Leaving her there, even knowing she's safe, tears at my heart.
But Morello needs me.
I climb the cellar steps slowly, emerging into the morning light.
Morello has bound Luchenko's hands and feet.
The man lies motionless, blood matting his elegant hair.
I look away quickly.
"Backup's on the way," Morello says.
His voice is steady, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the bruise darkening on his temple.
"Are you alright?" I ask softly.
He nods. "I've had worse."
But his eyes tell a different story, haunted and weary.
On impulse, I reach out and take his hand in mine.
Offering a small measure of comfort, connection.
His fingers curl around mine. We stand in silence then, two souls marked by the day's violence but bound now by so much more.
Together, we wait for the sound of sirens in the distance.
The wail of sirens grows louder as several police cars pull up the long driveway, their lights flashing brightly.
Morello gives my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go to confer with the officers now spilling out of the vehicles.
I hang back, suddenly feeling unsure and exposed.
My eyes fall on Luchenko again, taking in the rise and fall of his chest as he lies unconscious.
Just looking at him makes my stomach turn, memories of our shared past and his torment flooding my mind.
But seeing him defeated also stirs a sense of grim satisfaction.
I've finally fought back.
Morello guides the officers as they haul Luchenko to his feet and lead him to one of the waiting cars.
He casts his eyes over his shoulder, meeting my gaze with a look of pure venom that makes me flinch.
But then he's gone, disappearing into the back of the police car.
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
It's over.
My knees nearly buckle in relief.
Morello is suddenly at my side, his hand hovering just over the small of my back.
"Let's go get Yara," he says gently.