Page 39 of Merciless Daddy

“Gianni. Your father. Men with a signed order authorizing them to drug you when you refuse them.”

“My brother is there.”

“I know.”

“Then take me back.”

“No.”

The word was quiet. It had no apology in it.

I stepped close enough that my shoulder almost brushed his chest. “You do not get to decide which danger belongs to me.”

“I can’t stop you walking into it.” His eyes were dark and steady. “I won’t lock that door. I won’t take those keys from you. But I will not personally deliver you to men who planned to sedate you into obedience.”

“You think refusing to drive me makes you different.”

“No.” His jaw flexed. “I think it means I refuse one thing.”

“You took me.”

“Yes, of course I did. And I would do it again.”

The admission hit harder than a denial would have.

“I took you,” he continued. “And I will answer for that. But I won’t pretend the road back to Mill Basin is neutral ground. It isn’t. It’s a loaded gun pointed at your head.”

My fingers closed around the keys.

The garage beyond the door waited. The car waited. A false passport. Cash. A phone. Hotels, airports, police stations. All the doors I had told myself did not exist.

There was no command hidden under his refusal. No guard stepping forward. No hand reaching for my arm.

Only the unbearable fact that I could leave.

And the worse fact that I could not leave Kiryl.

“Until you get him out,” I said.

Sal did not move.

“I’ll stay,” I said, each word bitter. “Until Kiryl is out. Then I decide what happens.”

“Good.”

I shoved the envelope into the pocket of his coat. “Don’t look pleased.”

“I’m not.”

He was lying a little. I could see it in the way his shoulders loosened.

I hated him for being relieved. I hated myself more for making it possible.

The bag arrived with pastries, underwear, and the kind of practical mercy that made me want to throw it down the stairwell.

Salvatore’s brother Tonio stood in the open doorway holding two paper bags and grinning like a man who had never delivered emergency clothing to a kidnapped bride before.

“From Katerina,” he said. “She runs a bakery. She said nobody chooses clothes well under duress, which felt rude but accurate.”