Chapter 38 Neve
Neve
A sound split the night open.
There was a crack, and it was too violent, too exact and too familiar to be anything else but a gunshot.
My body reacted before my mind did. I bolted upright, my heart jackhammering, my breath locked in my chest. For a second I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think or breathe as I focused on the sound that had woken me from my sleep. I would know that sound anywhere.
“Atlas,” I whispered, shaking his shoulder.
He didn’t stir.
“Atlas.” My voice came louder. Panicked.
His eyes snapped open instantly. There was no drowsiness or confusion. Just alert, intense focus like a switch being thrown.
“What’s wrong?”
“I—” My throat closed. “I heard something.”
His gaze narrowed. “What kind of something?”
“A gunshot.”
Everything in him went still.
Completely. Utterly. Still. Then the storm hit.
He was out of bed in one fluid, brutal movement. I scrambled back as he grabbed sweatpants from the chair and pulled them on, his jaw clenched, his eyes scanning the shadows like he was already calculating each and every movement.
“Neve. Get dressed.”
My legs shook as I climbed out of bed. “Atlas—”
“Now.”
I grabbed my jeans off the ground where I’d dropped them hours ago. I found my shirt and flung it on with shaking fingers. My muscles wouldn’t cooperate, and the fabric kept catching, but I forced myself through it.
Behind me, I heard him pacing, listening, breathing like a man ready to tear through a wall, his phone pressed to his ear.
“Alessio,” he snapped. “Pick up.”
Silence. He tried again. Nothing.
His chest expanded like he was trying not to explode. Then he dialed another.
“Marcello,” he muttered. “Come on. Come on.”
Another ring. Another silence.
He ended the call with a vicious exhale.
My heart thundered. “Atlas, what’s happening?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me out of the bedroom, down the hall, his movements fast, controlled, deadly calm.
“Atlas—”
“Neve, stay close to me.”
He dialed again.
“Gianni,” he barked the moment the call connected, “Bratva are in the house.”
My stomach dropped.
He listened, then: “No, Alessio’s not answering. And Marcello’s out. Find him. Now. If Alessio’s down—”
A pause. A muttered curse.
“Gianni. Get whoever you can and get here. I’ve got maybe ninety seconds before this place turns into a fucking war zone.”
He ended the call and pulled me through the kitchen so quickly that my feet barely kept up.
He pressed his palm to a panel hidden beneath the kitchen counter. A portion of the wall slid open silently, revealing a narrow metal platform descending into darkness.
“There’s an elevator?” I asked, breathless, confused.
“There’s a safe route,” he corrected. “You’re taking it.”
I jerked back. “No. No, Atlas. I’m not leaving you.”
“You are.” His voice was final.
“I’m not—Atlas, I’m not leaving you here alone! They’ll kill you!”
“You are not staying here,” he snarled. “Not with the Bratva inside my fucking walls.”
I froze. His chest rose and fell like he was fighting the urge to break something.
“Atlas,” I whispered, grabbing his arm. “Let me stay. I can’t leave you…”
His hands came up around my face, rough and trembling. “Neve, baby, listen to me.”
“Don’t call me baby if you’re sending me away—”
“You need to stay alive,” he murmured quietly. “Do you hear me? Alive.”
I swallowed hard. Terror rose like water in my lungs.
He nodded toward the open elevator. “You go to Zelda’s. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Don’t wait for anyone. You run, Neve.”
My voice broke. “I don’t want to leave you.”
He leaned his forehead against mine. Just for a second. Long enough to brand the moment into my skin.
“I’ll come for you,” he promised, his voice low and shaking. “I’ll come for you, Neve. I swear to God.”
“Atlas—”
A crash echoed somewhere deeper in the house. Something shattering. We heard low voices and footsteps.
He jerked, shielding me instinctively.
“Go,” he whispered fiercely. “Now.”
I shook my head, tears burning my eyes. “I’m not losing you.”
“You won’t.” His jaw trembled. “I’m harder to kill than you think.”
There was another crash that sounded closer.
Atlas gripped me by the waist and physically lifted me onto the elevator platform.
“No—Atlas—please—”
“I’ll come for you,” he repeated, his voice breaking like a man pushed to the edge of sanity. “Go now.”
His thumb stroked my cheek once—slow, devastating me. Then he hit the button. The platform dropped. Atlas’s face rose above me as the elevator descended—his eyes wild, furious, terrified—but he didn’t move, didn’t retreat, didn’t break eye contact until the doors sealed shut between us.
Darkness swallowed me.
And the last thing I heard before the elevator locked me away was the sound of Atlas—my Atlas—cursing as he walked straight into hell.