Page 89 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

“I’ll accompany you to the bunkers,” Matvei says.

I don’t bother arguing. Instead, I jump out of the bed, steadying my shaky legs before we head out of my room together. We get through the house without running into anybody but a few stray maids, who are clearly still shaken by the attack.

Much of the house’s first floor has received significant damage from the explosion and the ensuing attack. It’ll have to be properly renovated after all this is over.

I step over the remaining rubble as we move through the first floor towards the exit. I squint when we step outside. The Mexican is piercing and bright.

The bunkers is just a few minutes from the main house, but somehow, the walk seems to stretch out forever. I’m sweating by the time we arrive.

Only a pair of youngish looking guards man the entrance. When they see me, they get ready to ask questions. When they see Matvei come up behind me, they get right back in place.

“After you,” Matvei murmurs, holding the door open.

The bunker I enter is just as cold on the inside as it looks on the outside. The door opens out into a broad corridor with cement floors and artificial lighting. Any and all natural light is completely cut out. There are no windows, no sense whatsoever that it’s a hot day on the Pacific coast just outside.

Two rows of doors run down either side of the broad corridor. Each door has a little opening at the top like a prisoner’s cell.

“Where are my parents?” I ask.

“The cell in the far right,” he says. “Come on.”

He leads me to the right door and unbolts it before gesturing me inside.

“The door will lock behind you,” he tells me before I walk in. “Just knock twice when you’re done.”

I nod gratefully and step inside. I’m expecting complete darkness, but I realize there’s a small light bulb in the corner that illuminates the depressing space.

It’s bigger than I expected. Two low beds pushed to either side of the walls, separated by a bedside table bearing the scraps of a meal and two glasses of water.

There’s a tray of bread sitting on it. With a bottle of water and two glasses.

Papa is lying flat on his bed. Mama is curled up in a ball. Both of them jump when they catch sight of me walking through their door.

“Mama. Papa,” I say softly.

“How dare you come here?” Mama hisses at me.

I had expected this reaction, but it doesn’t stop me from being hurt. Still, my intentions don’t change.

I’m here for information. Whatever I can get.

“I need to speak to you both.”

“I’m not speaking to you,” Mama says firmly, turning away from me like a petulant child.

Papa swings his feet off the bed and stares at me. He looks calmer—marginally.

“What did you come here to speak about?” he asks.

Mama casts him a glare, but he’s not looking at her.

“I want to know what you know,” I say. “About Astra Tyrannis.”

Both of them frown. No sparks of recognition in their eyes. It might be naïve, but I feel like I can trust their disbelief.

“I’ve never heard the name before,” Papa says.

“Mama?”

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