I try to object, but Sandro slumps back to the floor, and I’m unsure if he’s lost consciousness once more. Heart in my throat, doing my best to hold myself together, I clutch the fabric to my chest, the rough, blood-stained cloth a symbol of him, of our shared struggle.
Leaning down, I press my forehead to his shoulder, feeling the shallow rise and fall of his chest. “I love you, Sandro,” I whisper.
He responds with a deep, undiscernible grumble that makes my heart flutter.
Slipping my arms into his oversized sweater, I wear it front to back like a cardigan as I bring the cut edges up to my nose and breathe deeply, inhaling his familiar scent. It brings me a sense of peace and comfort I didn’t imagine I could find down here.
Then I settle back onto the floor beside him, lying close, pressing myself to his side and covering his arm with the excess fabric, trying to impart warmth, comfort, and some small measure of security. He pulls me close once more, arms wrapped around me, holding me as though he could protect me from everything in the world with sheer force of will.
“I’ll get us out,” he whispers, low and steady, the pain in his voice softened by determination. “I swear. I’ll find a way.”
I nod, clutching him, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek. And I let myself believe, for just a moment, that maybe, somehow, we will survive this nightmare. As long as I have him, I can endure anything. I snuggle closer to his chest, pressing my hands to his bruised skin, feeling the steady warmth of him against me. His arms tighten around me in return, a silent promise of protection, a tether against the darkness.
But the cold stone, the thick scent of Sandro’s blood, and the shadows that surround us remind me that we are far from safe. And more and more, I’m starting to think that we’re both going to die down here—and our baby along with us.
37
SANDRO
I stir first to the ache in my limbs, muscles screaming in protest, broken ribs tight and raw. My vision is blurry, the shadows of the cell slinking across the stone walls. I try to move, and my body protests in every way it can. The manacles bite into my wrists, bruises flare, and my head throbs. But thankfully, they must have decided I was weak enough they didn’t need to chain me to the wall again.
Then I feel her. Evi.
She’s sitting close, kneeling beside me on the floor, her hands resting lightly on my side, as if she’s afraid to touch me but is keeping vigil. Even in the near nonexistent light, I can see the exhaustion etched into her features. Her eyes, usually bright with warmth, are haunted, dull with fatigue and fear as she watches the door.
She hasn’t slept.
A wave of guilt gnaws at my chest at the realization. I was too far gone last night, lost in pain and rage, to take care of her.
“Evi,” I rasp, voice cracked, hoarse from dehydration and bruised lungs. I try to sit up, wincing as my muscles protest.
Her gaze shifts instantly, the smallest flicker of relief crossing her face, softening the haunted shadow in her features. “Sandro,” she breathes, voice trembling. “You’re awake.”
I reach out, careful, not wanting to aggravate the welts along my back or the ache in my ribs. “You okay?” I whisper.
She bites her lip, then tries to summon a smile, but it falters. “I… I’m fine. Tired. But you… you scared me,” she admits, her voice breaking. “There were a few times when your pulse got weak enough that I thought…” Her voice hitches, and I can see the tears welling in her eyes. “I thought it might stop.”
I take her icy hands in mine, I pull her into my arms, ignoring the pain that lances through me from the movement. “Hey, shh. It’s okay. It’ll take a lot more than that to kill me. I’ve survived worse,” I promise. It’s not a lie, but last time, I had a full medical staff to keep me alive afterward.
Still, the statement serves its intended purpose, drawing a tearful laugh from Evi. It’s fragile but real, a little of the light I know is still inside her, peeking through the fear. Relief softens her face in a way that makes my chest tighten, knowing she’s been terrified for me.
I press a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek, tasting the faint trace of tears on her skin. Then, tucking her head beneath my chin, I hold her, careful not to put weight on my ribs or strain my arms. She huddles, warm and soft, against me, her hands brushing over the bruised flesh along my chest. Even gritty, bloody, and gross from being trapped and tortured, I feel an overwhelming need to reassure her, to show her that I’m still here.
We stay like that for I don’t know how long, allowing the silence to settle comfortingly around us.
Then the sound hits—hinges groaning, then footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, echoing from the stairs above.
I stiffen, pulse quickening, every instinct warning that danger is coming. Evi freezes, too, the color draining from her face. Then the bright fluorescent lights flicker back on, spearing my eyes and intensifying my already splitting headache.
“Look who’s finally awake,” Kenji sneers, his voice smooth, calculated, dripping with menace.
Evi flinches at the sound, her hands gripping mine tighter. I pull her as close as I can, my body instinctively shielding her, muscles coiled even though I’m still battered and weak.
“I hope you’re ready for what I have planned today, Sandro,” he teases, his mood far too chipper for my liking. Kenji looks like he’s had a full night’s sleep and a hot shower, and it grates against my frayed nerves. “Or maybe… you’re still too fragile?”
I grind my teeth, lifting my head, eyes burning with rage. “I’m ready for whatever you want to throw at me.”
Kenji’s laugh cuts through the silence, low and venomous, bouncing off the stone walls. “I do love your confidence. But we both know it’s time to raise the stakes.”
