The next day crawled by with agonizing slowness.
No food. No water. Just the cold concrete and my racing thoughts.
By evening, my stomach cramped with hunger. The baby needed nutrients. I needed strength for whatever Alberto had planned.
At 8 PM, the basement door opened.
Mrs. Chen stood there with a tray. Behind her, no guards.
"Five minutes," she whispered, setting down soup and bread. "Eat quickly."
"Why are you helping me?" I asked, my hands shaking as I grabbed the spoon.
"Because I knew your mother," Mrs. Chen said quietly. "Before she died, she made me promise to look after you if anything happened. I failed her once. Not again."
Tears stung my eyes. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. Miss Moose is planning something for tomorrow. I heard her talking to Mr. Poltort about the wine cellar. The one that floods."
My chest tightened. The claustrophobia trap Hixia had suggested.
"When?"
"Tomorrow afternoon. She's convinced him you need 'proper discipline.' He agreed."
Mrs. Chen pressed something into my hand. A small key.
"Service elevator. Goes straight to the garage. Use it tonight after midnight. There's a car waiting, black sedan, keys in the visor."
"Alberto sent you."
She nodded. "He pays better than Mr. Poltort. And he actually keeps his word."
She left, locking the door behind her.
I finished the soup, feeling strength return to my limbs. Then I waited, counting the seconds until midnight.
…
At 11:55 PM, I heard it.
Shouting from the main floor. Glass breaking. More chaos, another distraction.
I used Mrs. Chen's key on the basement door. It opened silently.
The hallway was empty. I ran to the service elevator, my bare feet silent on cold tile.
The elevator descended to the garage level. The doors opened.
And there he was.
Alberto Barella stood beside a black sedan, dressed in dark clothes, a gun holstered at his hip. He was taller than I remembered, broader through the shoulders. His dark eyes assessed me with the same intensity Tyron once had.
But different. He was sharper, more dangerous.
"Mrs. Poltort," he said.
"Vaslus," I corrected. "I'm not his wife anymore. Not in any way that matters."
Something flickered across Alberto's face. Approval, maybe.
"Can you walk?"
"I can run if I have to."
"Good. Because we have about three minutes before they realize the distraction upstairs is exactly that."
He opened the passenger door. I slid in, and he was behind the wheel in seconds.
The garage door was already open. He drove out smoothly, no screeching tires, nothing to draw attention.
We were two blocks away when my phone buzzed. The estate's alarm system, triggered.
"They know," I said.
"Let them know." Alberto's voice was calm. "By the time they figure out which direction we went, we'll be at my safehouse."
"Where?"
"The old Marino district. Tyron would never think to look there. He considers it beneath him."
We drove in silence for ten minutes. I kept glancing in the side mirror, expecting to see headlights following us.
Nothing.
"You're good at this," I said finally.
"I've been doing it longer than Tyron has," Alberto replied. "He inherited his empire. I built mine from nothing."
"Is that why you hate him?"
"I hate him because he's wasteful. Cruel without purpose. He destroys things for sport." Alberto's hands tightened on the wheel. "And because five years ago, he killed my sister."
I turned to look at him. "What?"
"She witnessed one of his deals going bad. Wrong place, wrong time. He had her eliminated to tie up loose ends. She was nineteen."
"I didn't know."
"Of course you didn't. Tyron doesn't tell his wife about the bodies he buries."
The bitterness in his voice was raw.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly.
"Don't be sorry. Help me destroy him."
We pulled into an underground garage beneath an old apartment building. Alberto parked and came around to open my door.
"Can you make it upstairs?"
"Yes."
He led me to an elevator that required a keycard. We rode up to the eighth floor in silence.
The apartment was smaller than I expected. Clean, sparse, functional. A safehouse, not a home.
"Bathroom is through there," Alberto said, pointing. "There's clothes in the closet that should fit. Food in the kitchen. You're safe here."
"For how long?"
"As long as it takes."
I looked at him, really looked at him. This man who was supposed to be Tyron's greatest enemy. Who had every reason to use me as leverage or kill me outright.
Instead, he'd risked his men to save me.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked. "The truth."
Alberto met my eyes. "Because Tyron took someone I loved. And now I'm going to take everything he has. Starting with you."
"I'm not his anymore."
"No," Alberto agreed. "You're not."
The way he said it made something flutter in my chest. Not fear. Something else entirely.
"Get some rest, Morry," he said, softer now. "Tomorrow, we start planning. And I promise you, when we're done, Tyron Poltort won't have anything left to his name."
He turned to leave, but I caught his wrist.
"Thank you," I said. "For believing me. For helping me."
Alberto looked down at my hand on his wrist, then back at my face.
"Don't thank me yet," he said. "This is just the beginning."
But he didn't pull away.
And neither did I.
