I hadn’t prayed in years.Not since my family home went silent and a dark cloud fell over my life.Even at the convent, I would kneel but silence was my best friend.
But now… I felt this was something I had to do.I started to whisper, my words the only sound in this chamber.
“For peace…”
My voice broke on the word, embarrassingly fragile.
“For forgiveness.”
For killing a man.And not feeling guilty about it.For maybe feeling too alive when I did it.
“For whatever comes next.”
Heat pushed harder at the door.The wood popped, expanding, groaning under pressure.Smoke leaked through the hinges, thin tendrils that stung my eyes and clawed down my lungs.
I lowered my head, though not in surrender, but because the weight of everything I’d shoved down for years finally pressed too heavy to hold on my fragile shoulders.
A sob threatened.I swallowed it.
If this was my last moment… I wanted to go quietly.I wanted complete and utter silence.Peace.Just for a second.
A breath.A heartbeat.I wanted a flicker of sunlight over the convent gardens… Petunias and rosemary, Giuseppe humming under his breath, the world impossibly gentle for once.A memory I didn’t know I still held onto.
I was still on my knees when the door exploded inward.
The blast rattled the floor, sent splinters slicing through the air.I jerked back, palms scraping across the dirty tiles, breath strangled in my throat as the frame groaned under the force.
The big Russian stood in the doorway, before he stepped forward, crowding the tiny room, and clamped a hand around my arm.His fingers dug in deep, bruising on impact, and he yanked me upright so hard that my shoulder ripped with pain.
“Move,” he bit out, the accent heavy, unforgiving.
I jerked back instinctively, clawing at his wrist, twisting the way Giuseppe had taught me, but it was useless.His grip was iron.Final.
He dragged me toward the door.
Gunfire erupted again, and this time it was louder, nearer.The walls vibrated as it got closer.Something crashed out in the hallway.Smoke thickened, curling through the doorframe, stinging my eyes.
The Russian didn’t even flinch.
He hauled me through the doorway like I weighed nothing, even as I dug my feet into the ground.Panic surged up my throat, metallic and choking.My legs wouldn’t obey my brain as they buckled.My breath came in short, broken bursts.
The corridor was a chaotic mess of shadows and firelight, people shouting in languages I didn’t know.A man sprinted past us, bleeding from the face.Someone screamed.Something metal skittered across the floor.
I stumbled, tried to brace myself, but he dragged me harder.I gasped, choked, fighting the dizziness clawing at my vision as he pulled me toward a fate I couldn’t name.
And for one terrifying heartbeat, I realized that the fire behind me wasn’t the worst way to die tonight.
28
Atlas
Gunshots tore through the club; rapid, relentless.
The entire room detonated into panic.
Men scattered, trampling each other, clawing for exits like rats in a burning maze.Bodies struck mine, hands grabbing at air, at walls, at anything that looked like salvation.Security tried to push the tide back, shouting orders no one listened to.More gunfire erupted, louder this time, from the balcony.
I didn’t slow down.She was here.Somewhere behind that stage.And I could feel her like a pulse under my skin.