Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Finnic
The sunlight aligned perfectly to my eyes, waking me from a deep sleep.
I blinked multiple times before slightly propping myself up on my elbow. I sunk down into the mattress but was able to look over at her sleeping face. She was snoring as usual.
Of course, she’d tell me I was lying about her snoring. I’d been planning on taking a video of her while she slept to prove I was telling the truth, but usually never woke up earlier than her due to working late on my construction shift.
I leaned down to whisper into her ear, “Hey, Snorlax. Wake up.”
Maya moaned out a sound of disapproval as she pulled the duvet up over her head. “I do not snore.” She replied groggily.
I let out a low chuckle before tickling her side with my fingers, “Oh, but I think the video I took this morning would beg to differ.”
She automatically shoved the blanket off of her face before turning to face me. “You didn’t!”
My head shook as I smiled. “But I could’ve. Though, I guess I don’t have to now since you just proved my point. Defensive much?”
She flicked my nose, causing a brief thump noise. “Don’t be an ass.”
I leaned forward and placed a small kiss on her nose. “It’s out of love.”
She grumbled, “I’m sure it is.”
I placed my hand behind the small of her back, pulling her in closer to me. Her breath tickled my face as she leaned in. “I do love you though, you know that right?”
Her smile fell, “Why are you asking me that?”
A shaky exhale left my chest as I leaned away from her temporarily to grab the small black box from inside the nightstand behind me.
I felt her sit up into a criss-cross position behind me as I turned back toward her. “Listen, I know it’s not the fairytale way of proposing, but-”
Her body lunged forward, throwing me back into the mattress. Her lips then touched mine briefly before she sat back, “Yes, shut up. One hundred percent, yes.”
She then placed light kisses all over my face and in that moment, I couldn’t have been happier.
The hallway goes silent again after Dante leaves.
I remain outside her door. My gaze fixes on a thin crack that splits the concrete near my boots.
It zigzags like it can’t decide where it wants to go.
I follow it with my eyes, trace it back and forth, count how many times it branches out.
It’s easier than letting my mind drift back to what I’ve done.
To the sounds she made when the water continuously hit her in the face.
Her panic isn’t something you just forget.
I swallow the thick dry lump that develops in my throat.
I can’t understand why this is affecting me so bad. I’ve been in worse rooms than that and have seen men beg until their tongues are cut out. This isn’t new. None of it is.
So why does it feel so different? Why does it nick at the thing inside me that I thought was long dead?
I shift my weight. If Dante comes back, he needs to see the trusted man on guard, not some emotionally damaged boy trying to piece the puzzle together.
Behind the door, there’s nothing. She doesn’t make a noise, so she’s most likely still unconscious.
That’s a good thing. I’m not mentally ready to do the worst again.
Dante’s voice echoes in my head whether I want it to or not.
Hero instinct.
I almost laugh, but the sound stays bundled in my chest.
There is nothing heroic about what I’ve done. Nothing noble about following orders because it’s easier than questioning them. If anything, that instinct he’s talking about is just another liability to him.
I finally look at the door, breaking my gaze from the cracked concrete.
The paint is chipped near the handle, the metal of it rusted from years of no use. I imagine her on the other side of it, lashes resting gently against her cheeks.
She didn’t fight me when I gave her the sedative, but I don’t think anyone would have if they had just been tirelessly suffocated by water.
I look away again.
Dante is testing me. I know that now from what he told me earlier. The Boss is also in on that part too, which means he questions my loyalty for the company.
They are waiting on me to make a wrong move, or to prove that I am solidified as a trust-worthy pawn.
I straighten, reeling myself back into the job.
Whatever she thinks she sees in me, whatever angle she plans to work when she wakes up, she is wrong.
I’m here to follow orders.
And when she opens her eyes again, I’ll make sure she remembers that before she tries to make me forget it.
I stand there long enough that my legs start to fall numb.
Inside the room, something moves.
A light groan from her waking has me shifting on my feet, readying myself for Dante to come down.
He’s been upstairs keeping an eye on the camera feed that’s in her room. I am sure he knows she is moving around, and my assumption proves right when I hear his footsteps dipping down the stairs and straight toward the hall.
A few rough coughs echo through the door.
I reach up and rub at the back of my neck, fingers digging in harder than necessary as Dante rounds the corner.
His mask is in place and so is mine.
With that, I turn the handle and push the door open.
Dante doesn’t say a word at first.
She is half-propped against the chair, hair stuck to her temples, skin still too pale. Her eyes lift when she sees us, unfocused at first, then narrowing as recognition slides into place.
Her gaze moves to Dante, then to me. It lingers there a fraction too long.
Dante shuts the door behind us and then he crosses the room, dragging her while in the wooden chair closer to the bed.
He quickly pulls out his switch-blade and cuts the zip-ties that restrained her arms and ankles to it. Her hands are free for a moment before he zip-ties those back together in front of her.
After he finishes, she weakly tries to dart around him but Dante grabs her by her throat before she can get away, throwing her toward the mattress with all of his strength.
With a thud, she lands and grunts. She then maneuvers as if she’s going to try and run again, but he points his knife in her direction mockingly so.
“Rough nap?” he asks smugly.
She swallows and seems to try and clear her throat before speaking. “Let me guess, you’re both here just to make yourselves feel big again?”
Dante smiles behind the mask. I don’t need to see it to know it’s there. “We’re here to talk this time,” he says.
She laughs, and then coughs like she is still clearing water from her lungs. “I already told you everything.”
“That’s not true,” Dante replies. “You told us nothing.”
He leans forward, resting his forearms on the back of the chair. “Playing innocent, you did just fine at. But you keep skating around the one detail that actually matters.”
Her eyes narrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I stay near the door, arms folded across my chest.
Dante glances at me briefly, then back to her. “See, that right there,” he replies. “That’s the problem. You’re lying like someone who thinks she’s smarter than us.”
Her gaze slides back to me again. Like she expects me to do something, to help her. I’m not sure why she has such high expectations.
“The picture.” She continues, “I was giving my father money, yes.”
Dante moves his hand in a circular motion, telling her to continue.
“But it was just money for the annual fundraiser he holds for the children’s hospital of New York City.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
He shifts in the chair, sitting up a little straighter as his tone hardens. “Your father, the same man who drove up medical costs for profit, is suddenly some kind of benefactor?”
I stand still by the door, muscles tense.
Dante leans back slightly, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make her uncomfortable. And she is definitely that with how she fidgets with her dry skin on her finger nails.
“Fundraiser, huh?” He says. “So let me make sure I’ve got this right. You gave that money to your father, the one you act like is some kind of savior, and you didn’t stop to wonder why the charity funds came in cash instead of a check?”
She swallows, clearly fighting to maintain the image she wants him to see. “That’s not…” Her voice cracks just slightly at the end. I notice, and so does Dante.
“What happened?” he scoffs. He leans forward, placing his chin on the back of the chair, eyes boring into hers. “Let me help you with your charade.”
He says the next few lines as if he is her, but in his own tone. “You’re right, Mr. Kidnapper. I’m either too ignorant for my own good, or I’m a liar just like my daddy.”
Her jaw shudders. “I’m not lying. I-”
Dante cuts her off, raising a finger like a teacher scolding a student.
“Oh, no, no, no. You are lying. Every word you’ve said has been carefully constructed to keep me from seeing the truth.
And we both know there’s a difference between telling the truth and spinning a story to save your little moral compass. ”
Her eyes water slightly.
“Tell me,” he continues, “How much has he stolen from others? Don’t bother spinning some saint story this time. Just give me a number.”
Her wide eyes dart to mine and then back to his.
Dante points the blade in her direction again. “Or better yet, let’s make this simpler. Every lie you tell me, every hesitation you make, has a cost. That sounds like a fun game, doesn’t it?”
Her breathing hitches, and I notice the way she shifts back against the wall, trying to create distance between her and the threat.
“I don’t know,” she says finally. “I wasn’t involved in his business. I just did what he asked.”
Dante clicks his tongue, disappointed. “Blind obedience.”
He rises from the chair, the wood scraping softly against the concrete as he pushes it back with his leg. The sound seems to make her flinch. He closes the distance between them without touching her, crouching instead so they are at eye level.
From where I stand, I can see the way her bound hands tremble in her lap. The way she tries to curl her fingers into fists to hide it and fails.
“Here’s how this works,” he says as he pulls two zip-ties from his back pocket. “You tell us the truth, and we take it easy on you.” His head then tilts to the side as he forces her ankles together to re-bind them. “You lie, and we escalate.”
Her lips part and then close, followed by them opening again.
“I swear,” she whispers. “I didn’t know where the money really came from.”
Dante exhales through his nose. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
Then, without warning, he slams the knife down into the mattress beside her thigh.
She screams and barely leans out of the way to avoid being cut.
The blade sinks deep, stopping inches from her leg. Dante leans on the handle, and gets close enough that his breath brushes her ear.
“That,” he says quietly, “was a warning. The next one won’t miss.”
I watch her emotionally crumble. “Please.” she begs.
Not toward Dante.
But to me.
My jaw locks, but I keep my facial expression devoid of all emotion.
As Dante turns to glance back at me, her eyes follow his line of sight.
“You see him?” Dante says, nodding toward me. “He’s the last kindness you’re going to get in this room. Unlike me, he thinks you’ll eventually give in and all of this will be over. I, however, think you’re full of shit and covering up for your father.”
He pulls the knife free, the fabric tearing and ripping at threads as it comes loose.
“Now,” he says, returning to the chair and sitting like this is a casual interview. “Let’s try this again.”
“There are offshore accounts,” she admits quickly. “Three that I know of. He uses the charities to move the money.” She glances down toward the floor before speaking again, “Children’s programs.” Her mouth twists. “It looks clean considering what it’s being moved through.”
Dante smiles, seeming satisfied.
“Good girl,” he says. “See how much easier honesty is?”
Her eyes flick to the knife. Then to me again.
And for the first time since I was assigned to guard her, I understand something I hadn’t wanted to name before.
She isn’t just afraid of Dante.
She’s afraid of what I might let happen next.