Dark.
Everything around me is dark, and all I can hear is Alexandra’s breathing. I know it is her. Her low, suffocated crying blends with the sound of her teeth chattering. She is cold.
I suspect we are in the South Wing, but that does not matter.
Every cell in my body seems to feel fear, for me and for her. It is such an overwhelming fear that I almost feel inclined to beg, like my mother once did.
My hands are tied, not too tightly, because the Consigliere’s daughter cannot have visible marks, but firmly enough to keep me from running.
“Alexandra…”
“Shh!” she whispers. “He will hear us. Please, be quiet.”
“Can you move?”
Silence.
We remain like that until a light turns on.
My eyes burn, but I can make out Bruno’s silhouette. He walks in, switches on a dimmer light, and turns of
