Page 99 of Ivory Ashes

Stella walks in and I can hear Dante plodding along behind her.

“Mama is hiding really hard,” he explains. “She used to hide in easy places when I was a baby, but I’m big enough to find her now.”

Things shuffle around on the other side of the door. Blankets moving, Dante’s footsteps heavy on the wood floor.

After no more than fifteen seconds of searching, Dante declares, “I don’t see her.”

Stella chuckles and the door clicks closed.

One bullet dodged.

Now, I just need to get out of this room before I discover Mikhail’s secret stash of love letters from this woman wrapped up in her lingerie—oh my God, does that really exist? I don’t want to know—and find a new place to hide.

First step: get the fuck out of this wardrobe.

The worry that I’d get caught by Stella overrode my claustrophobia for approximately thirty seconds, but now, my lungs are tight and panic is creeping in.

I reach for where the handle should be, but it’s too dark to see anything. My fingers scrape against flat wood again and again.

“There has to be a handle,” I whisper out loud, mostly to keep myself calm. “There has to be.”

But given the fact that I’ve clawed my way across every inch of the inside of the wardrobe door without finding one, I’m starting to think there doesn’t actually have to be a handle, after all.

I’m also starting to think I’m going to suffocate and die in here.

Whatever reason I had for hiding in here in the first place—I genuinely can’t remember through the fog of panic—it isn’t a good enough reason to die for. So I pound my fists on the door.

“Help!” It’s hard to scream when my lungs are so tight, but I push through the crushing fear and yell as loud as I can. “Help me! Please!”

Dante is right outside. He’ll be here to save me in just a second.

Except this house is a literal mansion. He could be ten rooms away by this point—way too far to hear me.

Maybe no one can hear me. No one is coming to save me and I’ll be stuck in here. I’ll die here, trapped and alone.

Tears pour down my face now. I pound on the door, screaming inconsolably. I have no idea how long it has been. Minutes? Hours?

I’m fighting for my life right now. If I don’t get out of here, I’ll die.

I’ve had this nightmare too many times to count over the years. Nightmares of being locked in a trunk, a few meager holes drilled in the lid to provide oxygen.

When I close my eyes, I can still see the men who peered down at me through the holes, laughing as I cried for my father—for anyone.

Suddenly, the wardrobe door opens.

Light blinds me, but I throw myself out of the door, fists swinging.

These assholes kidnapped the wrong girl.

“What the hell?—”

A large hand grabs my fist out of the air and deftly twists me around. Arms curl under my armpits and around my shoulders, pinning my arms back so I can’t move.

“Let me go!” I shriek, thrashing and kicking back at the person holding me. “Let me go!”

“Holy fuck, Viv. What is happening?”

Anatoly?

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