The Basement
The first shove sent me into the wall. The second sent me down the stairs.
I tried to catch the railing, but one of Vance's capos had already twisted my arms behind me. My fingers closed on air. Concrete struck my shoulder, my ribs, my hip, and finally the side of my head.
I landed at the bottom of the basement stairs with the breath knocked from my lungs.
The steel door above me shut. The lock slid into place.
At first, I could only hear my own breathing. Then the pain gathered low in my abdomen, deep and pulling, as if something inside me was being torn loose.
Warmth spread between my thighs.
My hand moved down. When I lifted my fingers, they were slick with blood.
"No," I whispered.
The word was too small. I pressed both hands over my stomach, as if I could hold the baby in place by force. Six weeks. A life so new I had barely learned how to believe in it, and already Vance's house was trying to take it from me.
I dragged myself toward the stairs.
The steel door had not shut perfectly; a line of light cut across the top step. Beyond it came music, low laughter, and the clink of glass. They were celebrating upstairs.
By the time I reached the door, my nails were broken and my lips tasted of iron.
"Help," I called.
Julia's voice floated through the crack. "Vance, maybe someone should check on her."
For one terrible second, hope hurt more than the fall.
Then Vance answered, bored and cold. "She is fine. Sandra always knows how to make a scene when she wants attention."
A guard opened the door just enough to look down. His eyes flicked from my face to the blood on the stairs.
"Boss," he called. "She's bleeding."
Vance did not come. "Throw her a blanket and lock it properly. I don't want her ruining the night for Julia."
The guard tossed down a dusty blanket. It landed over my face. Then the door slammed shut.
The cramps came in waves after that. I bit into the blanket to keep from screaming, not because I wanted to spare anyone upstairs, but because I refused to let Julia hear how deeply she had wounded me.
At some point the music stopped. At some point luggage rolled across the marble above. Through the pipes I heard Julia's soft, worried voice ask if Vance was sure they should leave.
"Leave her," Vance said. "It will fix her temper by the time we get back."
The front door closed.
He went to Paris with her. He left me in the basement with our dying child.
Near dawn, the lock opened again. Julia came down alone, wrapped in white silk. The Blood Oath Ruby glowed at her throat. She stopped just beyond the blood and sighed as if I had spilled wine on her carpet.
"Oh, Sandra," she murmured. "Look what you made them clean."
I could barely lift my head. "Get a doctor."
"For what? The report you dropped upstairs?"
My breath caught.
Julia crouched, careful not to touch the floor. "I found it. Six weeks. How touching. I almost told Vance."
"Almost?"
"He was so angry about Achilles that I decided it could wait." Her smile sharpened. "A baby would only make him hesitate, and I cannot have that."
So Vance had not seen the report. But Julia had. She had watched them drag me downstairs and said nothing.
"He will know," I whispered.
"Maybe. But by then, what will be left to save?"
She left me there.
Hours later, a guard shoved a phone through the metal slot. "Boss wants to talk."
I lifted it with numb fingers.
"Sandra," Vance said, crisp and impatient. Behind him, cameras shouted Julia's name. "Stay quiet in the basement and reflect on your disrespect. When I return, we will put this behind us. If you behave, I may still marry you."
I looked at the blood dried on my hand.
"Well," I whispered, "if I'm alive by then."
The line went silent. "What did you say?"
Before he could finish, the ground shook. A blast tore through the lower level. Dust rained from the ceiling, and the steel door screamed as if something had ripped it from its bones. A second explosion followed.
Through the smoke, black-clad men moved like shadows. At their center stood Achilles, taller and colder than the boy I remembered.
His eyes found me in the blood.
For one second, the monster the city feared looked murderous. Then he knelt in front of me and asked, quietly, "May I touch you?"
After all the hands that had dragged me, that question nearly broke me.
I nodded.
Achilles lifted me as if pain mattered. As he carried me out of Vance's basement, I looked once at the twisted door behind us.
The woman who had entered that room still loved Vance. The woman who left it did not.
