Chapter 10
Sophie/Cara
We’re ten thousand feet in the air when I notice the silver cord around my neck is missing.
Along with it, Xavier’s wedding band.
“Stop fidgeting.”
My hands roam over my clothes, shaking my shirt. Panic seeps into my veins. No. No, not that.
“His ring,” I whisper to Victoria, who blinks at me as if I’ve lost hold altogether. I’m seconds away from proving her right. “It’s not here.”
“What ring?”
It must have snapped off in the struggle.
It’s gone. My God, it’s really gone.
Every deficient muscle in my body locks up, whipcord-tight. I’m concentrating on the small screen that maps our trajectory, watching Madrid gradually disappear behind us, fading into the distance while we hurdle toward Reykjavík.
I stare ahead, wanting to scream. Cry. Mourn.
He placed that into my hand. I was always supposed to have it .
A symbol of us. Our love. Our marriage.
Victoria speaks hesitantly, her gaze tracing the tears that silently drift down my cheeks. “It’s… gone?”
“It’s gone.”
It’s daybreak when we land in Reykjavík.
Neither of us has slept, fueled solely by adrenaline.
Steady rain barrels down the airport taxi windows, thick fog shrouding the distant Icelandic mountain peaks.
Our route takes us past the city’s attractions, but not long enough to fully appreciate them.
I’m reeling from the gravity of what I’ve lost. Somehow still losing, even after all this time.
Wherever Victoria is headed, it lies beyond the bustling cultural streets where outsiders like us usually gather.
The driver drops us off in the industrial district.
Victoria pays him and steps into the downpour first. Vigilant to these unfamiliar surroundings, my eyes pan the vacant streets, peeled open like the faithless runaway I am.
She nudges my arm. “It’s this way.”
Buildings of various shapes and sizes line clean sidewalks. Some steel, others painted timber. As Victoria briskly cuts a corner, she near misses a rowdy group of college students exiting a pub crammed with patrons to the door.
In a place like this, I feel the toll of isolation—of imprisonment, missing out on life. On friendship.
There’s so much I haven’t experienced. Like Spain, these faces are unfamiliar. Even though I’ve just arrived, the culture’s vastly different. It’s another world.
Another place to get used to.
Thunder drums through the sky, followed by flashing light that bleaches the grey atmosphere for a few seconds. My eyes closely follow my sister’s movements as she crosses the street, reads the signs at the ends of the blocks, and leads us to an eyesore nestled between two warehouses.
She’s observant, overly cautious, with experiences beyond my own scope.
And she came for me. She ensured I made it out of Madrid alive.
She had the identification and resources ready to put us both off-grid.
It’s those measures she’s taken that keep me leveled.
If she is an enemy, so be it. I’d rather her be close than lurking in the shadows.
I'm not who I once was.
I'm not so na?ve, so trusting.
“This place looks abandoned.”
Victoria smirks. “All part of the plan.”
Passing a dozen cylinders of ash, mounds of construction material left untouched, tarped to prevent wood rot, Victoria removes the blue camouflage concealing the door, revealing a metal padlock held together by wires. She taps in numbers, and the door unhinges.
0594. I make silent note to memorize that sequence.
Victoria steps in from the rain, entering ahead of me. As I brace against the doorframe, my heart lurches at the sight of this sanctuary I’ve chosen. “It’s just a place to hide out. Don’t worry,” she insists.
She thinks this scares me.
My sister flashes a look of astonishment when I stride past her into the vaulted warehouse.
The gunshots couldn’t be heard beyond the door. The noise of the shipyards drowned out the countless people of all shapes and sizes that are scattered throughout the room.
My eyes locate weapons first. Knives. Guns.
Wire. Vials of liquid I assume are lethal.
Rows of monitors tracking various continents with blinking markers.
Coordinates. Hundreds of them. Once inside, it’s clear to see that this hideout is actually a multifaceted network, each complex corner occupied by individuals colliding, blades firmly in hand.
Another area presents a man strapped to a chair, his hands and feet bound, contorting his fingers to free himself.
What the hell is this? What have I walked into?
A middle-aged woman reclines on a cot, wearing headphones. A textbook on the English language rests on her chest. A man on the ground, leaning into the same cot, is doing the same, but he’s studying Mandarin.
Everywhere I look, there’s purpose. Blood and sweat.
Overhead, rain pools onto the vaulted glass ceiling, seeping through small cracks.
It’s no palace, that’s for sure.
Victoria grabs my arm and points to the iron stairs leading to a second floor. A man stands at the railing, focused on our entrance. She guides me towards him, but I’m more interested in the chaos around me.
Each boxed compartment differs from the next. Each space is filthy and confining, cloaked in the naturally dark chill of the warehouse. Somehow, I’m not deterred by it. As I climb the stairs, I keep my gaze fixed on those below, despite hearing Victoria greet the watcher.
“Who is this?” he asks.
Victoria nudges my side. “Soph?—”
“My name is Cara.”
With black hair closely cropped to his head and smoldering eyes dark enough to hold the weight of the underground in them, I cast a glance at my sister, suddenly understanding why she does this man’s bidding. He’s not just attractive—and this dungeon belongs to him.
He grips my hand, those piercing eyes openly assessing me. “Isaac. Welcome, Cara.”
Victoria leans into the railing. “We won’t be here long. We just need a place to lay low. ”
My thoughts stray from them, drawing my attention back to the state of anarchy on the first floor. When I remember I’m part of the conversation, I glance between them, finding his full attention on me.
“You seem interested in what we do here,” Isaac observes.
Victoria looks more than unnerved. “She’s merely here to keep a low profile. She hasn’t been around this before.”
I trace over his outfit, stained darker with sweat, to the gun secured at his hip. “That’s a .45 caliber?”
He smirks at my sister. “Seems she knows more than you think.”
Victoria’s eyes double in size, clearly frustrated he’d plant these dangerous thoughts in my head. “ Isaac ,” she hisses the name, “just show us to our damn room.”
The owner of this place dismisses her concerns, closing in on me. “I’ll show you around.”
Victoria screws her face into a grimace, following the scowl with an eye-roll when I cast her a roguish look before following him.
As we descend the stairs, Isaac greets some of the others by name, and I can’t help but imagine how my husband would react to this.
I envision the war he’d wage. How reckless this is.
How irresponsible it is to be here with someone who has already turned their back on me once.
In the Mafia, there are no second chances.
Isaac guides me through the confining halls, helping me understand every aspect of the building. This place is divided into sections, each more dangerous than the last.
A gym, combat area, gun range, intelligence room, coding lab. And then he points past me. “Those rooms over there are designated for those who want to learn pain suppression.”
The bolted doors entrap me with a certain kind of dread, unable to shake off the ominous weight in the air, the state of alarm that sounds in my head like warning sirens. “How does that work? ”
“Umm, isolation rooms. Torture,” he says, clearly uncomfortable to reveal more. “The acts are first reenacted and then carried out upon them. It’s not a requirement, but those who are advanced usually wind up here. It’s the only way you can be certain.”
For the first time since I stepped through those doors, my chest is in a tight stranglehold, weighing on the dangers lurking here. “Certain about what?”
“Certain they’ll never be caught by surprise. The people who do this… Well, they know what to expect, and some even learn how to suppress the pain.”
It hits me like a ton of bricks.
Knocks the wind right out of me.
The realization.
This is what Xavier was put through by his father.
The trauma that made him unstoppable? A fearsome force of nature? It was this kind of trial that shaped him into what he is.
As if fate personally led me here, halfway across the world, whatever fear I had vanishes. “I want to learn.”
“Learn what?”
“All of it.”
His gaze shifts uncertainly to the looming doors I’m fixated on, examining me like a puzzle he can’t solve.
“It’s not a decision you make lightly, Cara.
This path can— does —ruin a person,” he says, passionately enough that I’m sure he’s speaking from experience.
“Victoria said you were passing through.”
“My sister doesn’t speak for me.”
A layered smile spreads across his lips, relishing my defiance. “No, I’m sure she doesn’t. Look, if you really want, I can show you some weapons, teach you how to use them…”
I shake my head. “No, teach me all of it. Everything.”
“Why?”
“Because I won’t ever be caught by surprise again. ”
The overwhelming burden of my pain resonates in every syllable I utter. He gazes into my eyes as if he suddenly knows exactly what I’ve been through. And yet, he shakes his head. “No, Cara. You don’t understand what this is.”
“Isaac—”
“Go find your sister.”