so I ran down the forty flight of stairs, basically flying. The damn heels were in my way. By floor twenty-five, I'd already kicked them off, leaving one pointing north on floor twenty-three and another pointing south on twenty-two. Let them chase the shoes for a while.
I burst through the service entrance on floor fifteen, nearly colliding with a housekeeping cart.
"Oh my God," the startled housekeeper gasped.
"Hi! I'm Susan. Woke up this morning in the wrong house." I panted, still clutching my graduation gown. "Please help me. I don't want to die. I'll send you Christmas cards for life!"
Maybe it was the desperation in my voice, but it worked. Maria - according to her name tag - simply nodded - like she's seen countless girls in this situation before - and led me through the kitchen.
We reached the delivery exit, and I could have kissed her. "You're an angel, Maria. The Christmas cards will be extra sparkly!"
"No glitter," she said firmly. "Just go."
I peeked out the door. The delivery area opened onto a side street, where - miraculously - a city bus was just pulling up to its stop.
I sprinted toward the bus, practically diving through the doors just as they were closing.
The driver raised an eyebrow at my bare feet and fancy dress. I flashed my most innocent smile.
"Would you believe I'm coming from a costume party?"
"Lady," he sighed, "this is New York. Last week, I had Batman and three Pandas on my bus. That'll be $2.75."
I dug through my purse and nearly cried with relief as I found enough crumpled bills. "That'll work!"
Raphael's POV
I sat in my office, holding an ice pack to my throbbing head while trying to maintain what remaining dignity I had left. The crystal vase that my wife - my runaway wife - had used as a weapon lay shattered on my imported marble floor, much like my reputation at the moment.
"What do you mean you lost her?" I growled at Marco, who stood before me with an expression that suggested he'd rather face a firing squad than have this conversation.
"Sir, she... she moved surprisingly fast for someone who was hungover," Marco shifted uncomfortably. "And she knew the building's layout better than we expected. She took the service stairs, then..."
"Then what?"
"She... convinced the kitchen staff to help her." Marco looked like he was trying not to smile. "Apparently, she promised to send them Christmas cards."
I slammed my foot on the desk. "How does a five-foot-four girl with a hangover get past my entire security team?"
Marco's expression said what he wouldn't dare voice aloud: The same way she got past you with a vase.
The door burst open just then, and Antonio walked in like he owned the place - which, given that he was my consigliere and closest friend since childhood, wasn't far from the truth.
He surveyed the chaos with raised eyebrows. Broken crystal on the floor, security personnel moving about like headless chickens, and I, the most feared man in the city, nursing what felt like a concussion.
"Did a tornado hit, or did someone finally try to assassinate you again?" Antonio asked, dropping into the chair across from me. Then his eyes narrowed, taking in the wedding ring on my finger. "And when did you get married?"
"Last night," I muttered, shifting the ice pack.
"LAST NIGHT?" Antonio's voice rose. "You got married without me there? Your best friend? Your right-hand man? The person who's saved your graceful behind more times than your fancy accountants can count?"
"It was... impromptu."
"His bride just ran away," Marco supplied helpfully.
"His what did what now?"
I glared at them both. "Susan had a... slight overreaction to learning about the family business.
"Slight?" Marco muttered under his breath.
"She hit me with a vase and escaped through the service entrance," I admitted through gritted teeth.
There was a moment of silence before Antonio burst into laughter, actually sliding out of his chair onto the floor. "Let me get this straight," he wheezed between fits of laughter. "The great Raphael Marino, the man who made the Russians cry uncle, who brought the Irish to their knees, got taken down by a hungover bride with a vase?"
"Are you quite finished?"
"Not even close!" Antonio wiped tears from his eyes. "Please tell me there's a security footage. I need to see this." He paused, suddenly serious. "But wait, back up. You got married? You? Mr. 'Marriage-is-a-liability'? What happened to 'I'll settle down when Hell freezes over'?"
I shifted uncomfortably. "The situation… changed."
Antonio's eyes narrowed. Even after twenty-four years of friendship, he could still read me like a book. "This has something to do with that doctor's appointment yesterday, doesn't it?"
I remained silent, which was answer enough.
"So you married her," Antonio pieced it together, "and then you…" His eyes widened. "Did you sleep with her?"
"Yes," I admitted, remembering how enthusiastic my new bride had been. "She was… rather passionate about consummating the marriage. But I don't think she remembers much of it. Would've probably hit me with something much worse."
Antonio grinned sheepishly. "So what you're telling me is that your little runaway bride might be carrying the next Marino heir, as we speak? Your legal heir?"
The ice pack slipped from my suddenly numb fingers.
"Oh, now he gets it," Antonio leaned forward, no longer laughing. "Your bride isn't just running around the city, my friend. She might be running around with your baby."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. My hands gripped the arms of my chair until my knuckles turned white.
"Find her," I ordered Marco, my voice deadly calm. "Find her now!"