Page 44 of Say You're Mine

I shove to my feet, every joint screaming a symphony of protest. Adrenaline carries me down the hall in a limping run, towards the distant sounds of chaos and the faintest whisper of fresh air.

Sarah. I need to find Sarah, my unlikely guardian angel, and regroup. Need to figure out our next move, how to press this momentary advantage before Elaine can rally her forces and redraw the battle lines. Need to--

I round a corner and skid to a halt, heart lurching against my ribs. A familiar figure stands at the end of the hall, small and slight, a riot of dark curls haloing her grimly determined face.

"Sarah," I rasp, all other words lodging like bone shards in my throat.

She whirls, eyes widening as they rake over me, cataloging the blood and bruises and feral light. "June! Jesus, I've been looking everywhere for you. Are you--"

The question dies as I stagger forward, some deep-seated instinct sending her arms out to brace my weight. I let her, too spent to be stoic, greedily soaking up the offered comfort like a withered plant in a downpour.

"I'm okay," I grit out, the lie ash on my tongue. "Thanks to your boss's impeccable timing. Remind me to send him a fruit basket once this is all over."

She huffs a laugh, a short sharp sound utterly devoid of humor. "I'll be sure to do that. But June..." Her breath catches, an odd hitch that has me pulling back, searching her face for clues. "There's something you need to know. About Cara."

And just like that, the bottom drops out of my world.

"Is she..." I can't finish, can't give voice to the yawning terror that claws at my guts.

"They're fine," Sarah hastens to assure me. "As far as I know, they're both healthy and safe. But..."

Before Sarah can continue, another an unfamiliar figure decked out in tactical gear, their face obscured. Do they work for Corleone? Elaine? Are they friend or foe?

In that moment, as I stared into the impassive mask of my potential liberator or executioner, I felt the cold muzzle of an unseen gun press against my temple and heard a familiar voice whisper.

"Juniper Deveaux, you're a hard man to find..."

Chapter fourteen

Cara

The silence is deafening.

Every tick of the clock echoes like a gunshot in the cavernous emptiness of our home. I press my palms against my swollen belly, feeling the frantic flutter of our child beneath my skin. Even the baby senses the wrongness, the gaping void where June should be.

"Shh, little one," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Daddy will be home soon. He has to be."

But the words taste like ash on my tongue. Lies. Empty promises. How can I reassure our unborn child when I can barely keep myself from falling apart?

I force myself to stand, ignoring the way my joints ache in protest. The nursery walls loom around me, a pastel prison of hopes and dreams now tainted by fear. My fingers trail over the crib, the soft blankets, the stuffed animals June and I picked out together. Each item is a knife to my heart, a reminder of the future we may never have.

A sharp rap at the door shatters the memory. I flinch, half-expecting to see Elaine's smirking face. But it's just Mama, her eyes soft with worry.

"Cara, mia bella," she murmurs, crossing the room to wrap me in her arms. "You need to eat something. For the bambino, if not for yourself."

I bury my face in her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of rosemary and olive oil. For a moment, I'm a little girl again, safe in my mother's embrace. But the illusion shatters as another kick reminds me of the crushing weight of responsibility on my shoulders.

"I can't, Mama," I choke out. "Every time I try, I just... I see his face. I hear his voice, twisted and wrong, full of hatred. What if-"

"Basta." Mama's tone is sharp, brooking no argument. "No more 'what ifs'. Your June is strong. He will come back to you."

But as she leads me to the kitchen, my traitorous mind whispers darker possibilities. What if the man who returns isn't my June at all? What if Faulkner and Elaine have hollowed him out, filled him with poison and rage? The memory of his voice on the phone, dripping with venom, makes my skin crawl.

"Don't fucking talk to me, you goddamn bitch. I don't know you and I don't fucking love you, you cunt!"

I stumble, bile rising in my throat. Mama steadies me, her grip firm.

"Cara? What is it? Is it the baby?"

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