Page 29 of Obsidian Devotion

"But he trusts you." Carlos's voice softens, becoming the voice of the uncle who comforted me after nightmares, who taught me to shoot, to fight. "He let you in once before, didn't he? When he was injured."

I cross my arms over my chest, over the secret growing inside me. "That was different."

"Was it?" Carlos moves to the window, gazing out at the New York skyline. "I've watched you these past weeks, Sofia. You're changing. Softening toward him."

"I'm playing my part," I snap, too quickly.

Carlos turns, his expression suddenly gentle in a way that frightens me more than his anger. "Do you remember what they did to Luciano? Whathedid?"

My throat tightens. "Of course I remember."

"They tied him to a chair in that basement," Carlos continues, his voice relentless. "For three days, Lorenzo tortured him. Broke his fingers one by one. Cut pieces from him. And when they finally shot him, it was a mercy."

"Stop." The word tears from my throat.

But Carlos doesn't stop. He pulls out his phone, and I know what's coming. The video I've seen too many times, that plays in my nightmares. "Maybe you need a reminder—"

"I said stop!" I knock the phone from his hand. It clatters to the floor, and for a moment we both stare at it, breathing hard.

"Don't forget why you're here," Carlos says finally, retrieving his phone. "Don't forget what Lorenzo Bellanti really is beneath that charm. He's the family's enforcer. Their butcher." His eyes narrow. "The man who made your brother beg for death."

Something shifts inside me. Of course, it's far too early for it to be the baby—but something moves all the same. Guilt, perhaps. Or determination.

"I know what I have to do," I whisper.

After Carlos leaves, I sit in silence for a long while, hands resting protectively over my stomach. Then I rise, eager to get this over with. Maybe after everything is done, I can move to a faraway country and raise my child alone.

Night falls as I prepare. I put on dark clothes and tuck my hair beneath a cap.

The club is busy when I arrive, music pulsing through the walls, oblivious patrons dancing and drinking above the basement where Gabriel waits to die.

I slip in through the kitchen, nodding to a cook who barely glances at me—just another employee coming in for a late shift.

The hallway to the basement is empty, the guard missing from his usual post. Probably for a smoke break.

I punch in the code to the basement with trembling fingers, and the door clicks open.

Gabriel looks up as I enter, his face a mosaic of bruises, dried blood caking his split lip. Confusion flashes in his eyes as I remove my cap, red hair tumbling free.

"Who are you?" he whispers.

"Hurry," I whisper back, working at his restraints. "We have little time."

His wrists are raw when the zip ties finally give way. He stands on shaky legs, leaning against me. "Why are you helping me?"

I think of Luciano. Of Lorenzo. Of our baby. "Let's just say I have my reasons."

We make it out through a service tunnel Carlos told me about, emerging three blocks away from the club. Gabriel grips my hands, his battered face shining with gratitude.

"Thank you," he says. "I'll never forget this."

I nod, unable to speak past the knot in my throat. He disappears into the night, and I return to my apartment, heart hammering against my ribs.

It's done. Whatever happens now, it's done.

Hours later, a knock at my door jolts me from a restless sleep. Not the sharp rap of Carlos's knuckles, but a heavy pounding that makes the hinges rattle.

I wrap my robe tighter around myself, heart hammering against my ribs. Who could it be at this hour? The pounding comes again, more insistent this time.

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