Page 87 of The Freedom in Captivity

“Fucking Christ. Nothing’s sacred anymore.”

“No. And you’re returning to your old habits. When things get tough, you hide. The very reason we found you on the streets in the first place.”

His words—the truth—slices my nerves. They shouldn’t be fucking correct, but they are, and I hate him for pointing it out.

“Does it matter? Mansion or here, until De Falco’s in hand, my skills aren’t needed.”

“True. And with Rafael healing, Nico’s waiting. Any passing time merely brings De Falco back here to our turf. Instead of running away, Flynn, we can talk.”

I stare at my boss, waiting for the punchline of his comment. He wants to…talk? To talk. The Boss of the Corsetti crime family wants totalkabout my emotions.

“Talking’s stupid.” I step aside, heading for another punching bag to end this conversation. “Working it out through physical energy is best for me.”

“If that’s true,” his voice sounds further now, having not followed me, “then you wouldn’t be feeling what you are now. You would have worked through all of these emotions a decade ago.”

With that final statement, he walks away, his steps seeming so fucking loud. He heads toward the opposite end of the gym and claims an open treadmill, tugging his own headphones from the pocket of his shorts. With a final head tip at me, he starts up the machine and begins his run.

I turn back to the nearest punching bag, stretching a hand out to steady it, even if it’s not moving. More so, I use it to steady myself.

From the truths.

From the lies.

Fromher.

Rozelyn

The only interaction with people I’ve had over the past couple days are with the same two guards, which tells me they’re working on rotational shifts when they deliver food and fresh clothing. This bedroom has become my gilded cage; prettier and more comfortable than my last but no different.

No less freeing, or boring. I may not be tied to a chair or chained to a pole but down there, I at least had the element of never knowing what would happen in my day. It became an open battlefield for my mind to wander over all of my father’s victims—me, Mom, Yasmine, Della, Ariella, their mother, the Haynes, and even the Corsettis. All people affected by Dad’s choices.

My thoughts were always in limbo. Life, death, and freedom were common themes.

In the past two days, Della hasn’t returned, or any Corsetti. Certainly not Flynn. Whatever random visitation he attempted the other day seems to have been the final one. He’s given up, not that I really blame him. He has his life here and it seems much happier and more suited for him than the one he existed in as a teenager.

Which makes me content.

I reflect on the present frequently and ask myself stuff likewhat happens next?while considering all the possible outcomes. Maybe Dad brings an army bigger than the Corsettis expect and they die on their own lands, and then I’m really fucked. Stuck, chained for the rest of my life with a monster.

For now, my present consists of…I study the elegant room…this.

Bang!

Hands in the mattress, I hoist myself up and watch the door. Normally the soldiers enter without asking permission.

Bang!

That noise isn’t coming from the door…

Bang!

I follow the trajectory of it, sliding off the bed and heading toward the large window to my right. The dark curtains cover the window are thick and heavy, daylight proof, and with a firm grip, I slide one panel to the right.

Through the glass, Flynn stares back, his knuckles white where they’re gripping onto the brick ledge. His face is flushed red, strained, and his arms are corded.

“Open the fuckin’ window, Rozelyn.” It’s muted through the glass, but I still hear him well enough.

These open? I assumed they were panes of glass that were sealed to the building. Feeling the edge, I find a latch, and with effort indicating these windows don’t get opened often, I manage to slide it to the side.

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