The Woman in the Trunk

"But... why?" I asked, shaking my head. "Why wouldn't you just... take the shackles off? Why did you want me to do it myself?"

"Figured when little boss man here up and went missing with Milo, that he didn't die like his old man was hoping. And I saw the way he ripped a man to shreds for you. I wanted to see if you were the kind of woman who deserved the boss, which was what he was going to become. Figured if you could figure out how to get out of that basement, then you could handle being with him."

"Brio, man," Emilio said, pressing a hand to his heart. "I had no idea you were such a romantic," he teased.

Brio ignored that. "Killing the capo, though, that was," he said, bringing his fingers in to do a chef's kiss, "perfect. I never should have doubted you."

"Alright," Lorenzo said, shaking his head. "So, let me get this straight. Brio told you how to escape," he started. "You escaped, poisoned my father, then went back down into the basement, and locked yourself back up."

"I didn't want anyone to think it was me," I told him, shrugging. "I thought you were gone. And I figured that if your father was gone too, they might just let me go. And I could go back to my life."

"And then you found evidence that my mom was alive, then went to save her, stabbing Terry in the neck in the process?" Lorenzo asked, tone getting more and more awed as he went on.

When it was recapped like that, it was pretty awe-inspiring, even I had to admit that.

"Racking up two bodies in a week. Gotta respect that," Brio piped in, almost gleeful about my body count.

"Three," Lorenzo corrected. "Emptied a mag into her old man. That's what got her in the basement in the first place."

"Three? Fuck, man. Marry her," Brio declared. And, what's more, he wasn't joking.

"Speaking of that," Celeste said, moving to stand. "I think these two could probably use some time together. You," she said, looking over at Brio. "How about you take me to go see my other son? And meet my grandson?"

Within ten minutes, new orders had been sent out to most of the other men, and Lorenzo was walking up the stairs with me. One hand was pressed to my lower back, but it didn't escape me that his other hand was gripping the railing hard.

He tried to be strong, but the man was just out of the hospital after getting shot, after being beaten. He needed to rest.

"I'm fine, Gigi," he told me as we got into his room, seeming to sense my train of thought.

"You were shot in the head. You're not fine."

"I'm not one-hundred-percent," he admitted, dropping down on the edge of the bed, looking over at me. "But I will be there soon enough. Until then, there are just some minor, annoying side-effects. I'm fine. Better now that I know you're okay," he added, reaching out, snagging my wrist, pulling me forward. "Was having trouble sleeping not knowing where you were, if you were okay. I failed you."

"You didn't fail me," I said, rolling my eyes. "What were you supposed to do that you didn't do?"

"Save you."

"Well, that would have certainly saved me a lot of trouble," I admitted, smiling at him, my hand raising, carefully tracing above his new scar. "But I think I proved I can take care of myself."

"Knew it the second you cold-cocked me with a whiskey bottle," he told me, smirking. "You alright?" he asked, getting more serious.

"Not a scratch on me, incredibly," I told him, forcing a smile. I was a bit too worn out for a real one. I wasn't sure the last time I got any real sleep.

"Not what I meant. Had a lot of shit go down the past few weeks. You weren't raised in this. It's got to have some impact."

"It probably will," I admitted. "Once I have a shower and some food and some sleep. But I figure you're rich enough to pay for all the therapy I am probably going to need," I said, smiling a little.

"Anything you want," Lorenzo told me, unexpectedly serious, the words more like a vow than anything.

"I was joking," I insisted. "I'm not expecting anything."

"No? You should be," he told me, shrugging.

"I didn't do what I did because I wanted something. Aside from my freedom."

"Well, see, we have a problem there, hellcat."

"What?" I asked, stiffening. "What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid you can have anything you want. Except your freedom."

"Wait a minute—"

Lorenzo's chuckle cut me off. When I looked down, his green eyes were dancing. "Christ. Look at that attitude. Were you going to shoot me with my own gun?" he asked, patting his holster under his jacket.

"I still haven't written the possibility off," I told him, even though we both knew that while I was, apparently, capable of a lot more than I could have ever known, killing him was not on that one of those things. "What do you mean I can't have my freedom?"