Down the corridor, past flickering sconces, and lingering eyes. Sartorre’s place is never empty. His guests, the worst of the worst men and women in the world, rotate through luxurious rooms, fed anything they desire.
Then—
There.
Audrey.
She’s sitting in a velvet chair in the gallery, spine straight, arms crossed tightly over her chest like armor. Her eyes snap to mine the moment I enter.
Her mouth parts. She stands.
And the only thing I can think isThank God.
I cross the space without blinking, without a single word for Giuseppe or the men watching from the balconies above. I don’t care about the statement this makes—about how unhinged it looks for Konstantin Martynov to crash into enemy territory over a woman.
Let them whisper. Let them wonder.
Let them know she matters.
“Audrey.” My voice is too low, too rough. Moving through the room is like moving through a maze, or a massive chess board, sculptures and statues littering the checked floor. I reach her in three long strides.
She’s trembling, but her eyes are fierce. Already she’s so much bigger than she was in the hospital—but it’s gorgeous on her, the way she carries it at her hips, her shoulders back and full breasts pushed out.
“No one would tell me where you were.”
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
“What was I supposed to do? I left messages. I went to the Spire. Olena said you were busy and?—”
“I was protecting you.”
“I don’t need protection. I need answers. I needyou.”
Silence surges between us, thick and sharp as a blade.
Her lips tremble before she swallows hard and wipes at her cheek. Furious at the tears. “You just disappeared.”
“I know. I thought that’s what you wanted.”
She draws a deep breath in. “I did too, at first, but…”
“I thought you were done with me.”
“I’m never done with you.”
I can’t take it anymore. I grab her hand, pull her against me. Her body crashes into mine, and I feel it—the heat, the rage, the relief. She struggles for half a second, then folds against my chest, our child between us.
I hold her like I’ve just ripped her back from the brink of death. That’s what it feels like, Eurydice and Orpheus but in reverse. I was walking straight into hell, a ghost, and Audrey came after me.
Giuseppe appears in the archway, drink in hand, watching like it’s a show.
I meet his eyes and give him the coldest nod of my life, a small smile on his lips.
Then I walk out, with Audrey’s hand in mine.
Let the whole fucking city see.
I’ll never let her go.
