A few minutes later, Sierra tugs my sleeve and nods toward the hallway. I follow her to a quiet corner near the vending machines, away from her family’s earshot.
“I need to tell you something.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
I wait.
“Harper let them in.” She swallows hard. “The men who took us. She opened the back door. Viktor promised he’d leave her and Julian alone if she cooperated. She handed me over to save herself.”
My knuckles ache from how hard I’m clenching them. I have to take several deep breaths before I say something I’ll regret. Her own sister-in-law?Jesus Christ.
“Are you going to tell your family?”
Sierra shakes her head. “Not yet. Her parents are flying in. Julian’s still in the hospital. I can’t...” She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Not yet.”
I pull her into me. She sags against my chest.
“Okay,” I say. “Not yet.”
We walk back to the waiting room. Her family is still huddled together, talking about Harper’s recovery, her parents’ flight, visiting schedules. Sierra listens without saying much. I watch her face and wonder how long she can carry this.
Harper gets moved to the ICU, still unconscious. Visiting hours are over. Tomorrow, they say. Her parents should be here by then.
Sierra tells her family she’s coming home with me. Nobody argues.
I drive her back home in silence. She’s still wearing the wedding dress. I’m still in the tuxedo. Neither of us mentions it.
Inside, I lead her straight to the bathroom. My hands are gentle as I help peel her out of the ruined dress, the fabric stiff with dried blood. I run a bath, water hot enough to steam, and leave her to soak while I head to the kitchen.
I make her some comfort food. Tomato soup from a can. Grilled cheese with too much butter. Simple. Warm. The kind of thing my mom used to make when I was small and scared.
Sierra appears just as I’m setting it on the table. Her hair is wet, braided to the side, dripping onto the shoulder of her tank top. Pajama pants hang low on her hips. The bruises on her arms are already darkening, finger-shaped marks that make me want to resurrect Viktor just so I can kill him myself.
But he’s already dead.
She did that.
The image of her in that warehouse keeps flashing through my head. Blood-soaked silk. Steady hands. My sunshine, standing over the body of the man who tried to break her.
Sierra eats half the soup before pushing the bowl away. She’s quiet. Too quiet. The light is gone from her eyes, replaced by something gray and wounded.
I don’t push. If anyone understands needing to sit with the dark before you can talk about it, it’s me.
Instead, I hand her a Xanax and guide her to the bedroom. She doesn’t fight. Just swallows the pill and lets me tuck her under the covers like she’s something fragile. Something precious.
She is.
I watch her eyes flutter shut, and I finally let out the breath I’ve been holding all day. I almost lost her today. Came so goddamn close to walking into that warehouse and finding her body instead of her breathing and standing.
The knock at the front door pulls me from the bedroom. It’s Lorenzo and Dario. I let them in, and we settle in the living room, voices low.
“Sierra’s resting,” I warn.
Lorenzo nods. “Good. She needs it after today.”
“The women?”
“Safe.” Dario drags a hand through his hair, disgust still carved into his features. “I can’t believe that bastard was planning to sell them.”
“I can.” My voice is flat. “He was a piece of shit. I’m glad he’s dead.”
