Page 87 of Accidental Alliance

He said it as a complaint, some bored little muttering about their routine he didn’t think mattered being overheard because women like me are supposed to be too frightened to do anything except pace, cry, and wait for the men with guns to decide what happens next.

A prisoner like me is supposed to look at a safehouse crawling with enforcers and see impossibility.

Men like that are so often ruined by what they assume.

For the last week I have studied everything. If things go as I predict they will, the hallway leading down to this room will be lightly guarded, if at all, while most of the enforcers will be outside bringing in the crates.

Their attention will be scattered to the outer perimeter and the vehicles bringing in whatever logistics are helping to keep this place fed, armed, and operational.

Matteo and I haven’t posed a threat thus far, and that has been deliberate. We have remained quiet enough to be underestimated, giving each and every guard enough time to grow used to us acting scared and docile. Hopefully, it will lead to no one questioning pulling additional hands from our rotation and allocating them for the drop-off, giving us enough time to escape without being caught before our feet ever reach the front porch.

The only problem will be Elio…

I haven’t seen him since we had sex, but that doesn’t mean he’s been absent. My eyes slowly shift to the camera and its blinking light. I cannot predict him anymore, not completely, at least.

Which makes him more dangerous than all the other factors I’m working against combined. If he were to catch Matteo and me, I’m not sure what would happen.

Separation at the very least, I would imagine.

I look down at my son asleep beside me on the narrow cot. His cheek is pressed into the thin pillow, one hand tucked beneath his chin, dark hair falling into his eyes. Even in sleep, he looks tense.

He should be in his own bed under his glow-in-the-dark stars with his soccer cleats tossed carelessly near the closet because he never remembers to put them away no matter how many times I ask.

He should be complaining about math homework, not worrying if we’ll both live to see tomorrow.

My hand moves through his hair. I touch him lightly, barely brushing the strands from his forehead.

He stirs immediately, his fingers tightening around the thin blanket covering him.

I freeze as I watch him shift his body around, one hand hovering above his shoulder while I wait for his breathing to deepen back into sleep.

“Shh, it’s okay,” I whisper.

When he relaxes again, I slip silently off the cot and stand.

The room is still mostly dark, washed in the dim red blink of the camera and the thin gray strip of light spilling in from the hallway beneath the door. I know every inch of this place by now, memorized by my time spent pacing until my feet hurt.

I kneel by the cot and reach beneath the thin mattress pad toward the far corner closest to the wall.

My fingers close around the bent piece of metal from the underside of the frame, the one I worked loose over the last three nights after lights out.

It took patience, more than I thought I still had.

Every scrape of metal against metal sounded deafening in the dark, every tiny movement stretched over minutes that felt close to hours while Matteo slept curled into my side and the camera blinked its slow red eye above us.

When I pull the metal out now, I rotate it in my hand a few times.

It is not much, just a thin, warped strip with one jagged edge and a slight curve where I bent it back and forth until the metal finally snapped free. It would not win me a fight against a trained enforcer or even help me pry open the lock on the door.

But the serrated edge is sharp enough to draw blood if I need to defend myself.

I tuck the metal up into my tattered sleeve, sliding it along the inside of my forearm where the loose fabric hides it.

The cold press of it against my skin steadies me more than I’m expecting. I stand slowly, keeping my movements controlled as I move back to where Matteo is.

I kneel beside him and gently shake his shoulder.

“Matteo,” I whisper.