I stare up at the opening like this is all some big joke, and he’s going to grin and sayDolcezza, you didn’t really think I would make you climb into the ceiling, did you?
But he doesn’t.
“It’s not—” I swallow. “Is this how you’ve been getting in and out?”
“No,” he says, and there’s no patience left for anything but obedience. “But it’s the easiest way for you to get out.”
My pulse is hammering so hard I can feel it in my teeth.
“I can’t—” I start, then stop because he’s already reaching for me again.
He boosts me up onto the desk like I weigh nothing.
“Antonio—”
He catches my face in both hands, forcing me to look at him.
His eyes are dark and intent, and mine in that way that still knocks the air out of me even now, even with danger pressingat the walls.
“Elsa,” he says, and his voice softens just enough to cut through my panic. “I need you to trust me.”
I shake my head once, because my body is flooding with adrenaline, and I want to fight and run at the same time.
“I promised you,” he says, thumbs brushing my cheekbones, “that nothing would happen to you. Please let me keep that promise.”
My lungs burn. My eyes sting.
I hate that I believe him.
I hate that I need to.
I let out a shaky breath and nod. He pulls me to him for a hard kiss.
“Good,” he murmurs, and then the softness is gone, replaced by action again. “Go.”
He lifts me easily, hands gripping my hips, and I scramble into the opening.
The space above the ceiling tiles is wider than I expect—dark, dusty, lined with metal beams and ductwork. It smells faintly of insulation and stale air. I brace on my hands and knees, trying not to think about how ridiculous this is, how insane it feels to be crawling through the guts of my own workplace.
My heart is a drum in my ears.
Antonio climbs in behind me, and the space immediately feels way smaller.
He’s so broad-shouldered he fills the space, his body a wall at my back. His presence blocks the little light bleeding through cracks between tiles.
“Antonio,” I whisper, fear slipping into my voice. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You can,” he says, right behind me, and the certainty in it steadies me. “We’re just going to the end of the hall.”
All the light coming in from the office disappears as he replaces the ceiling tile.
I blink into the sudden darkness. “How do you—”
“I know this building now,” he says simply. “Crawl.”
I move.
Each shift of my knees scrapes against the metal supports. My palms slide along a beam. The air is warmer up here, trapped. My breath feels loud.
