Page 103 of Of Oaths and Secrets

I leap from my chair, the room blurring around me. “I’m coming. Stay hidden, amore. Keep talking to me. Don’t hang up.” I switch to the other line, dialing Vargas. “Locate her now. I don’t care how you do it—just find her.”

“On it,” Vargas replies, his voice sharp with urgency.

I grab my coat and gun, my focus razor-sharp. “Nora,” I murmur into the phone. “I’m on my way. I’ll find you, I swear. Just hold on.”

The Reaper is unleashed. Nothing will stop me now; I will take back what is mine.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Nora

Iwake 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 thatsputters 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.

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