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The bag absorbs everything. At least until my knuckles finally split.
Blood seeps through the frayed tape, and air saws in and out of lungs that feel too full of ghosts, too heavy with everything I can’t outrun.
Marco walks in, a towel slung over his shoulder like he owns the place. He notes the blood on my knuckles, the busted skin, the thousand-yard stare I haven’t bothered to hide, and tosses it over to me without a word.
“Something bothering you, Boss?”
Stupid question.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
He stays quiet and respectful, but I catch the curiosity in his gaze.
His attention flicks to the shaking bag. “Were you trying to break its spine?”
“Why are you still here?”
He shrugs. “Was reassigned to surveillance duty. Ruined my date.”
“Your high school sweetheart?”
He nods. “Yeah. She still thinks I’m worth her time. I don’t want to prove her wrong yet.”
I inhale a deep breath, trying not to think about what it means to be someone with a reason to leave.
“You should go to her.”
Marco blinks. “What about the shift?”
“I’ll take it.”
His eyes widen like I’ve just handed him the keys to the kingdom. “Seriously?”
I respond with a curt nod, because I don’t want him to know I have my own reasons for doing this favor…reasons that can’t be properly voiced without me being labeled a mad man.
“Thanks, Boss.” He claps me on the shoulder and bolts like freedom has a curfew.
Enzo
The surveillance room has always been cold, and tonight’s no different. I’m wrapped in a jacket as I sit across from flickering black-and-white monitors featuring all the floors of the villa. The Padrino’s quarters, the gates, the weapons stockpile…and then screen six.
Sophia’s room.
She paces, her loose hair falling in messy waves down her back. Her fingers smooth her skirt again and again, as if she’s trying to iron out an ache in her heart.
She’s waiting for me, and I’m not coming. She checks the door again and again.
Shit. Blowing her off is one thing but not telling her in person is worse. Breaking promises shouldn’t matter to a man like me, but for some reason, this one does.
For that same reason, I’m sitting here doing a job five ranks below me. She has too strong of a pull on me.
I can see the moment she gives up on her expectation. She stretches her body through improvised exercises before heading for her desk to start scribbling.
I zoom in on the notebook. The open page has Lesson Plans underlined at the top. Below it, I glimpse doodles, handwritten notes, and what look like strategies for individual children. Even locked in a basement, she’s still a teacher.
It’s hard to ignore the warmth pooling in my belly at the fact that this woman, a prisoner herself, still finds it in her heart to care about others.
She’s too good to be ruined by the likes of the Bratva, like she would be if Gabi succeeds in handing her over to them.
