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I nod. "More than happy."

Lorenzo shoves the guy away and he drops. He hits the floor right away, the carpet doing nothing to soften the fall. He fainted.

Unbelievable.

"Incompetence," Lorenzo grumbles, shaking his head, as the others scramble to pull the coward to his feet. "I'm beginning to understand why you prefer to work alone, Ignazio."

"You can't count on anyone," I say, turning around, glancing through the house. There's no sign of Karissa anywhere that I can see.

"Right," Lorenzo says, stepping toward me, hitting my chest with the back of his hand as he strolls past. "Except for me, of course."

"Not even you."

He ignores my remark as he strolls back the way we came, instead focusing his attention on his men. "Take me to her, Number One."

Number One.

You've got to be kidding me.

I watch as a guy clambers after Lorenzo.

He gave them numbers.

The guy rushes straight toward a door in the hallway, hesitating with his hand on the knob. He looks at Lorenzo, then me, then back at Lorenzo, like he's afraid to open that damn door for some reason.

Like he's afraid of what we're going to see.

Anger and impatience stirs inside of me as I push past them, knocking the guy out of the way to open the door myself. A basement.

It's dark, pitch black. I can barely make out the pair of wooden stairs leading down into it. It's mostly silent, until I strain my ears, hearing only the faintest cry.

It's a sound that's familiar to me.

A gasp for air, a devastated whimper, the sound of Karissa trying her hardest to be strong, but it's not working. I don't hesitate. I head right down those flimsy stairs, down into the darkness, frantic to get to her… to find her… to see her. To let her know it's okay, that she's okay, that we're going to be okay.

I swear it, we will, we'll make it, even if it's the last thing I do.

I'll give her the happiness she deserves.

No more of this grief.

No more of these goddamn tears.

She's huddled in a corner, her knees pulled up, her head down, shielding her face. Hands fist her chaotic hair, clinging to it like her life depends on it, like holding on is what's holding her together. She's rocking and shaking, oblivious to my presence, so lost in her head, so overwhelmed by her heartache, that she didn't even hear me.

I stare at her, for just a second, taking her in as she collapses into herself in the darkness, feeling a deep ache in my chest. Feeling the pain I know she's been feeling. Her heart is broken, but the fucking thing is still beating. Second after second, it continues to keep her alive.

I take a step toward her, then another, before she breaks out of her trance, realizing she's not alone. Her whimpers cease as she inhales sharply, steeling herself like only she can. Her head darts up, piercing, angry eyes cutting through the darkness, seeking out whatever she heard. Her gaze meets mine, and I watch as the rage fades away, melting straight to that goddamn heartbreak.

I hate it.

I hate seeing it.

But fuck, she's beautiful.

Happy. Sad. Angry. Terrified.

She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

She's beautiful because she's strong.

Beautiful because she's fierce.

Beautiful because, even when I hesitated, she didn't.

She fought.

She fought hard.

And goddamn if that's not beautiful to me…

Her mouth moves, but no words greet me.

She's shell-shocked.

She stares at me, silent tears falling down her cheeks.

She's not moving, not even blinking, like maybe I'm just a figment of her imagination and she's afraid the darkness is going to erase me if she surrenders to it.

"I told you," I say quietly. "I'll always come for you."

That does it. That's all she needs.

A cry echoes through the basement as she forces herself to her feet, shoving off of the floor, barely able to stand, let alone walk, but she's strong enough to throw herself at me, knowing good and well I'll never let her fall. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her to me, holding her tightly, relishing in her warmth. She's on her tiptoes, clinging to me.

"I thought you were dead," she whispers, her voice cracking around the words.

"Come on," I say, stroking her tangled hair. "You really think I'm that easy to kill?"

She laughs, but it's not a happy sound.

There's nothing funny about any of this.

Footsteps register behind me then, just a moment passing before a harsh overhead light flicks on across the basement. Squinting from the light, I set Karissa on her feet and loosen my hold, but she winces, clutching ahold of me. My instinct is to look at her, my eyes scanning her, alarmed when I see the blood coating her dirty, bare foot. "What happened?"

My question is lost on her as she starts to panic. Her breath quickens, body shaking, as she frantically clings to me, her attention across the room. Shit.

I turn my head, looking right at Lorenzo, his apparent number one little soldier standing guard by his side. The guy looks nervous.

"What happened to her foot?" I ask, motioning toward it, a touch of anger in my voice.

He starts to stammer.

What is it with these guys?

"She, uh... well... she did it to herself."

I look at him incredulously. "She did it to herself."

"Uh, yeah," he says. "She kicked out the car window."

"She kicked out the car window."

"And the glass, it shattered. Cut her, I guess. She was fighting us, you know? Wasn't anything I could do about it. Like I said... she did it to her—"

Before the guy can finish saying 'herself', Lorenzo reacts, reaching into his waistband and pulling out his gun.

BANG

A single shot, right to the temple, lights up the basement. It blows his fucking head apart. The guy drops instantly. Karissa lets out a scream, startled, and I pull her to me tightly, holding her as I glare at Lorenzo. "Was that necessary?"

"Of course," he says, slipping the gun back away. "All I heard was blah blah blah I didn't follow instructions so just kill me already. Why? What did you hear?"