Page 10 of Vows Made in Silence

Is it a reminder that he can reach me anywhere—any time.

I grip the nearest sculpture base, bracing myself as my legs begin to shake.

Footsteps echo from the mezzanine above. Slow. Measured. Coming closer.

And then—his voice.

4

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Blood Between Us

The footsteps coming toward me are deliberate and slow.

Each one lands like a gavel—calculated, inevitable. The kind of rhythm you only hear when they want you to know they’re coming.

I press myself against the cold edge of the gallery wall, muscles trembling with adrenaline. My phone’s flashlight flickers once, then dies completely. Darkness swallows everything.

The only sound left is the echo of leather soles.

Whoever it is… They’re here for me.

I reach for the emergency alarm behind the central pedestal—only to remember I disabled it myself last week. Goddamn it.

I duck low, breath tight, trying to move around the exhibit without giving myself away. I glance toward the front entrance. Still locked. Still too far.

Then a voice cuts through the dark like a blade dipped in memory.

“Is this how you hide now? Behind glass and silence?”

I know that voice. Even after all these years.

“Luca.”

He emerges from the shadows like something summoned—no longer just a ghost from my past but a flesh-and-blood standingin his tailored suit with those same obsidian eyes that once burned with love and now burn with hatred.

He doesn’t speak right away.

I straighten slowly, arms rigid at my sides, trying to hide the tremor in my fingers.

“What are you doing here?”

He cocks his head. “You’ve got a lot of nerve asking questions when you’re the one who vanished. Left me in the dark.”

“I had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” he snarls, stepping closer.

He closes the distance in two slow, measured strides. “And now you’re here. In Vegas. Working under an alias.”

He reaches into his coat and pulls out the photograph—the one of Daniel. He holds it up between us like a weapon. “Is this my son you’ve been hiding from me?”

—

I stare at the photo, throat closing around air that won’t come.

“You had no right,” I whisper, eyes locked on the photo.