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Chapter Twenty-Five

Nora

I wake slowly, my head pounding as if it’s been used as a drum. The dim light above me flickers, casting erratic shadows on the damp, cracked walls. My body feels heavy, and it takes a moment for me to piece together where I am—or rather, where I’m not.

The room is cold and unwelcoming, the air thick with a sour, metallic tang that clings to my throat. A flimsy mattress beneath me creaks as I shift, its springs digging into my back. The scratchy blanket covering me does little to stave off the chill that seeps from the concrete floor.

I sit up slowly, wincing at the stiffness in my muscles. My stomach tightens, and I instinctively press a hand to it, a wave of relief coursing through me when I feel movement. My baby girl is still with me.

“It’s okay, little one,” I whisper, though my voice trembles. “Mama’s here.”

The room offers little comfort, just damp walls and a single metal door that looms like a threat. There’s no window, no source of natural light—just that single, weak bulb above me that sputters every few seconds. My pulse quickens as I stand, my legs shaky beneath me.

I stagger toward the door, my bare feet slapping against the cold, damp floor. I press my ear against the metal, listening intently. Nothing. Just silence so oppressive it feels like a weight on my chest.

The air smells of mildew and something else—something acrid and unpleasant, like rusted iron. The room feels like it’s alive, breathing with me, its dampness wrapping around me like a second skin.

“Hello?” My voice cracks, echoing faintly in the hollow space. There’s no response, just the faint hum of the light above me. “Is anyone there?”

I grip the handle of the door, pulling with all my strength, but it doesn’t budge. It’s locked tight. A sudden rush of panic grips me, and I pound against the metal, the sound reverberating around me. “Let me out!” I scream, my voice raw with desperation. “Let me out, damn it!”

I sink to the floor, leaning against the door, tears pricking my eyes as I try to catch my breath. Every inch of me wants to give in to fear, to let it consume me. But I can’t. I won’t.

“I’m not weak,” I whisper fiercely, brushing away a stray tear. “I’m not weak. I’ll find a way out of this.”

I press a hand to my belly again, grounding myself in the steady movement beneath my fingers. “We’re going to get out of here, baby girl. Your daddy will come for us. He’ll find us.”

The thought of Rafaele—his fierce, unrelenting determination—steadies me. If anyone can find me, it’s him. But until then, I need to stay strong. For her. For him. For us.

I glance around the room again, desperate for some clue, some hint of where I might be. In the far corner, I spot a toilet and a small metal sink, stark and utilitarian. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut: they expect me to be here for a while.

That thought presses down on me, threatening to crush the fragile hope I’m clinging to. But I can’t afford to dwell on it. I have to stay sharp, stay ready.

As I try to push away the encroaching fear, flashes of what happened earlier replay in my mind like a cruel movie. The loud crack of a gunshot. Our guard crumpling to the ground, lifeless, his eyes wide open, staring into nothing. The blood pooling around him, stark and vivid against the pavement.

I shudder, bile rising in my throat. My knees pull to my chest instinctively as I try to push the image away. And Lucia—God, what happened to Lucia? The memory of her being struck down, her terrified scream ringing in my ears, is like a dagger to my heart.

“Please let her be okay,” I whisper, a desperate prayer to anyone listening. She was brave, loyal. She didn’t deserve this.

The baby shifts, grounding me again. I rub my belly gently. “We have to stay strong, little one. For Lucia, for us.”

I push myself up again, scanning the room for anything—anything I can use. The mattress, the blanket, the lightbulb above me. Nothing screams salvation, but I won’t give up. My hand trails along the walls, damp and rough beneath my fingertips, as I search for even the smallest crack in this prison.

Just as I lean against the wall to catch my breath, a faint sound reaches my ears. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, growing louder with every passing second.

My heart leaps into my throat, my mind racing. Friend or foe?

The metal door creaks open, and I scramble backward, bracing myself for what—or who—might come through.

A burly blond man in his mid to late twenties walks in, and he glares at me as he sees me standing there.

“Where am I? Who are you?” I demand, my voice trembling with forced bravado as he dumps a bag on the bed. He doesn’t answer, his face blank as he turns to leave. “I’m talking to you!” I shout, my tone sharper, masking the fear bubbling beneath my surface.

He pauses, turning his head slightly, and mutters something in what I assume is Russian. The tone of his voice is biting and dismissive.

“I’m pregnant,” I plead, my desperation breaking through. “Please let me out.”

He glances over his shoulder, his expression unchanging, then mutters another phrase before stepping out. The sound of the lock sliding into place sends a shiver down my spine.

I sag onto the bed, staring at the bag. My stomach grumbles, the hollow ache impossible to ignore. I tear it open and find a bottle of water and a gas station sandwich—cheese, sealed in plastic, far from ideal for a pregnant woman. But I know I have no choice. Starving myself isn’t an option.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I unwrap the sandwich and force myself to take a bite. The bread is stale, the cheese rubbery, but my body demands sustenance. I chew robotically, my thoughts spinning like a whirlwind.

The man comes at intervals now, his visits as mechanical as the meals he provides. Each time, he tosses the bag into the room without stepping inside. My pleas for answers, for mercy, fall on deaf ears. He doesn’t even meet my eyes anymore.

How long have I been here? Hours? Days? My sense of time is completely warped under this artificial light, with no windows to guide me.

By the third visit, panic takes a firmer hold. My pleas are more frantic, but I might as well be talking to the walls. Pain begins to creep through my body—sharp, biting, and familiar. A flare-up, the stress unleashing it in full force. Worse still, the baby’s movements are slowing, and I feel the fever creeping in, not knowing if it’s simply my lupus flaring or something far more concerning.

“Please,” I whisper hoarsely during his latest visit, clutching my belly as tears streak my face. “Something’s wrong. Please help me.”

He throws the bag at me without a word and leaves, the lock clicking shut behind him.

When I drag myself to the corner toilet, I see it: blood. Not a lot, but enough to send terror coursing through me. A fresh wave of fear and fury bursts in my chest, creating something primal.

I sit on the floor, the ache in my body almost unbearable. "You’re not giving up, baby girl," I whisper fiercely, pressing a hand to my stomach. "We’re getting out of here."

As my eyes scan the dim room, I spot it—a rusty nail protruding from the bed frame. Hope glimmers faintly in the darkness.

I crawl toward it, my fingers trembling as I reach out. It’s wedged tightly, and the effort makes my already tender fingers bleed, but I grit my teeth and keep going. Pain is no stranger to me; it doesn’t faze me anymore. Finally, the nail comes loose.

With the jagged nail in hand, I work to unscrew the other bolts holding the bed frame together. It takes time, blood dripping from my fingers as I work, but eventually, I manage to pry a piece of sharp, pointy metal free.

I hold the jagged shard in my hand, my breath coming in shallow pants. This isn’t just survival—it’s war.

Leaving drops of blood trailing across the floor, I move back to the mattress. I lie down on my side, turning my back to the door, gripping the shard tightly beneath me. My body trembles with exhaustion, but I force myself to stay still.

The faint sound of footsteps echoes down the hall. My heart pounds as I close my eyes, feigning unconsciousness. The lock clicks, and the door creaks open.

His steps grow louder as he approaches, his voice muttering something under his breath. I don’t move, not even when he nudges me with his foot.

I hear him shift closer and feel the oppressive heat of his body and the sickening scent of his cologne. My grip tightens on the shard as his hand brushes against my arm.

This is it.

With every ounce of strength left in me, I twist and strike upward, driving the shard into his throat.

A wet, gurgling sound fills the air as his blood spills, hot and sticky, over my hands. His eyes widen in shock as he stumbles backward, clutching his neck.

I scramble away, watching as he collapses, his body twitching on the floor. My breath comes in ragged gasps, and my hands tremble as I clutch the bloodied piece of metal.

I’m alive. Baby girl is still with me.

But this isn’t over yet.

I drag myself up, adrenaline numbing the pain in my limbs. My fingers fumble with the key ring on his belt, slick with blood, until I finally manage to it free.

I glance at the lifeless body, the pool of blood spreading beneath him, and my chest tightens. My instincts scream to keep moving, but a glint catches my eye—a phone sticking out of his pocket.

Hope surges through me. Crawling back to him, I force my trembling hands to reach into his pocket. I swipe at the screen, and to my disbelief, it’s unlocked. My fingers shake as I scroll through the options and hit the dial pad.

One number fills my mind. Rafaele.

I call it as I slowly take the stairs up the basement, unsure of how many people are waiting for me upstairs.

It rings, each second stretching into eternity until his voice cuts through the line. I clutch the phone tightly, my hands slick with sweat and blood, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The fever makes my vision swim, and I struggle to stay upright.

“Rafaele?”

“Nora?” His voice is sharp, full of disbelief and raw emotion.

I choke on a sob, the sound escaping me before I can stop it. “Rafaele… please… I need you. Come get me.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, and for a moment, my heart sinks, but then his voice comes through, low and urgent. “Where are you, amore? Are you safe?”

Safe. The word feels foreign in my current reality. “I killed him,” I say, my voice breaking. The memory of the blood, the gurgling sound, and his lifeless eyes haunt me, but I push it aside. “But I don’t know how long I can stay hidden. I’m in pain… something’s wrong. Please… save our baby.”

The line crackles, and I hear the scrape of a chair being pushed back. His voice changes, growing harder, laced with fury and love in equal measure. “I’m coming. Stay hidden, amore. Keep talking to me. Don’t hang up.”

I nod instinctively, even though he can’t see me. My knees buckle slightly, and I grip the kitchen counter, trying to force my body to obey.

I hear him speaking in the background, the clipped authority in his voice directed at someone else. “Locate her now. I don’t care how you do it—just find her.”

The world feels distant like I’m floating in and out of consciousness, but his voice pulls me back. “Nora,” he murmurs, softer now, his tone threaded with a promise that makes my chest tighten. “I’m on my way. I’ll find you, I swear. Just hold on. Do you know where you are?”

“I don’t know exactly where I am,” I whisper looking out the window to a nondescript suburban street. Houses with dark windows stretch in either direction, their silence oppressive. “I got out, but I’m hurt… and Rafaele, I think something’s wrong. The baby… she’s not moving much.”

“Nora,” he says, his voice dropping into something dangerously calm. “Are you bleeding?”

I glance down at myself, my shaky hand running over my stomach. The fabric is damp, sticking to me uncomfortably. “Not much,” I whisper, “but… I feel strange. I have this headache—so bad I can’t think straight. I’m so hot.” My voice cracks, and I lean against the wall for support. “My vision keeps going blurry, and my hands are swollen. I… I think I have a fever.”

“Damn it,” he growls, panic lacing his voice. “Listen to me, amore. You need to stay calm. Don’t move. Hide if you can, but don’t move. I’m coming, Nora. I swear, I’ll be right there.”

My knees buckle, and I sink to the floor, clutching the phone as if it’s the only thing keeping me tethered. “Please,” I murmur, my words soft and broken. “Save her. Save our baby.”

“I’ll save both of you,” he vows, his voice low but seething with determination. “You hear me? Both of you. Just hold on, amore. Don’t give up on me.”

Tears spill freely, hot against my flushed skin. “I love you,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “You know that, don’t you? You’ve made me so happy, Rafaele. I regret nothing.”

“No,” he snaps, his voice filled with raw emotion. “No, Nora, don’t you dare say goodbye. You are not leaving me. You made me a promise, remember? Forever.”

A faint smile touches my lips. “Mmm-hmm,” I murmur, but the exhaustion pulls at me, relentless and heavy. “You’ve been the best thing that ever happened to me…”

“Nora!” His voice slices through the haze, sharp and commanding. “Don’t close your eyes. Talk to me. Stay awake. I’m coming for you. Just hold on.”

The phone slips from my hand, resting against my belly. I press my palm there, whispering softly to my daughter. “He’s coming for us… He always comes for us…”

I don’t know how much time passes. My thoughts are hazy, and the pain feels distant like it belongs to someone else.

The next thing I feel is warmth—strong, familiar arms lifting me. His scent surrounds me, grounding me, pulling me back from the void. My head lolls weakly against his chest.

“Nora,” he breathes out, his voice trembling. “Amore, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

I try to respond, but the words won’t come. My lips part, and only a faint sound escapes.

“Shh,” he soothes, his lips brushing against my sweat-drenched forehead. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. Just hold on.”

The car door opens, and he settles me inside, tucking a blanket around me. His hands are everywhere, gentle but shaking. I feel his fear in the way he moves, in the tremor of his touch.

“Stay with me,” he whispers again, his voice breaking. “Please, amore. Don’t do this. Don’t leave me.”

I blink up at him, my vision unfocused. “Save her…” I whisper, the words slurred. “Promise me…”

“No,” he chokes out, gripping my hand like a lifeline. “I won’t promise that. Because I’m saving both of you. You hear me? Both of you. I can’t lose you, Nora. I can’t.”

The car lurches forward, and I feel the vibrations beneath me. His voice—broken, raw—echoes in my ears as the darkness tugs at me again.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing against mine. “You’re my everything. Please, Nora… stay with me. Please…”

I feel his tears against my cheek as the void finally claims me.