Chapter Seventeen – Lira #2
I try to dig my heels into the ground. The friction stings, the rope cuts deeper. My wrists are already wet with blood.
I’m shoved hard from behind. I fall into the metal floor, knees slamming down, ribs catching on the side rail.
Behind me, I hear shouting. Struggling.
Severo’s voice is muffled but sharp—then broken off.
A thud.
My head jerks toward the sound.
They’re dragging him now. His body hangs limp between two men, head slumped, arms slack. Blood is already trickling from his temple.
My scream is choked behind the tape. I thrash forward.
The ropes tighten again—burning now, searing the skin as I twist against them.
They toss his unconscious body into the truck. He lands beside me, heavy, motionless.
I fall to my knees beside him, twisting to see his face. I cry into the tape, gagging on the sound. My fingers claw at the floor, trying to shift closer to him.
Another hand grabs my shoulder and shoves me down. I collapse beside him, sobbing behind the gag, wrists bound, skin burning. The truck doors slam shut with a cold, final clang. Darkness folds in.
The truck rocks through a turn and I hit the wall again, shoulder-first. The metal floor is cold and stained with oil. My dress sticks to my legs. I shift, twist again, curl forward—my hands numb behind my back, the ropes cutting every time I breathe.
It’s been hours.
My wrists burn.
But I keep pulling.
The rope has slackened, only slightly. The sweat on my skin makes it harder, but the fibers are old, coarse—each grind slices , and I welcome the sting. I brace my knees, press my weight back, and wrench again. The edge of the rope catches flesh. I gasp into the dark.
Something snaps—just enough.
I freeze. Hold my breath.
Then I pull harder.
Another grind. Another inch.
I bite the inside of my cheek, writhing against the resistance. My arms are shaking. My jaw’s clenched so tight it hurts. The blood runs slick down my palms.
Then my right hand slides through.
I suck in a breath. My body curls around itself. I twist fast, pulling my left hand free. The skin is torn. The joints are swollen. But my hands are mine again.
I tear the tape from my mouth.
The adhesive rips skin as it comes off. I cough.
Then I crawl.
Severo is still face down, his body folded against the truck wall, unmoving.
“Sev,” I whisper, voice hoarse.
No response.
I reach for him—my hands shake as I turn his body toward me. His head lolls. His pulse is under his jaw, faint but steady. I pull him into my lap, pressing his face against my chest, my tears falling fast now—hot and thick. They run down my chin, soaking into his shirt. My arms curl around him.
“I’m here,” I murmur. “I’m here. Please wake up.”
His eyelids twitch.
I go still.
Then, slowly, they part.
He blinks . Then again.
A soft groan escapes his throat, barely audible.
His fingers curl against my leg.
I let out a sob, hands cradling his face. I kiss his forehead, the cut near his temple, the corner of his mouth.
He squints, winces.
“What… happened?”
I exhale hard, pressing my cheek to his.
“We were betrayed,” I whisper. “But you’re okay. You’re okay.”
I lean forward and press my lips softly to his mouth. He doesn’t move at first. Then he kisses me back—slow, faint. His lips part just slightly before I draw away and guide his weight toward the wall.
He exhales shakily, settling into the corner. His head rests against the metal with a low thud.
“It’ll be fine,” he mutters, almost slurred, but he tries to smile.
I wipe under my eyes with the heel of my hand. “Are you dizzy? Does anything hurt?”
He groans softly, blinking again. “Just my head.”
My hand moves to the side of his scalp. There’s a patch of blood above his ear. The skin’s split. Not wide, but enough to clot over. My hand shakes as I trace the edge of it. His brow furrows when I press hard.
“Does that hurt?” I whisper.
He catches my wrist gently and brings my hand down. “I’m alright. It’s not deep.”
I nod quickly, wiping my face again, trying to stop the shaking. His eyes drift to his legs.
“My shoe,” he says, voice rough. “Left one.”
I blink, confused, but reach for it. His foot lifts slightly as I tug at the laces, then pull the shoe off.
Something rattles.
Inside the insole, wedged just beneath the fabric, is a slim metal blade. I slide it out. A razor—small, sharpened, taped at one end for grip.
I stare at it. My hands are trembling again.
“Use it,” he says. “The ropes.”
I move fast, crawling to his back. His arms are pinned behind him, wrists swollen and blue around the bindings.
I slide the blade under the rope and press down.
It doesn’t give.
The cords are thick. Twisted.
I press harder. The edge scrapes along the fibers. I have to saw—back and forth—slow, uneven strokes. My hand slips and the blade slices across my palm.
I hiss but don’t stop.
“Keep going,” he says gently, leaning forward so the ropes pull tighter against the blade. “You’re doing fine.”
I grit my teeth and keep at it.
My blood smears over the fibers. The blade cuts again, just above my thumb, but I hold it tighter.
The rope starts to loosen.
A few strands tear. Then more. I lean in with all my weight and give one last pull—and the knot finally gives.
His arms drop forward.
I gasp in relief and drop the blade.
He turns fast and pulls me into him. His arms wrap around me, strong despite the bruises. I fold against his chest, sobbing, pressing my face into his collar, breathing him in.
He kisses my temple, my cheek, my hair. His mouth doesn’t stop moving. He holds me as if afraid I’ll disappear again.
And I know—right here, right now—I can’t lose him. I can’t survive that.
His hand cups the back of my neck, his forehead resting against mine.
“I think they’re taking you to the border,” he says, voice low, breath catching slightly.
I freeze.
“What?” My voice breaks. “What do you mean the border?”
Severo’s arms tighten slightly.
“If Salvatri is the one behind this, he’s not taking you across town,” he says, tone flat. “He’s taking you out of the country. Italy, probably. Staying in Melbourne after touching a Dantès would be suicide.”
The words land like a weight in my chest.
My back goes stiff. “Matteo is in on it too.”
He nods .
My mouth dries. “Then your siblings—”
“Likely part of it,” he says, steady.
I turn to him fully, knees shifting against the metal floor. “How do you know?”
He glances toward the walls of the truck, listening for a moment to the engine before looking back at me.
“Matteo wouldn’t turn unless there was power behind the offer. Salvatri couldn’t pull him alone. But if Maksim and Mina are behind this—if they promised him something bigger—it fits. No one else wants us gone more than they do.”
My throat tightens. I press my hand to my chest, trying to catch my breath.
He watches me carefully, then adds, quiet but clear, “They’ll kill me, Lira. That’s the plan. Take you out of the picture with me out of the way. Make you disappear under the excuse of protection or grief.”
I grip the front of his shirt.
Tears pool in my eyes again. “What do we do?”
He lifts my chin with his thumb, guiding my face to his.
“Follow my lead,” he says. “No matter what happens.”
I nod. The movement is small, but it’s all I can manage.
His fingers smooth over the side of my face before he leans back against the wall again.
“They’ll travel through the night,” he says. “Six, maybe eight hours. You need to rest.”
“I can’t sleep—”
“Try.” He taps his chest.
I crawl forward and lie across him, slowly, gently. My cheek presses to the rise of his chest, just beneath his collarbone. His arms fold over my back, locking me in.
His mouth brushes against the top of my head.
I close my eyes.I drift.
The darkness shifts.
I’m barefoot in thick, wet mud. My dress is torn, heavy with rain. My hands are caked with dirt. Every breath scrapes down my throat.
The trees rise around me—tall, black, crowded close together. Leaves glisten. The ground sucks at my feet with every step. Somewhere above, a storm churns, the sky too dark to tell if it’s still night or day.
I turn in place. My heart pounds.
“Marco!” I scream. “Mamma!”
Ahead—movement.
I see them.
My brother, taller now, his shirt soaked through. My mother’s dress clings to her frame, her hair stuck to her face. They’re walking quickly, disappearing between the trees.
I run after them.
The mud pulls at me, thick and cold. I scream again, louder, the sound barely carrying.
“Wait!”
They don’t turn.
I run faster.
Then the ground disappears beneath me.
I drop—straight down. A pit. I fall hard. The air knocks from my lungs and I land on my side. The world goes black.
I wake with a jolt.
My body snaps upright, breath jagged.
Arms pull me in tight.
“Lira,” he says, voice low but close. “You’re alright. You’re here. Look at me.”
My chest heaves. My dress is stuck to my back with sweat. I blink hard, the inside of the truck slowly forming again around me—metal walls, faint moonlight through the cracks, Severo’s arms around my ribs.
He leans back just enough to see my face.
“It was a dream,” he says. “You were shaking.”
I rest my forehead against his collarbone. His hand moves slowly over my back. The heat of his skin grounds me.
Then he stills.
“The truck’s stopped.”
I freeze.
He leans in close. His mouth brushes the shell of my ear.
My hands grip his shirt again.
Outside, boots hit gravel. The doors creak.