Chapter 5
The air grew significantly colder as they descended the narrow stone steps into the sub-basement. The luxurious ivory panels and gilded moldings of the upper floors gave way to rough-hewn stone and exposed pipes. The only illumination came from sparse, flickering incandescent bulbs swinging gently from the low ceiling.
Elsie led the way in her sophisticated black maid dress, her graceful posture rigid with tension. Behind her, Sienna stumbled in her sapphire satin gown, weeping softly, her elegant manners completely dissolved into pathetic whimpers. Desmond brought up the rear, his towering, masculine frame radiating a dark, suffocating energy.
“Is it much further down this corridor, Elsie?” Desmond asked, his voice echoing eerily against the damp stone walls.
“Just at the end, sir,” Elsie replied, pointing toward a heavy, solid iron door that looked like it belonged in a medieval dungeon rather than a modern mansion.
They reached the door. It was secured by a massive, heavy-duty padlock. There was a small sliding grate at eye level, currently locked shut. The smell of damp earth and stale air was overwhelming.
“Where is the key, Sienna?” Desmond asked, turning his cold, perceptive eyes to his trembling fiancée.
“I told you, I lost it!” Sienna cried, shrinking back against the stone wall. “Desmond, please, let's just go upstairs! I will pack my bags and leave! You never have to see me again!”
“Do you truly want to test my patience tonight?” Desmond inquired, stepping into her personal space.
He didn't wait for her to produce the key. He reached beneath his tailored dark suit jacket and produced a heavy, customized handgun equipped with a suppressor. He pressed the muzzle directly against the thick steel body of the padlock.
“Will you cover your ears, Elsie?” Desmond asked calmly.
Elsie immediately clamped her hands over her ears and turned her face away. Sienna shrieked, covering her own head.
Desmond pulled the trigger twice. The suppressed shots were still deafening in the enclosed space, a harsh, metallic cracking sound. The heavy padlock shattered, the shackle blowing apart. Desmond holstered his weapon seamlessly, his refined artistic tattoos flexing as he grabbed the heavy iron handle.
“Are you prepared for what is behind this door, Sienna?” Desmond asked, his voice dropping to a gravelly, lethal whisper.
He pulled the heavy door open. The hinges groaned in protest.
The room inside was pitch black, smelling of old straw and desperation. Elsie reached to the side of the doorway and flipped a heavy industrial switch. A single, harsh bulb flickered to life in the center of the cell.
In the corner of the room, huddled on a thin, dirty mattress, was a woman. She was emaciated, her fair skin pale and sickly, her clothes little more than rags. But as she lifted her head, shielding her eyes from the sudden, blinding light, her features became clear.
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Desmond froze. His powerful shoulders slumped a fraction of an inch, the breath leaving his lungs in a ragged, involuntary exhale. The movie-star handsome face of the mafia boss lost all its terrifying composure, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated heartbreak.
“Is it really you, Victoria?” Desmond asked, his deep voice cracking for the first time in his life, dropping his absolute rule of questioning as a single tear escaped his cold, observant eyes.
