Kenji tilts his head, studying me as if I’m an equation to be solved. “You’ll serve a purpose. Pain is a useful tool, you see. Especially when it’s inflicted upon the one thing a man cannot bear to lose.”
He snaps his fingers, and two men step forward.
“Take her downstairs,” he says. “Put her with… the other prisoner.”
The other prisoner.My blood turns to ice.
Before I can process it, rough hands seize my arms once more. One man grips my shoulder hard enough to bruise, the other shoving me forward.
Kenji’s voice follows, low and smooth. “Do try not to die too quickly, Evi. The night is young.”
They drag me through the house, down a hall lined with rich, gold-laced paintings and tatami mats, then to a narrow stairway that descends into cold, damp air. The scent of mold and iron grows stronger with each step. My bare feet slip on the slick stone, and one of the men jerks me upright.
“Move,” he snaps, shoving me roughly down the last few stairs.
We reach a thick wooden door, and a guard unlocks it, the hinges groaning. A single bulb swings from the ceiling beyond, casting dim yellow light across concrete walls and, in the corner, a single cell.
My stomach knots tighter as they drag me toward it. Inside, someone sits in the shadows—broad-shouldered, head bowed, as still as a statue. I can’t make out his face, but he looks enormous. Dangerous. And all I can think about is what he might do to me if they put me in there with him. Again, my thoughts flit wildly to my baby, to doing whatever I can to keep it safe, and I freeze.
“No,” I whisper, trying to back up, but the guards shove me forward—even as the prisoner’s head snaps up.
“Welcome home,” one of Kenji’s men mutters, laughing under his breath as he releases me to unlock the cell.
The figure in the shadows shifts, chains clinking as he rises.
And the dim light catches on his face—just enough for me to see the bruises, the split lip, the dark stubble along his jaw.
My heart lurches.
“Sandro,” I breathe.
He steps forward, slow, disbelieving, as his eyes find mine. For a long, terrible moment, neither of us moves. All the air seems to leave the room at once as I realize I’m not the bait. I’m the leverage.
I’d thought he might come for me—I’d prayed he would. I wanted to believe that, no matter what had happened between us, Sandro would find a way. But now I see him—chained, bloodied, trapped—and the truth hits me like a physical blow.
He’s not coming to save me.
He’s already been caught.
Which means I’m as good as dead.
33
SANDRO
The sound of boots echoes down the stone steps long before I see them. Kenji’s laughter carries like a knife, sharp and mocking, and I close my eyes to it, trapped in the agony of my thoughts.
Then I hear it—Evi’s voice, soft and terrified as she whispers a single word.
My stomach drops as my eyes snap open, and I push myself upright against the wall, chains scraping concrete. My wrists ache from where the cuffs have bitten through my skin, but none of that matters now.
The men haul Evi forward, handling her with unnecessary roughness when she stumbles, and fury turns my vision red. I take a step, ready to crush the first man that dares come close.
Evi gasps, her eyes finding mine, and the color drains from her face as she breathes my name. The sound of it is like a knife to the heart, confirming what I didn’t want to believe—Evi’s here with me now. In the flesh.
The men stop in front of my cell. The lock scrapes, metal grinding against metal, and the door swings open.
“Welcome home,” one guard sneers, then they shove her inside without warning.
