Something savage cracks loose inside me.
Not fear.Not anger.Something worse.
But one thing is certain, bone deep and absolute:
I will tear this place apart, stone by fucking stone, before I let Pia die in there.
The Vault Is Soundproof…But Not Emotion-proof
Her knocking is the worst sound I’ve ever heard.
Not because it’s loud—it isn’t. The steel swallows most of it, turning each strike into a dull, smothered thud that barely makes it through Giovanni’s six-inch-thick paranoia.
But it’s her.
I know it’s her because every uneven hit lands dead center in my chest, like she’s pounding on my ribs from the inside.
“Pia,” I rasp, palms flattening against the steel. My breath fogs immediately, haloing the cold metal. “Listen to me.”
Another frantic burst of pounding—too fast, too wild. Panic, not logic. She’s spiraling.
Fuck.
I lower my forehead to the door, forcing my voice steady. “Step back.”
The knocks stutter.
“Pia,” I say again, softer, pulling every shred of control I have around the tremor in my spine. “Do you hear me? Step back from the door.”
Silence settles like a weight. Heavy. Uncertain.
Then—a faint scrape, boots shifting across stone.
She heard me.
“Now,” I say, my tone sharper. “Get clear.”
I don’t give myself room to hesitate.
I brace my shoulder against the vault handle. The metal bites into my split knuckles, cold enough to burn. I inhale and shove.
Every muscle in my back strains. Pain rips down my spine. My neck throbs with effort.
Nothing.
The door doesn’t move a fucking millimeter.
A growl tears out of me as I shove harder—jaw clenched, boots sliding, tendons screaming.
Still nothing.
“Fuck,” I hiss, breath ragged. Sweat beads along my brow. I step back and throw my weight into it again.
Steel. Unmoved. Unbothered.
This door wasn’t designed to open. It was designed to hold.
I stagger back, fury clawing at my lungs. My fist slams into the metal—a crack of bone against steel that sends fire up my arm.
