Page 50 of Inheritance
The same man who brought me food and water every day crouched beside me, setting down a tray: a bowl of soup, bread, and a glass of water. He turned to leave.
“Wait,” I said, my voice cracking.
He glanced at me, patient. I stared, unsure why I’d spoken.
“Do you… have a name?” The words tumbled out awkwardly.
He tilted his head, considering. “Salvatore, but you can call me Sal,” he said simply.
Sal. An ordinary name in this place of horrors.
“I’m—” I began, but he shook his head gently, glancing down the hallway before returning his gaze to me.
“You should eat.”
“Why are you doing this?” I whispered.
He watched me for a long moment, the heaviness in his eyes almost too much to stare at.
“Not everyone has a choice,” he said quietly.
He sat next to me as if this were simply the way things were.
“When I was young, I was a boxer—not traditional, underground. Bare-fisted. I impressed the Sinclairs, who ran bets on the matches. One day, they asked me to throw a fight. Promised good money.”
“What did you do?” My voice sounded small.
“I threw it,” he said simply. “For about a year, that was my life. Every few months, they’d approach me again—lose another fight, get paid. Then authorities shut the operation down. I escaped the raid, thought I’d have to get a normal job.”
“But they offered you one,” I murmured.
He nodded. “Asked me to join officially. I did.”
“And now you’re trapped, like me.”
“Trapped, yes,” Sal said gently, “but not like you.”
He watched me for a moment, then added, “I got injured right after I became a made man. It took years before I could walk again. During that time… I found God. I keep it to myself. My injury was a blessing—because of it I became useless to them. I can’t run, I can’t fight, so I asked to joined the house staff.”
He nodded toward the tray.
“Eat,” he said softly. “You’ll need your strength.”
Caroline’s door flew open.
“Out,” Ivan barked as he strode from her room.
Sal shot to his feet and hurried down the hall, obeying without hesitation.
Ivan’s smile was wrong.
He stopped in front of me, gripping my chain roughly.
“It’s time.”
“Time for what?” I asked, unable to hide the tremor in my voice.
He strode toward the window.
