Page 7

The darkness in the basement was absolute when the power cut out. I allowed my eyes to adjust and when I heard Larissa taking panicked, short breaths, I made my way to her.

She said she wasn’t afraid, but she was acting like she was as I sat beside her on the bed. What was her end game here? Did she hope to weaken me by taking this opportunity to play damsel in distress?

“Lights can take time to come back,” I said, my voice echoing against the concrete walls. “Unless you'd like to tell me what I want to know so you can be out of here.”

Another sound escaped her, higher-pitched this time. I could hear the sheets ruffle as she shifted.

“Playing frightened won't work on me,” I said, reaching for the phone in my pocket, using its faint glow to look at her face. “I've seen better performances.”

“Please,” she whispered, and something in her voice caught me off guard—a raw edge I hadn't noticed before.

Her eyes flickered to the bulb and then toward the corridor.

Under the beam of my flashlight, she appeared like a deer caught in headlights.

Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and her skin ashen beneath her creamy complexion.

Her hands gripped the sheets so tightly.

“Turn on the lights,” she said, her voice trembling.

I leaned back on my elbows, getting comfortable. She had tried to be afraid and I’d been gentle, but she was still quiet when spoken to. Perhaps, if she was truly afraid, I could play into it.

“What, are you afraid of the dark? Don’t expect me to believe that,” I meant it as mockery, but the flinch that rippled through her body was unmistakable.

“How long will they be out?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady and failing completely.

I should have told her the truth that it was probably just a circuit breaker, easily fixed.

Instead, a cruel impulse made me say, “Could be days. Last time the power went out here, the basement was in the dark for nearly a week.” I watched her face crumple, feeling a glimmer of satisfaction at breaking through her stubborn silence.

Then, I turned off the light from my phone. “If you aren’t willing to speak,” I said, standing from the bed. “Then I might as well leave.”

I felt the bed shake as she jumped off of it. “No… No, please…” she whimpered.

She grabbed my hand in the dark, pulling it toward her.

Then she started to shake. It no longer felt like a performance of a woman acting frightened. She was trembling uncontrollably, and her breath came in sharp, painful gasps.

“The closets,” she rumbled. “I can’t do this. Not again. When I was bad, there would be no light for hours in there… if Father thought I deserved it. Don’t leave me here. Please. Please.”

I turned on the light on my phone once again and saw her eyes had welled with tears. A weird guilt crumbled my resolve. Making her this afraid by something she was truly triggered by wasn't part of my interrogation strategy. This wasn't useful.

“They'd tell me the monsters could smell fear,” she continued, her eyes now on the light from my phone. “That if I cried, they'd come for me. That the darkness was a punishment, and I had to learn to—” She broke off, her breathing coming too fast now.

“Stop,” I said, stepping closer. “There are no monsters here.”

She whimpered with a trembling lower lip, then looked up at me with defiance, but I could see she was masking an embarrassment. “I know that,” she said, jutting out her chin. “But still…don’t.”

It was a simple ask. Bring back the lights, or don’t leave her here. Her eyes trailed to where her hand held mine, and she removed hers as though she’d been burned. The look she gave me though, a pure plea for something as basic as light, made me pause.

I ran my hand through my hair, feeling the skin still simmering where she had touched me. I had interrogated dozens of people in this basement, but this wasn't an interrogation. This was a kind of torture I hadn't intended, and she was a woman.

I had never questioned or tortured a woman before, and if I left her here, I knew I would be crossing an internal boundary I couldn’t make peace with.

Her breathing had become erratic. I could see her chest heaving, struggling to draw air.

“Fuck,” I muttered, making a decision that I knew would probably come back to haunt me. I took her hand on impulse. “Come on. We're leaving.”

She didn't move, frozen in the grip of her panic. I gently tugged at her hand, forcing her to look at me.

“Come. Now,” I insisted, knowing if I didn’t get her out now, she could be on her way to a full-blown panic attack, and this was no place to treat one should it arrive.

“I'm taking you upstairs,” I said, keeping my voice steady, neutral. “Away from the dark. Understand?”

Her only response was to nod. I could see her tears silently drip down her face as she stumbled by my side, fearful of the dark, up the narrow basement stairs I navigated by flashlight.

We reached the top and I swung the doors open, bringing with it some light. She rushed out of the door into the kitchen, taking deep breaths as she joyfully took in the light, as though the darkness had crushed the air from her lungs.

In that moment, I knew I made the right call bringing her up. Had she remained down there, she would have gone mad from fear. I needed answers, but no one knew where she was, which meant I had all the time in the world to get them. I didn’t need to damage her in the process.

She turned to me then with a silent question in her eyes. “From now on, you’ll stay in the guest room,” I explained as I gripped her arm gently and walked her through the house.

***

I let her enter her bedroom first, before following. She immediately went to the bed and lay down, curling into herself. Her panic seemed to be receding.

“There’s water at your bedside. The maids will come in the mornings to clean, and they’ll bring you your meals. Feel free to call the housekeeping using that phone,” I pointed at the intercom.

She didn’t respond, nor did she lift her head. Her fear was replaced by wariness and the return of her earlier silence.

“There are no power cuts here,” I said, stepping back toward the door to give her space. “There's a bathroom through that door. Clean clothes in the wardrobe.”

Her eyes, still wet with tears, moved from my face to the door and back, calculating.

“Don't,” I warned, reading her thoughts. “The door will be locked from the outside. The windows don’t open and can’t be broken. This room is more comfortable than the basement, but it's still a cell.”

She said nothing, but the silence now had a confidence to it that hadn't been there before. She watched me like a clever hawk with a new kind of awareness. I'd shown weakness by bringing her up here, and she knew it.

“Rest,” I said, moving toward the door. “We'll continue our conversation tomorrow.”

No nod, no acknowledgment. She simply treated me as though I didn’t exist. I sighed at how quickly she had withdrawn into silence again, but then again, what did I expect? What was I thinking? That I had brought her up here and she would be compliant?

Something told me Larissa Ajello wasn’t the kind of woman who could be bought. I could treat her as well as I damned wish, but it would change nothing. She’d talk only when she was ready.

But, I’d make sure to push her enough for her to be willing. Over the next few days, weeks or more, if needed, I’d be back. Day after day, hour after hour. She’ll see.

“Bye,” I said, turning back. She said nothing in return, just watched as I left, locking the door securely behind me.

I leaned against the hallway wall, pressing the palms of my hands against my eyes. What the hell was I doing? Any other man in my position would have left her in the basement, panic attack or not. Information was what mattered, not comfort. Not compassion.

But I wasn't any other man. And whatever this woman knew about her family’s intentions against mine, it wasn't worth watching her unravel before my eyes.

I walked away from her room, knowing that for today, we were done. I’d used her as an excuse to push off vital communication, and now, with her in my guest room, I knew it was time to update my brothers on how the business was going.

I hadn’t told any of them about the attack at our warehouse.

With Caspian still away, I didn’t want to worry him on his honeymoon.

As for my younger siblings, I wanted to protect them from the truth.

If I told them what happened and by error, they let the news slip to one wrong person, the Vadims and Ustinovs might stop trusting our family.

For their safety, I had to give just enough information, but not all of it.

I made my way to my office, sending a quick text to one of the household staff to bring food to the guest room. Then I placed a call to my brothers to let them know that the shipment would have to be delayed.

Federico was the first to speak as the conference call connected. “Gio. What’s happening? I was about to call you. The merchant officer said we have to pay for docking fee for a few extra days.”

“Has there been a delay, Brother?” Dante asked.

“Yes,” I said, keeping my voice even. “We have a complication.”

“What kind of complication?” Luca asked.

“Some crates for packing the weapons fell short,” I lied smoothly. “Quality control issue. I need another day, maybe two.”

“Caspian won't like this,” Federico said. “He wants this shipment landed before competitors learn of our plans and infiltrate Europe with their own weapons. He hopes to move fast and be a monopoly.”

“I know what Caspian wants,” I said, an edge creeping into my voice. “I'll handle it.”

What I didn't say was that we had been attacked and that some of our men could have died. I'd kept that information to myself, not wanting to implicate Caspian and my brothers in what could become a diplomatic nightmare with our allies if handled poorly.