Chapter Eighteen – Lira
Back of the Truck, Border
Severo holds the rope steady between his knees while I press both wrists together.
He takes one last drag along the frayed rope and then folds the strands so they overlap again. He loops it once , then twice, tying it as if sealing it tight. But when I twist just slightly, I feel the slack. It holds its shape.
He nods.
I do the same for him. My hands tremble as I wrap the rope behind his back and knot it the way he showed me—tight at first glance, but loose enough for him to slide free in a single pull.
He tests it, the muscles in his forearms flexing. It holds.
We lower ourselves to the floor of the truck. The space is cold against my spine. I tuck my arms behind me, lean sideways against the wall, and draw a long breath through my nose.
Then I shut my eyes.
Outside, the truck rumbles over uneven ground. A turn. A slowdown. Then the engine cuts out.
The silence is immediate.
A door slams shut up front. Footsteps approach, slow and uneven, one heel heavier than the other. Then the metal latches at the back groan, bolts sliding free.
The doors swing open.
Air rushes in damp with soil.
The man climbs up. The truck groans beneath him. His boots scrape the floor as he steps inside.
He crouches. I feel his hand on my shoulder. He taps, sharp. “Hey.”
I stay limp.
A second passes.
The duct tape peels from my mouth in one brutal pull. It sears the skin under my cheek and rips at my hair, but I don’t make a sound. My jaw throbs.
Another moment of stillness.
He shifts away from me and moves toward Severo. I hear him grunt under his breath. “What the hell happened to her?”
There’s a muffled response from Severo, low and strained. Just enough to sound real.
Another sharp rip.
I hear Severo suck in air.
“She passed out,” he says, breath short. “We’ve been back here for hours. She hasn’t moved.”
The man mutters something under his breath. He’s buying it. I feel the floor shift under his weight as he steps out of the truck again.
The voices outside are low. I hear a call to Matteo. A sharper answer follows. Then more footsteps.
Another set of boots climbs up into the truck. Lighter. More familiar.
He crouches beside me, fingers brushing my cheek.
His voice is soft, almost broken. “Lira. Wake up.” His palm cups the side of my face. “Please, baby, come on…”
My body lifts.
Arms around me. Mico pulls me into him and holds me upright, rocking gently.
His fingers press into the side of my neck. Checking.
He sighs. “Still there.”
Then—he lifts me.
The cold air hits me first. The night wind wraps around my arms as he steps down from the truck bed with me in his arms. The ground crunches beneath his boots. His grip tightens.
My arm jerks up, the way Severo showed me. I strike with the base of my palm—low, firm, right beneath the jawline.
Mico stumbles back with a choking sound. His arms loosen. His throat catches.
He drops me.
I roll onto my knees and spring forward. One of the guards near the back of the truck reaches for his holster. I’m already there.
I slam my shoulder into his ribs. My fingers hook around the butt of his pistol.
He curses.
I yank it free and spin.
I raise the weapon to my temple.
“Don’t fucking move,” I snap, my voice hoarse. The metal presses cold into my skin. My finger rests firm on the trigger. “One step, and I kill myself.”
They freeze.
Mico is coughing behind me, still bent over. He lifts his head slowly. His eyes are wide now, mouth slack.
I keep the gun steady.
Severo’s voice runs through my head, the moment the truck first slowed, and we knew we were near the border.
“ When they stop, they’ll bring you out first,” he said, binding the ropes around my wrists just loosely enough to slip. “Matteo won’t come near you yet. Mico will. He’ll want to carry you himself. He’ll want you to feel rescued.”
He looped the ropes again, tugged to test. I nodded.
“That’s when you hit him. Right here.” He pressed his thumb to the exact spot under my jaw, at the hollow just beneath the ear. “It won’t kill him. But it’ll knock the air out. You won’t get a second chance, so don’t hesitate.”
My pulse had raced, but I kept my chin up. “Then what?”
“You grab the guard’s gun. Whoever’s closest. You won’t be able to shoot—there’ll be too many of them. But you don’t need to. Just aim it.”
He leaned closer. I could still feel the heat of him, the slow drag of his knuckles across my cheekbone.
“Aim it at yourself.”
I’d blinked. “What?”
“You won’t hurt yourself. But you’ll threaten to. And he’ll believe you.”
I shook my head. “He won’t.”
His eyes were steady. Tired. But sure.
“Would you rather shoot yourself… or go to Italy?”
I didn’t answer. Not right away. He didn’t push. Just waited.
Then I said it. “I’d rather shoot myself in the face.”
His lips curved—understanding.
“Then he’ll believe you.”
The memory fades, but my body holds to it.
I stare down the men, the gun pressed to my skin, and I see it land. They see it. The resolve.
Mico chokes, one hand still gripping his neck as he wheezes for air. His voice is rough, ragged. “Stand back!” he barks at the guards. “Don’t touch her!”
The men freeze, barely glancing between themselves.
Then Matteo steps out from the shadows. His shirt is half-unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled, one hand casually resting on the butt of his weapon. His gaze sweeps the scene—me with the gun to my temple, Mico crouched on the ground.
I raise my chin, finger still taut on the trigger. “Don’t take another step, or I’ll fucking do it.”
Matteo blinks . He doesn’t stop.
“Do I look like I care?” he asks flatly, his mouth barely moving.
“Matteo, stop!” Mico’s voice cracks. “I said stand down—she’s not bluffing!”
Matteo keeps coming.
The truck groans behind us.
In a blur, Severo leaps from the bed. His body slams into Matteo, knocking him off-balance. They hit the ground hard, and Severo’s fist cracks across Matteo’s jaw. The sound splits the silence.
One of the guards lunges forward, weapon rising.
“Don’t!” I scream. “I’ll do it—I swear I will!”
My voice ricochets through the air, high. The barrel presses tighter against my skin. The guards freeze.
“Stand down!” Mico roars, stumbling to his feet, still holding his throat. “Everyone, stand down!”
Severo grabs my wrist, his eyes locking with mine. “Run.”
He doesn’t wait.
He pulls me hard. My feet stumble over roots and gravel, but I find my balance. We bolt into the trees. Branches whip past, cold wind slaps my face, the ground uneven beneath every step.
Shouts echo behind us.
Then gunfire.
“Duck!” Severo shouts, grabbing my shoulder and throwing himself sideways over me. I hit the dirt, his weight covering mine, shielding me.
Bullets rip into the trees above. Leaves scatter. Bark splits open.
We scramble forward again.
****
The trees thicken around us: branches tangled like a net above.
The night breeze trickles through in thin beams, warm when it lands on my face, gone the moment we step into shadow.
My feet scrape over roots and broken leaves.
My legs ache. My throat burns. The sound of rushing blood has long drowned out the sound of pursuit.
We’ve been walking for hours.
Severo keeps glancing back at me, his pace slowing every few minutes.
I nod when he looks, even when I feel like my lungs are full of glass.
I don’t want him to stop. I want to keep up.
But when the ground slants again and the trees lean tight on either side, something folds inside me. My knees hit the earth.
I don’t cry out. I just fall forward, hands catching in the soil. I breathe . Then again. My arms shake.
Behind me, Severo crouches low. His hand is already on my shoulder. “Lira.”
I lift my face.
His expression is calm, steady. But I see it—his jaw’s tight. Sweat glints at his temple. He’s tired too, but he hides it better.
“Climb on,” he says, crouching further. “I’ll carry you.”
“I’m too heavy,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You’ll slow down.”
He reaches for my arm, helping me upright. “This part of the forest isn’t like the rest. It’s why they stopped chasing us.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“Wild boars,” he says. “Dense terrain. No marked paths. They wouldn’t risk it without backup or gear. We have maybe a few more hours to clear this before nightfall.”
My heart races. “If it’s dangerous, why are we here?”
His thumb brushes against my cheek, and his voice lowers. “Because it’s a shorter route to the campground. And because I know how to move through it. Trust me.”
My throat tightens. I look at him—really look—and something in me gives. I nod.
He turns, kneels again. “Get on.”
I climb up slowly, my arms wrapping around his shoulders, my legs hooking around his waist. His hands slip under my knees, adjusting, lifting. His back is warm. His breathing steady. He rises to his feet in one smooth motion.
The forest feels different from here.
We walk.
Leaves crunch underfoot, birds cry overhead, and the weight of silence settles back in. After a while, I speak.
“Are you tired?”
“No.”
I rest my chin on his shoulder. “I feel bad. For being weak.”
His fingers tighten slightly beneath my legs. “You aren’t. You did so well back there.” A pause. “I’m proud of you.”
The words settle in my chest, heavy and warm. I swallow.
Then he says, “Sing something.”
I laugh against his neck. “My voice is horrible.”
“How horrible?”
I hum low, then croak out the start of a tune. It breaks in the middle. He laughs. I laugh harder. My chest shakes against his back, my breath fogging the space between us.
“You weren’t lying,” he says.
“Shut up,” I grin, and start again, louder . It’s worse. A note veers sideways and dies.
He stumbles on purpose, like it wounded him.
****
His fingers are warm in mine as he guides me over the uneven path. Our steps sink softly into the leaf-covered floor, branches shifting above us, parting just enough to let scattered light spill down.
We step into a clearing.