Chapter 7: Welcome to the Cage

“If you bleed out on this floor, I swear to God I’ll resurrect you just to kill you myself.”

Enzo’s head lolled against my shoulder. His blood was hot and slick, soaking through my dress and pooling on the cold concrete of the elevator floor. The steel doors were sealed shut. Victoria’s laughter had cut off, but the red light on the comms panel told me she was watching us.

“Enzo, look at me,” I demanded, gripping his face with my free hand. My other hand was clamped over the shotgun wound on his ribs, keeping our skin connected.

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. “Sarah…”

“I need to get you out of this elevator,” I said, my mind racing. “Where’s the manual release?”

“Panel… right side,” he rasped.

I didn't want to break our physical contact, but I had no choice. I leaned him back against the wall, keeping one hand firmly pressed against his bare chest while I reached blindly for the side panel with my other. My fingers found a hidden latch. I popped it open, grabbed the heavy red lever, and pulled with all my strength.

The doors groaned and slid open an inch. I shoved them apart, revealing the dark, cavernous panic room. I grabbed Enzo under the arms and dragged him out of the elevator. He was so heavy my muscles screamed in protest, but the sheer terror of him dying kept me moving.

I laid him out on a metal surgical table in the center of the room. The bunker was a fortress, equipped with monitors, weapons, and a fully stocked medical bay.

“Don’t move,” I ordered, though he was barely capable of twitching.

I ripped open the nearest medical kit, grabbing gauze, antiseptic, and a heavy-duty surgical stapler. I knew basic first aid from my kickboxing days, but this was a gunshot wound.

I climbed onto the table, straddling his hips so I could get the leverage I needed. I kept my left hand pressed flat against his neck, right over his pulse point. The moment my palm touched his bare skin, the violent shuddering wracking his body began to ease.

“This is going to hurt,” I warned.

“Do it,” he gritted out, his jaw clenching tight.

I poured the antiseptic over the wound. He let out a guttural roar, his hands flying up to grip my hips with bruising force. I ignored his pain, pressing the gauze deep into the wound to stop the bleeding, before rapidly clicking the surgical stapler to seal the torn flesh.

By the time I finished, I was sweating and shaking. I covered the wound with a heavy bandage, then collapsed forward, my forehead resting against his chest.

The room was dead silent, save for his ragged breathing.

I stayed like that for a long time, my hand never leaving his skin. The adrenaline crash hit me like a freight train. My limbs felt like lead.

“You’re heavy,” Enzo mumbled, his voice a rough whisper.

I let out a breathless laugh, lifting my head. “I’m literally hovering over you.”

His dark eyes were open now, clear and watching me. His hands were still resting on my hips, his thumbs tracing absent circles over the fabric of my dress.

“Why didn’t you run?” he asked, his voice barely audible. “The elevator doors opened. You could have left me here to die and taken your chances with Victoria.”

I looked down at him. The blood on my hands. The monster who had trapped me in a cage.

“Because I’m not a coward,” I whispered. “And I don’t leave people behind.”

Something shifted in his eyes. The cold, calculating Godfather vanished, replaced by a raw, terrifying vulnerability. He reached up, his hand cupping my cheek, pulling me down to him.

He kissed me. It wasn't the punishing, desperate kiss from the office, or the bloody, frantic kiss in the stairwell. It was soft. Slow. A quiet exploration of my lips that made my stomach flip. I melted into him, my fingers tangling in his dark hair.

When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with exhaustion.

“We can’t stay here,” I said, forcing myself to sit up. “Victoria has the override codes. She’s just waiting for us to bleed out.”

“The secondary generator,” Enzo said, wincing as he tried to sit up. I helped him, keeping my hand wrapped around his arm. “Bottom of the bunker. There’s a hardline. If I can get it online, I can call for extraction.”

“You can barely stand,” I argued.

“I don’t have a choice.” He slid off the table, leaning heavily on me. “We need to move. Now.”

We stumbled toward the back of the bunker. The metal stairs leading down to the generator room were steep and dark. Enzo was leaning all his weight on me, his breathing labored.

We made it down to the generator room. It was freezing, the air thick with dust. Enzo collapsed onto a metal chair, fumbling with a large, old-fashioned radio console. I stood beside him, my hand resting on the back of his neck, providing the constant touch he needed to stay conscious.

“I’ve got the frequency,” he muttered, adjusting a dial. “I just need to boost the signal.”

I watched the door at the top of the stairs. The bunker was too quiet.

“Enzo,” I whispered. “How much time do we have?”

“Before Victoria realizes what we’re doing?” He looked up at me, his face pale but his eyes sharp. “Ten minutes. Maybe less.”

He turned back to the radio, speaking rapidly into the receiver. I didn't understand the code words, but I understood the urgency in his voice.

Suddenly, a hissing sound filled the room.

I smelled it immediately. The sharp, acrid scent of gas.

“Enzo,” I breathed, panic rising.

He looked up, his eyes widening.

The red lights in the corner of the room began to flash. The ventilation system had been turned on, but it wasn't pumping in fresh air. It was pumping in gas.

Victoria’s voice crackled over the small speaker on the radio console.

“You should have just let me have the empire, Enzo,” she purred, her voice dripping with venom. “You and your little bride can burn together. How romantic.”

“Victoria, don’t do this!” Enzo shouted into the radio.

“Too late,” she laughed. “Say goodbye.”

The hissing grew louder. The air in the room became thick, suffocating. I coughed, my lungs burning.

Enzo grabbed my hand, pulling me down onto the floor with him.

“Get low,” he ordered, coughing violently. The physical exertion was tearing his wound open, blood seeping through the bandage. “Stay near the floor. The gas is heavier than air.”

“We’re going to die,” I choked out.

“No,” Enzo growled. He pulled me into his arms, wrapping his body around mine, shielding me from the vents. He was coughing so hard he could barely speak.

“I promised... I would never let anyone... take you from me,” he rasped, his lips brushing against my forehead.

I buried my face in his chest, breathing in the scent of him beneath the gas. The darkness was closing in, my vision tunneling.

And then, the radio crackled.

Through the static, a voice cut through. A voice I recognized.

“Godfather,” Marcus’s deep, steady voice echoed through the room. “Hang on. I’m blowing the doors.”