Fallon
My heart hammers against my chest, each beat echoing the desperation that’s been clawing at me for days. And in that dim, suffocating space is Milo. He rids me of the spider and his hands work methodically at the ropes binding my ankles to the chair, his movements steady, deliberate. He doesn’t look at me. Not once.
I wonder if it’s because he can’t bear to see what his boss has done to me—or if he simply doesn’t care.
For a moment, Milo freezes. His hands pause, and a flicker of something crosses his face. Conflict? Guilt? I can’t tell, and it vanishes before I can be sure. He mutters something in Italian, his tone sharp and clipped. The words are foreign to me, yet their meaning is clear: he’s not here to talk.
The door bangs open, and Maria rushes in, a whirlwind of anxious e
