Page 88 of Accidental Alliance

His eyes flutter open, unfocused and heavy. For one second, he looks like any other sleepy child pulled from a dream too early. “Mom? What’s going on?”

“Shh.” I place a finger against my lips immediately. “Quiet, baby. I need you to listen to me.”

Fear cuts through his sleep. It breaks my heart to see that sudden realization of where he is wash over him. He should be grumpy and limp-limbed, whining about wanting five more minutes of sleep before school, not alert and ready to obey.

His brows pull together. “What’s happening?”

I force a small smile onto my face, hating the lie even as I use it. “Remember that backyard game we played coming back from your soccer game? When we climbed the fence?”

He nods, slower this time. His eyes flick to the door for a brief moment then come back to me.

I pull in a slow breath. “We’re going to have to do that again.”

His little throat works as he swallows. “Are we leaving?”

I hesitate for a second before answering.

The problem is I do not know if we will get that far. I do not know if tonight ends with freedom or punishment or Elio standing at the end of the hallway with betrayal written across his face, his dark eyes hard with anger while his body blocks the only way out.

But we have to try.

I cup his face in both hands and whisper, “Yes, but I’m going to need you to be a very brave boy. Okay?”

His eyes fill with unshed tears, but he swallows them back before they can fall. He nods his head slightly. “Okay.”

I squeeze his cheeks gently, my thumbs brushing beneath his eyes. “You need to do exactly what I say. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you not to look, you don’t. Understand?”

He nods again.

I grip his chin gently, making sure he hears the part that matters most. “Matteo.”

His eyes lock on mine. “I understand.”

“Good boy.”

I help him sit up and pull the oversized sweater I begged one of the guards to get him a few days ago over his head.

It swallows him, the sleeves hanging over his hands even when I roll the cuffs up his arms and smooth the fabric over his chest.

I grab his sneakers and slide them onto his feet, tightening the knots and checking each lace with obsessive care.

It is a ridiculous thing to focus on, but the panic racing through me has to go somewhere. If I let it flood my system, I will drown in it before that door even opens.

I cross to the door and lower myself to the floor to watch the light on the other side glow beneath the frame. A shadow passes by our door, followed quickly by a few more sets.

Faintly in the distance, I can hear masculine voices talking. I get back up to my feet and close my fist in a tight curl. Then I pound it against the door relentlessly.

For a moment, nothing happens and all I can hear is the sound of my fist against metal and the pounding of my own heart.

When footsteps finally approach, I quickly move away from the door. It swings open and a slice of a man’s face appears beyond it.

I recognize him instantly, the one who avoids looking at Matteo every time he brings us food because the guilt has clearly already found a home in him.

It’s perfect to use to my advantage.

“What?” he mutters at me.

I make my voice frantic and urgent sounding. “My son is sick.”