Page 100 of Trapped

Violet’s phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at it, her face tightening as she read the screen. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

I watched her step away, her voice dropping to a whisper as she answered the call. A minute later, she came back, moaning. “Oh no, I completely forgot! I was supposed to take Jack to gymnastics. I’m so sorry. I need to rush him over there, or he’ll miss it.”

I smiled. “No problem, go ahead.”

She gathered Jack quickly, ushering him toward the door. “Thanks for understanding, Delilah. Santino’s on his way.”

They hurried out, and a sense of isolation crept over me, the shield of companionship fading as she closed the door.

Alone again.

The board game lay on the table, the colorful tiles blurring. My hands trembled slightly, and a haunting urge whispered seductively in my ear.

Just one drink.

The boutique was gone. My dreams, reduced to ashes. A drink would dull the pain clawing at my chest. I wandered toward the kitchen. I glanced at the cabinet, where I used to keep a bottle. My throat tightened, my body craving the warmth that alcohol would bring.

No one has to know.

I reached for the door, the cool metal of the handle under my fingertips.

“Delilah?”

Santino’s voice echoed through the penthouse, pulling me out of the haze. I froze. My pulse roared in my ears.

The door swung open behind me, and his heavy footsteps filled the space. I didn’t turn around.

“Delilah, what are you doing?”

“I wanted a drink.”

He gently pulled my hand away from the door and spun me to face him. He didn’t say a word, just pulled me into his chest.

I buried my face against him. The store, the fire, Dimitri—it was too much. But Santino was there, keeping me grounded.

“It’s okay,” he murmured into my hair. “I’m not going to let you fall.”

THIRTY-THREE

DELILAH

My phone buzzed again, this time flashing another message from the contractor about the repairs. I sighed, silencing it as I stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the overwhelming stack of papers on the counter—quotes from suppliers, emails from vendors, and a never-ending to-do list that kept growing.

The fire had gutted everything. All the vintage clothing, the displays, the custom fixtures I’d spent months curating… gone. I’d spent hours on the phone with the insurance company, trying to explain the loss, compiling lists of everything I’d owned, and sorting out the renter’s insurance claim for the merchandise and fixtures. The insurance company dragged their feet, holding off on payouts because of “suspicious circumstances.”

It was arson. Santino’s people had already told me that much. They were handling it quietly, out of sight from the cops, but not knowing who was behind it for sure ate at me.

Luca’s face flickered through my mind again, but I pushed it aside. I couldn’t focus on that right now. I had enough on my plate without adding another layer of stress.

I shuffled through the paperwork again, my head spinning. The fire. The inventory. The money I’d lost. Luca’s reappearance. Everything was tangled up together, and I was barely keeping my head above water.

Santino entered the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m thinking about the inventory I lost. I don’t think I can replace it all.”

Santino stepped closer, his hand resting on my back. “We will.”

I forced a smile, but my mind was still reeling. I needed to focus on something else to keep from spiraling.

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