Page 180 of Dance of Deception

“BecauseI’m not your fucking mother,” she snaps.

Her voice rings through the basement, loud and harsh, slamming into me like a physical blow. I stagger, my chest hollowing out.

But I don’t have time to process it. Because suddenly, we’re at the sub-basement door.

The floor tilts.

“Please,” I whisper. “Don’t?—”

Vera yanks open the door and shoves me in.

I stumble down the stairs in a nightmarish haze of agony, my vision blurring, my chest tightening like there are iron bands around my lungs.

The chains and cages are gone. But the metal hooks sunk into the walls are still there. So are the scrape marks on the floor, and the scratches on the wall where a rack of girls' dresses once dragged against it.

The door at the end that led to the other room is still there, too.

The one with the mattress. With the lights, and the camera.

Withhim.

I collapse into the folding metal chair Vera pushes me into, my body too weak and broken to resist anymore.

I hear the snap of duct tape, and then my arms are wrenched behind the chair back, still tied together, and my ankles are taped to the legs of it.

I don’t fight back. I can't.

I just sit there, numb, drowning in a horror I can’t escape.

A loud beeping sound suddenly pings through the room. Vera turns away from me, stalking toward a small laptop set up on a desk. The screen shows a security feed of the outside the house, and my heart surges when I follow her gaze and see the black Lamborghini tearing up the driveway come to a screeching stop next to the van.

Carmine.

“Vera,” I croak, my voice thin and shaky. “Whatever you need, let me help you. I can get you money, or anything else?—”

She swings the gun toward me.

“Stop. Talking.”

Vera shakes her head, a cold, bitter smile twisting her lips.

“I was going to see what your husband would pay to get you back,” she murmurs thoughtfully. “But now I’ll see whathis family will pay to gethimback—the don of the whole organization should get a good price, huh?”

Then she turns to me, coldness on her face like a mask, and roughly tapes me tighter to the chair.

I struggle, but the duct tape leaves me with no way to escape. She shoves the gag back into my mouth, knotting it behind my head as the tears flow down my cheeks.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps descending the basement stairs.

I let out a muffled scream, thrashing against the chair. Vera gives me a warning look, shaking her head and holding a finger to her lips before she slips back into the shadows, behind an empty rack of shelves near the bottom of the steps.

The sub-basement door groans open.

A gun cocks.

Feet descend cautiously, a figure coming slowly into view across the room.

Black dress shoes. Black slacks. Veined, strong hands gripping a raised gun.

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