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He goes still as the fury retreats behind a more frigid mask. “You want to know what happens to people who hurt me, Dr. Romano? They find themselves on my table, and I take what they owe me. Piece by piece.”
He gestures to the men, who lift and then drag me back toward the operating room. I struggle the whole way, but I’m weak, bleeding, and my bare feet slide on the tile.
They strap me to the table once more. The chilling metal is back against my spine, and the restraints bite into my wrists and ankles. Bruno picks up a new scalpel, tests the edge with his thumb, and watches a bead of his own blood well up and drip.
“We’ll start with a kidney, I think.” His voice is almost thoughtful as he draws a clear liquid into a syringe from a vial on the tray. “Vecuronium. A paralytic. Every surgeon’s familiar with it.”
He taps the barrel. “It will freeze every muscle in your body while leaving your mind perfectly alert. You’ll have no ability to scream or move while I work.” He holds my gaze. “Kidney first. Then heart, liver, lungs, pancreas, intestines… Until there’s nothing left to take.”
I close my eyes and think of Marco. His steady hands on my skin. The heat of his palm against my jaw. His voice, rough with emotion, telling me I was worth more than I knew. The way he looked at me this morning, soft and wondering, like I was a gift he’d never thought he deserved.
My thoughts right now are for the baby I’m now sure I’m carrying, the life I wanted to build, and the future I was starting to believe in. I think of Matteo, of that photograph on my nightstand where his smile is bright and alive.
By now, Marco and the rest of the family will have figured out I’ve been taken. I know my husband’s scouring through every inch of this city to find me.
He won’t be here in time. It’s too late.
I couldn’t protect our child.
I open my eyes to find Bruno riffling through the instrument tray as he ponders which weapon to wield. His two men post up by the door, and the wound on my left palm trickles blood down my fingers.
The shuffling stops. Then footsteps, unmistakably Bruno’s, thud toward me.
“Marco…” The name slips out quietly. I’m not calling out for him or expecting anything. I speak it because my soul resonates with the truth of what we are, and I want to take that one earthly bond with me into whatever comes next.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Sorry I didn’t trust you sooner. I wasted so much of our time being afraid of what you were.”
“Marco.” His name is barely a breath from my lips. “We would’ve been so happy. You, me, and our child. Maybe in the next lifetime, I’ll find you again. I love you.”
As I close my eyes one last time, bracing for agony, the door explodes inward.
Chapter 36
Marco
My lungs burn with each labored breath as I climb the stairwell, pushing upward into the darkness.
“Marco, be careful.” Even through the earpiece, Nico’s worry is audible. “Don’t take unnecessary risks.”
I respond with a noncommittal grunt. I keep my weapon up as my senses stretch to their breaking points. My footsteps echo off the concrete. Somewhere above, through layers of abandoned floors, Lucia waits. Alive. She pulls at me like the beat of my heart, and hope surges, feeding my adrenaline.
A guard in tactical gear with no insignia stands just outside the stairwell. Must be with the same contract soldiers we encountered at the Newark warehouse. Bruno using these men instead of the Volkov soldiers raises questions about the state of things between him and the Bratva.
I don’t wonder about that for long before lowering my gun, pulling my knife from the boot, and slitting the guard’s throat. As his body collapses, I slip my arms under his shoulders, silently guiding him to the concrete. Dark blood pools beneath him as I return the knife to the sheath.
As soon as another guard steps out, I slam my elbow into his temple before he can call for help or raise his weapon. He crumples, his head cracking against the wall.
The third guard sees me coming. His eyes widen, and he gets off a single shot that screams past my ear. Then I’m on him, channeling all my rage and fear into my fists, punching his face, his chest, every weak point. I attack him just like his current boss taught me to years ago.
When I rise from his limp body, warm, wet blood slicks my hands. My shoulder throbs where the bullet grazed me, but I don’t feel it. There’s no room for pain because every nerve is tuned to one frequency.
Lucia.
Nico’s voice crackles in my ear, cutting through the roar of my pulse. “Two more on the third floor. Bruno’s in the operating room. I believe she’s alive, Marco.”
The words hit like oxygen to a suffocating man. I’m moving before Nico finishes speaking, taking the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding a war-drum rhythm that syncs with the syllables of her name.
Lu-ci-a. Lu-ci-a.
