"The rabbit loved his garden," I continue, forcing my voice to stay steady.
But even I'm having a hard time holding it together now.
"He had carrots and lettuce and all the vegetables he could ever want."
Marta sits on the bed along the wall across from us with her hands folded in her lap.
Her lips move in silent prayer, and her beads are hidden in the folds of her skirt. “Hail Mary, full of grace…”
I haven't prayed in years, not since I left the church and the life it demanded of me.
But watching her now, I wish I still had that kind of faith that offers comfort when there's nothing else to hold onto.
Right now, I could use that anchor and all I have is a promise Dante gave me, that he'd come back to me.
The security monitor mounted on the wall flickers with grainy black and white footage.
I can see the garden from multiple angles—the fountain, the terrace, the stone pathways.
Smoke drifts across the cameras, obscuring the view.
Shadows move through the haze.
I can't tell if they're Dante's men or Antonelli's.
"But one day," I say, my eyes fixed on the monitor, "a storm came to the garden. The rabbit was scared, so he hid in his burrow where it was safe and warm."
Sofia's breathing begins to even out.
Her grip on my shirt loosens slightly.
I keep talking, spinning the story into something longer, something that will carry her away from this concrete tomb and the violence happening above us.
The radio on the belt of one of the guards crackles to life.
Static, then a voice I recognize immediately.
Dante's voice barks through the speaker.
"East wall is breached. Fall back to secondary positions. I repeat, fall back to secondary?—"
The transmission cuts off, replaced by more static, and the guard glances at me, slowly turning the volume down as he observes my reaction.
I don't want to be cut off and have it hidden from me if things are going wrong, but I also don't want Sofia hearing that.
The guard adjusts the radio, trying to find the signal again.
He turns the dial, and fragments of voices filter through—shouting, gunfire, someone screaming orders I can't make out now because the volume is too quiet.
"What's happening?" I ask him, neglecting my duty to my daughter.
But I hold her tense body against me.
The guard glances at me, then back at the radio.
"They're holding the line, Ms. Russo."
"But the wall?—"
