Page 119 of Downfall

The vans pull up outside. It’s late afternoon now but the heat is still stifling. I wipe my brow, give my sister one final look and then I clamber in, leaving her and everyone else to follow.

Roman

The building is dilapidated at best. The windows are dirty. The front door has paint chipping off it. I look around at the barbed wire fencing. It looks half derelict down this non-descript street. There’s no one outside but the amount of cameras about says enough.

It is guarded. It is watched.

I pull my laptop, in less than a minute I’ve hacked in and put the system on a loop. Anyone looking now will see the videos from yesterday not anything live - and by the time they notice, we’ll be long gone.

“Ready?” Ben says beside me.

“Never more so.” I reply.

Sofia is to my right. She doesn’t say anything but I can see from her face that she’s just as on edge as me.

I give the order. Let my men go around the back securing the outside because I won’t risk anyone escaping that way. Once the affirmative crackles through my ear piece I walk right up to the front door, as if I’ve been invited, and I kick it open.

Someone yells. Someone else screams. I raise my gun making instant eye contact with a middle aged woman who’s skin is mottled pink like she’s spent her entire life on the booze.

“Where is Lara?” I snarl.

The woman blinks confused. “Who are you?”

I tilt my head, I’ve not even covered my face. Not thought to.

“Where is the girl?” I say.

She gulps looking between us, focusing mostly on the gun in my hand and then she’s pointing to the uncarpeted, rickety staircase. As I take her in I realise this woman might be all my daughter has ever known. She might even think she’s her mother. I can’t just storm up there and get her like this. She’ll never trust me. She might never forgive me.

“Go get her now.” I state.

She nods and, as she half stumbles away, I shout after her.

“The house is surrounded so don’t try anything.”

Sofia, Ben, and I stand taking in the room. There aren’t any toys out. There’s nothing remotely child friendly either. The furniture looks old, moth infested. The wallpaper is peeling. The air is musty. This is the environment my child has been brought up in? Ignatio lives like a king and yet my child has been growing up in squalor.

I snarl as I realise that for six years she’s existed like this. Lived like this.

And I’ve been completely unaware.

We turn at the sound of the woman returning. In her hand she’s gripping the arm of a little girl, barefoot, dressed in grubby unicorn pyjamas. She’s staring at us wide eyed. Petrified.

But as I look at her all I can see is Rose. Her eyes, her face. Her dark hair.

My lips curl as I holster my gun and get down on my knees before her.

My daughter. My child.

“Who are you?” My daughter half whispers.

Her eyelashes are so long. Her cheeks are scattered with freckles. She looks like an angel. I blink realising that I’m just staring at her.

“I’m your father.” I say.

The woman holding her gasps, before yanking her arm in shock and my daughter yelps as she falls back roughly into her side.

“Let her go.” I snarl.

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