Chapter 31 Camilla
The door opens, and my time is up.
"The buyer has arrived," the older woman says. Not the one from last night, but another handler I haven't seen before. "Come with me."
My hands are steady as I stand, smoothing down the gray dress they chose for me. The nail file is wedged into my right shoe, hidden under the arch of my foot. Uncomfortable, but invisible. One small weapon against whatever comes next.
They don't answer when I ask questions. Where are we going? Who is this buyer? What happens during the inspection? Just silence and guiding hands as they lead me down the hallway, past other closed doors, toward the stairs.
Other women are being held here. I heard them through the walls last night. But I'm the only one being moved this morning. Lucky me.
The van waiting outside is black, expensive, windows tinted. Professional operation. Torretti sits in the passenger seat, barely glancing at me as his men load me into the back.
"Where are we going?" I try again.
No answer. Just the van door sliding shut, locking me in with two guards who watch me without expression.
The engine starts and we're moving.
I test the nail file's position in my shoe without being obvious. It’s still there, still sharp. Not much of a weapon, but I've already killed one man with improvised tools. If this buyer thinks I'm going to be compliant, he's about to learn differently.
The drive feels endless. My mind plays through scenarios - what the buyer will look like, what he'll expect, where the vulnerable points are on a human body.
I think about Renato. Whether he's looking for me.
I push the thought away. I can't afford hope and I can't afford to wait for rescue that might never come.
The van slows then stops. Through the tinted windows, I see warehouse silhouettes against dawn light in an industrial area. A perfect place for a private "inspection" with no interruptions.
Torretti opens the van door. "Out."
I step onto cracked pavement, flanked immediately by two guards. They're alert, professional, hands near weapons. Not men I could fight and win against.
But maybe I don't have to fight them. Maybe the buyer will be alone with me at some point. One moment of opportunity, one vulnerable target, and the nail file opening an artery.
I just need to survive long enough to find that moment.
"Keep moving," one guard says when I hesitate.
We approach Building 47. The door stands open, darkness beyond. This is it. Another dreaded inspection. The moment some stranger decides whether I'm worth purchasing.
My heart pounds but I force my breathing steady. Predators can smell fear.
I step through the doorway into shadow. For a moment, nothing. Just darkness and the sound of my own pulse in my ears.
Then movement ahead. A figure stepping forward from deeper in the warehouse.
Not what I expected. He’s tall, in a dark suit, but there’s something familiar about the way he moves.
"Delivery complete," the figure says, and my entire world stops.
Renato.
He's twenty feet away, gun in hand, face carved from stone. Behind him, shadows resolve into Matteo and other armed men.
Not a buyer.
A rescue.
Relief crashes through me so violently my knees almost buckle.
"Though I believe we need to renegotiate terms," Renato continues, his voice deadly calm, eyes fixed on something behind me. On Torretti.
"What is this?" Torretti's voice goes cold with understanding. "Where's Alessandro?"
"Alessandro had an unfortunate accident." Renato's gun doesn't waver. "Very cooperative before he died. Told me everything."
The guards flanking me tense, their hands moving toward weapons.
"Don't," Matteo says from the shadows, and suddenly rifles are trained on us from multiple angles.
My mind is still catching up. This was a trap. The whole thing. I don’t need to know the details to realize Renato is here for me.
But Torretti is a professional. He doesn't panic.
His hand shoots out, grabbing my arm and yanking me backward against his chest. Cold metal presses against my temple.
The relief evaporates instantly.
"Nobody moves," Torretti says, "or she dies right here."
The warehouse goes silent.
Renato's face doesn't change, but I see his finger shift on the trigger. Calculating. "You're making this worse for yourself."
"I'm making this survivable." Torretti backs toward the door, dragging me with him. "Your men lower their weapons, or she dies. Simple mathematics."
"If she dies, you die two seconds later."
"Then we both lose." The gun presses harder against my skull. "But at least I'll have the satisfaction of destroying what you came here for."
“Is that satisfaction worth your life?”
The nail file is hidden in my right shoe, wedged under the arch of my foot. Torretti's grip is on my left arm, gun pressed to my right temple. His body is against my back. It’s close quarters with no room to maneuver.
But close quarters can work both ways.
I meet Renato's eyes across the warehouse. He's calculating angles, trying to find a shot that won't hit me. There isn't one. Torretti is using me as a perfect shield again.
Which means I'm the only one who can change this equation.
Renato's gaze drops fractionally. To my hands, to the floor, back to my face. The tiniest nod. He knows I'm going to do something. He's ready to move when I do.
No words needed. Just understanding between us.
I suddenly let my body go completely limp as if I’ve fainted.
The sudden dead weight breaks Torretti's grip. As I drop, I kick off my right shoe, and grab the nail file as it falls.
The gun goes off with the shot passing through empty air where my head was a heartbeat ago. I twist when I hit the floor, driving the sharpened nail file up into the inside of Torretti's thigh.
The blade sinks deep into his femoral artery. He screams as blood sprays hot across my face.
Chaos erupts inside the warehouse.
Torretti's guards go for their weapons. Matteo's team opens fire. I'm on the ground, scrambling away from Torretti as blood pumps from his leg in rhythmic spurts.
Someone grabs me and I instinctively fight back, the nail file still gripped in my hand.
"It's me!" Renato's voice cuts through the panic. His arms wrap around me, pulling me behind cover as bullets ricochet off metal.
The firefight lasts maybe thirty seconds. Torretti's men are outgunned and caught in crossfire. When the shooting stops, both guards are down. Torretti is on his back, hands pressed uselessly against the fountain of blood from his thigh.
"Pressure," he gasps, his face already pale. "I need an ambulance."
"You need to answer questions," Renato says coldly, kneeling beside him while keeping one arm around me. "How long you survive depends on how cooperative you are."
Matteo approaches, pulling zip ties from his tactical vest. "I've got him, boss. Take her out of here."
"Get everything," Renato says, standing and keeping me close against his side. "Names, locations, other operations. All of it."
"He'll talk." Matteo's voice is matter-of-fact as he begins applying just enough pressure to keep Torretti conscious but not enough to save him. "They always do."
I'm still pressed against Renato, my hands shaking, the bloody nail file clenched in my fist. The gray dress is soaked with blood.
"You're okay," Renato murmurs, his hand on the back of my head, already guiding me away from the scene. "You're safe now."
But I don't feel safe. I feel like I'm still falling, still fighting, still waiting for the next threat.
"Camilla." He turns me to face him, his hands gentle despite the violence still echoing around us. "Look at me. It's over."
"Is it?" My voice sounds strange, detached.
"You’re safe." He cups my face, forcing me to focus on him instead of the carnage. "I’ve got you."
The adrenaline starts to crash, leaving me hollow and shaking. I look down at my hands. Blood under my nails. Blood on the dress. Blood everywhere.
"I thought the buyer was waiting," I whisper.
"I would never let that happen." His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, wiping away blood. "Never."
Behind us, Matteo is efficiently extracting information from Torretti, who's bleeding out but still conscious. Names, locations, other operations. Everything spilling out as his life drains away.
"Boss?" Matteo calls. "He gave up his whole network. You want him kept alive?"
Renato looks at me, waiting for me to answer.
I study Torretti's face. His skin is gray now, lips already turning blue. He's dying whether we help him or not.
"Let him bleed out," I say quietly. "I want him to know what he did."
Renato nods to Matteo, who steps back from the wound. No pressure. Just gravity and biology doing their work.
Torretti's eyes find mine. I’m glad he knows I’m watching him die. His mouth moves but no words come out.
"Come on," Renato says, helping me stand. My legs shake but hold. "Let's get you home."
"Where is home?" I ask, leaning against him because I'm not sure I can walk without support.
He's quiet for a moment, his arm solid around my waist. "Wherever you feel safe. Tell me where that is, and I'll take you there."
I think about the villa at Lake Maggiore. The room where I was kept. The training sessions that broke me down and rebuilt me into something harder. The man who orchestrated all of it now holding me like I'm precious instead of property.
"I don't know yet," I admit. "But not here."
"Not here," he agrees.
As we walk toward his car, leaving Matteo to handle cleanup, I catch my reflection in a dirty window. Blood-spattered gray dress. Wild hair. Bare feet because I kicked off my shoe to kill a man. The nail file still gripped in my hand like a talisman.
I look like I've been to war.
Maybe I have.
But I survived it.
The car engine starts, carrying us away from the warehouse and toward whatever comes next. I don't ask where we're going. Right now, it doesn't matter.
What matters is that I'm still breathing.
Still fighting.
Still alive.