Chapter 35 Nina
NINA
I’ve survived foster care, an abusive marriage, and six years of single motherhood, but I’ve never been this scared in my life.
When Austin collapsed on the soccer field, terror had ripped through me like lightning. But at least I knew help was coming. Paramedics, doctors, people who could fix what was broken. Right now, stumbling along with a bruising grip on my arm and fabric cutting off my vision, I have no guarantees.
No promises that anyone’s coming at all.
Alessio will try to find us. I know that as surely as I know my own name. But what if his skills and resources aren’t enough? What if we’re already too far gone, hidden too well?
This is what I was afraid of when I learned what he really is. Not him, but this world. The enemies that come with loving a man like Alessio DeLuca.
The man shoving us forward hasn’t spoken since he forced us into the van. Black ski mask, no words, just rough hands and zip ties that bite into my wrists. When the van finally stopped, he blindfolded us before dragging us out.
Austin cried during the ride, and I pulled him into my lap, his small body shaking against mine. I whispered reassurances I wasn’t sure I believed, but that’s what mothers do. We lie beautifully when we have to.
Now we’re being dragged somewhere that smells like mildew and decay. I can hear a train in the distance, but it’s too far away to be useful. The ground under my feet changes from pavement to something grittier, and then we’re going down stairs.
I keep one hand on Austin’s arm, steadying him so he doesn’t trip. The last thing we need is for him to get hurt on top of everything else.
“Stay here,” our captor finally speaks.
There’s something familiar about his voice that makes my stomach clench, but I don’t have time to process it because Austin’s breathing is getting worse. Louder. More labored.
A door thunks shut. I tear the blindfold loose and yank Austin’s off too. Light slams into my eyes and then the world narrows.
Shit. It’s exactly what I was afraid of.
Austin is pale, his lips that telltale shade of blue I’ve learned to fear. His breathing comes in short, panicked gasps, each one more labored than the last. I can see his pulse hammering frantically in his neck, visible proof that his damaged valve is struggling to keep up.
Another heart episode, triggered by the stress of this nightmare. Worse, he’s supposed to take his evening medication with dinner, and we’re God knows where, with God knows who.
“It’s okay, bud. Look at me.” I cup his face with my bound hands, feeling how clammy his skin has become. “Remember what Dr. Murphy taught us? Four counts in, hold for two, four counts out. Just like we practiced.” I wipe away tears I wish I could absorb into my own skin.
“I can’t.” His voice is barely a whisper. “My chest hurts, Mom.”
My heart clenches. He’s trying so hard to be brave.
“I’m sorry, Austin. I’m so sorry we’re here.” I press my forehead against his, breathing with him, trying to calm us both. “But we’re going to get out of this. I promise you that.”
It’s a promise I have no right to make, but sometimes hope is the only medicine we have.
I take stock of our prison while Austin’s breathing slowly evens out.
We’re in a cellar, but not the kind you’d store wine in.
This is all gray brick walls and cracked concrete, the kind of basement that’s seen too much and forgotten how to be clean.
A single bulb hangs from the ceiling, casting sickly yellow light that leaves too many shadows in the corners.
It’s empty. Completely, utterly empty.
No stored furniture, no old tools, no convenient weapons lying around.
But foster care taught me to look for advantages even when there don’t seem to be any.
That brick near the corner is loose, mortar crumbling around the edges.
The light fixture might not be secured well. And if I can get my hands free...
I’m not armed, but I’m not helpless either. I’ve survived worse than whatever this bastard has planned.
Austin’s breathing finally slows to something resembling normal, though he’s still shaky and pale. His color is marginally better, but I know this is just a reprieve. Without his evening medication, without the controlled environment his heart needs, we’re on borrowed time.
When I hear footsteps overhead, I help him to his feet and position myself between him and the door.
It opens with a creak that belongs in a horror movie, and all I can see is a dark silhouette against the bright light behind him.
The man is big. Intimidating. Everything about this situation is designed to make us feel small and powerless.
He descends the stairs with deliberate slowness, like he’s savoring our fear. When he reaches the bottom and steps toward us, it fuels something reckless in me, some desperate mother-animal instinct that makes decisions before my brain can catch up.
I calculate quickly. He’s big, but he’s not expecting us to fight back. Austin is small and fast. If I can distract him for even a few seconds, maybe Austin can make it up those stairs. Maybe someone will hear him scream. Maybe Alessio is already close enough to matter.
It’s a terrible plan. But it’s the only plan we have.
“Run,” I whisper to Austin. “Up the stairs. Go!”
Austin bolts past the man toward the stairs, and God, he’s fast. Small and quick, darting around our captor before the man can react. I’m right behind him, but I’m not as lucky. A backhand catches me across the face, and pain explodes through my cheek. I hit the concrete hard, tasting blood.
“Mommy!”
Through watery eyes, I watch Austin run back down the stairs toward me. My heart sinks. I wanted him to keep running, to get away, but instead he’s right back in danger with me.
“You’re not going anywhere, bitch.” The man bends down, putting his face close to mine, and recognition hits me like a shot of ice to my veins. “Not until you answer a few questions.”
The second he leans closer, dread knots in my gut. I know that voice. I know that face. And I know nothing good can come of it.
I reach for Austin with my bound hands, pulling him close, and send up a desperate prayer that Alessio finds us before it’s too late.