Page 134

A rush of air hits me, and Bea’s scream pierces through it.

“LUNA!”

I feel her hands—small, frantic—under my arms. Her knees hit the floor beside me. She says my name again, louder this time, shaking me, brushing the hair from my face.

But I’m slipping.

Sliding down into that quiet place beneath it all. That place where grief has no words and pain is just a slow fading light.

The last thing I hear is Bea crying out for help.

And then I fall away.

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Vieri

Chains scrape metal as I shift, the clink echoing in the damp, rotting air of the basement. I’ve stopped counting the days. The routine is the same—drip from the pipe above my head, cold cement at my back, steel shackles biting into skin. Except tonight, there’s a sound I haven’t heard before.

A groan. Low, disoriented. From the next cell over.

Then, hoarse and confused: “What the fuck is going on?”

That idiot drawl.

A short, bitter laugh escapes my throat.

“You’re a two-timing fuck, that’s what’s going on,” I growl into the dark. “How dare you?”

Chains rattle. “Why does everything hurt?”

“Because you were shot, Riccardo,” I snap, tugging at my restraints. They don’t budge. “You don’t remember? Bugatti? Your comrade?”

He groans again, breath labored. “That bastard…”

“He isn’t the only bastard in this equation,” I spit, jaw locked. “You think betrayal comes with a pass because you feel bad about it?”

Then, more quietly: “How long have I been out?”

I exhale through my nose. My neck aches from the position I’ve been forced into. “After they patched your shoulder, you babbled for weeks. Fever. Delirium. They kept sedating you—more than me. Probably figured you’d crack easy. I learned how to fight the dope. You just swallowed it down and cried for your mother.”

A dry chuckle from the next cell, then a groan of pain. “He shoulda just let me die,” Riccardo mutters. Then, louder: “Maybe next time don’t be such a fucking liar.”

I shift again, testing the chain against the bolt in the wall. “What are you whining about now?”

Riccardo's voice sharpens. “When were you going to tell us Dad had a stash? The loot? You were going to take it all for yourself.”

“Really, Sherlock?” My voice rises, frustration clawing up my throat. “And go where? With what army? You think I’d vanish into the tropics while you and the others hunted me across continents?”

Riccardo grumbles, “I don’t know. Maybe Thailand.”

“For God’s sake.” I press my head against the wall between us. The cold seeps through my skin. “It was blood money, Riccardo. People died for it. A lot of people. I didn’t want you, Omero or Enzo or Alfio involved. I’ve already been to prison. I wasn’t going to drag you down too.”

There’s no response.

Then Riccardo asks, quieter this time. “You were going to kill the girl, weren’t you?”

I clench my jaw.

“Did he lie about that too?” he pushes.