Page 103 of His Son's Ex

Slowly, I inch the wire under the doorknob, working at the lock. I read somewhere once that you can slip a slender piece of metal into older locks and pop the latch. I’m about to find out if that was nothing more than pure internet myth.

A nerve-racking minute passes as my hands shake and my heart pounds.Come on, come on.Suddenly, the wire shifts with a soft click. I hold my breath, easing the door handle down, and it actuallygives. A surge of adrenaline shoots through me so potent I have to cover my mouth to stifle my cry of relief.

I pull the door open a fraction of an inch and peer through the gap. A pitch-black corridor greets me, the only light coming from the flickering bulb above my cell. I sense no movement, every fiber in me screaming to run.But I have to be smart about this. One wrong step, and I’m back in that room—or worse.

I slip out, leaving the door ajar in case I need to quickly dart back inside. My chest feels tight, every step a small victory. I pass a couple of doors I hadn’t noticed before, all locked. The hallway still reeks of mildew and stale air. The basement layout is small, and I’m able to see the narrow staircase leading upward in no time.

I cautiously test the first step. It creaks.Great.I brace my hand on the wall for balance, moving slowly, trying desperately not to make a sound.

One step. Two steps. Three…

The door at the top of the stairs bursts open, flooding the stairwell with jarring fluorescent light.

I freeze, clutching the wire in one sweaty hand as if it were a lifeline.

Gianni Lombardi appears, gun in hand, disgust carved into his face. He spots me, eyes flaring in surprise.

“What the?—?”

Fuck.

I move on pure adrenaline, dropping low against the wall to minimize the target I present. The roar of a gunshot explodes, the bullet hitting the wall, showering me with dust and tiny shards. My ears ring so loudly I barely hear my own scream.

Heart thundering, I scramble back down the steps, practically falling as I do so. Lombardi jumps down after me, two stairs at a time, his footsteps heavy and determined. The basement corridor is a dead end, but I keep moving, searching for somewhere—anywhere—to hide.

If I go back to my cell I’m surely dead.

Another shot ricochets off the cinder-block wall, sparks flying. I can taste gunpowder in the stale air.

“If you kill me, you have no leverage!” I yell, ducking low on the ground.

He snarls something, ignoring me. I push off the floor, adrenaline surging, and sprint around a corner I hadn’t noticed before. It’s semi-dark, so I have to feel along the walls to find my way.

My hands find a single locked door. I’m trapped. Gianni’s footsteps are closing in, and my heart threatens to burst.

I spin around, gripping the wire in both hands. If I can’t run, I can fight. It’s not exactly a fair match—he’s got a gun, I’ve got an old rusty wire. But I’ve also got something he doesn’t—the desperation of a woman determined to protect her baby.

Gianni rounds the corner, gun extended in front of him, his lips curled in disgust. “Stupid girl. Linda told me you might try something, but I figured you’d given up.”

“You figured wrong,” I hiss. “Get out of my way.”

He shakes his head and chuckles. “We can’t have you scampering off. You’re part of a bigger plan.”

“Well, that plan goes to shit if you kill me, dumbass” I snap, edging left.

He sidesteps, keeping the gun leveled at my head. “Don’t move.”

I ignore him, faking a lunge to the right. He jerks, giving me a split second to dart left. I swing the wire, aiming for his wrist. He blocks it with a forearm, but I keep pushing. I slam my knee forward, aiming for his groin, but he twists, catching my leg. He wrenches me forward, slamming me into the wall. Stars explode in my vision, the breath knocked from my lungs. My wire clatters to the floor.

“Enough,” Gianni snarls, pressing the cold barrel of the gun to my cheek.

My face throbs, the metallic taste of blood coating my tongue, and I realize my lip is split. I choke back a sob of frustration.Don’t cry, Eva, don’t give him the satisfaction.

He sighs loudly. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

Before I can reply, footsteps thunder down the stairs. Gianni glances over his shoulder, my gaze following. Linda appears, hair flawless, clothes pristine. She looks at us, tsking in disapproval.

“Gianni, really. I said to keep her alive, not decorate her with bullet holes. You men and your itchy trigger fingers.”

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