Leone
She’s already heading toward the basement stairs before I finish my coffee.
The baby’s in her arms, swaddled in that pale blue blanket with the little gold stars stitched into the edges. The one she told Maria she wanted to keep forever, even when he’s grown.
Milo and I exchange a look, and he mutters, “She’s not really going to…?”
But she is.
Of course she is.
We follow, wondering why she needs our son to take Igor his breakfast.
She doesn’t wait for either of us. Her pace is steady, not hurried. She walks like a queen descending to court, not a woman carrying an infant into the tomb of her torture chamber.
The basement smells the same. Always does, like mildew, rust, and rot.
Reaching the bottom, Fallon stands waiting for me to unlock the door. “No!” I tell her, reaching
