In. Out.
Count things. Anchor myself.
One: wrists cuffed behind the chair, metal grinding into raw skin.Two: ankles free.Three: one guard at the metal door.Four: two more near the stairs, guns low but close enough to touch.Five: Carlo, lounging like a bored executioner who’s already picked the grave.
He thinks he’s already won.
Good.
Men like him always stop watching right before something breaks.
I shift my weight, testing the chair. It’s cheap industrial trash—metal frame, rotting wood seat—probably older than me and less stable. One leg wobbles if I breathe too hard.
If I can break it — If I can get my hands through — If I can make it to the stairs—
I can vanish before Santino ever steps into this fucking tomb.
I roll my shoulders, making the cuffs click against the metal back.
Carlo glances over lazily. “Don’t,” he warns. “I’ve already had a long day, Moretti. Don’t make me break your pretty fingers just to keep you still.”
I smile at him.
It feels like peeling skin off bone.
“You’d have to catch me first,” I say.
His mouth curls. “Try it,” he murmurs. “I’m in the mood for sports.”
Good.Keep your eyes on me.Don’t look at the bolts.
I rock the chair once. Twice. Harder on the third, throwing my full weight into it. Pain spikes up my arms as the cuffs bite deeper. The back legs lift a fraction, then slam down.
Metal squeals. Wood complains.
The guard at the door straightens. “Sit still,” he snaps.
I don’t.
I rock again, harder. Sweat slicks my hair into my eyes. The chair groans in protest. Somewhere under my thigh, one bolt shifts with a tiny grinding sound I feel more than hear.
Come on. Come on. Come on.
“Last warning,” the guard barks.
“Or what?” I throw back. “You gonna scold me to death?”
I slam the chair down so hard the frame jumps.
The bolt finally gives.
The leg buckles.
Everything lurches sideways as the chair tips and goes over. My shoulder smashes into concrete first, then my hip. Pain detonates through the joint. The bulb overhead swings wildly, shadows crashing around the room like waves.
The chair hits the floor with a crack that rattles my teeth.
Wood splinters under me.
