For a heartbeat, everything is chaos—shouting, boots, the scrape of metal.
Then there’s a beautiful sound.
Snap.
The slat bracing my wrists shatters. The frame around the cuffs broke, but they remained locked.
For a single, impossible second—
I’m free.
I roll hard, shoving my knees under me, dragging my bound hands down and under my thighs. My shoulders scream as I wrench my arms forward. Broken wood tears my shirt; splinters bite into skin. I don’t care.
Hands in front.
I get them there on a choked gasp, lungs on fire, vision sparking white.
“Stop her!” someone shouts.
Too slow.
I launch forward. The door is too far. The stairs are closer. I sprint toward them, half-running, half-stumbling, cuffs clanging, blood slick between my fingers.
If I can hit the first guard hard enough — If I can grab his gun — If I can get one clean shot—
Santino never has to walk into this.
“HEY!” the door guard roars.
A gun cocks.
The sound cuts through the warehouse like a blade.
I don’t stop.
I’m three steps from the stairs when something slams into my shoulder from behind. A fist tangles in my hair and yanks me back so violently my neck snaps, stars bursting behind my eyes.
“Enough,” a voice growls in my ear.
Cold steel presses against the base of my skull.
I freeze.
Not because I’m afraid of dying.
Because I’m afraid of dying before I can stop Santino from joining me.
My chest heaves. My shoes skid uselessly on the floor as the guard hauls me backward, dragging me on my knees. The cuffs cut deeper as he jerks my hands up high between my shoulder blades, shredding the skin at my wrists.
“Let go of me,” I scream, kicking back.
He laughs and shoves me down harder.
My knees slam into concrete. Pain explodes up my thighs.
Carlo’s shoes slide into view. Italian leather. Expensive. Clean. Like the floor didn’t just try to eat me alive.
He crouches slowly, unhurried, until we’re face to face.
