* * *
Four more muffled gunshots produced bulges on the steel door leading to her childhood bedroom. Gabriella screeched and pressed herself up against the bathroom door.
“You okay?” Luke hollered.
“I’ll be better after he gives up.” She blew out a long breath and tried to relax her muscles, but they refused to release the contraction, most likely because she couldn’t stop shivering from the cold. She held her breath, listening. Rodrigo was either gathering more bullets or thinking up a new plan. The smell of cedar and mothballs permeated the room now that the doors were closed. If they decided to try to make a run for it, she would at the very least like dry clothes.
She crossed the room and stood in front of the dresser. The drawers stuck out slightly. The mafia men must have gone through them as well. Was there nothing of her mother’s that they hadn’t manhandled? She rubbed her hands together. Her throat throbbed with the strain it took to keep the tears at bay. She could do this.
Gabriella reached out tentative fingers and pulled out the top drawer. Her mother’s shirts. She pulled out one and pressed it up against her face. The scent of flowers simultaneously soothed her and made her eyes burn.
Her mother loved the vanilla-and-lavender fabric softener, but Gabriella feared she’d never be able to use it without thinking of her.
She opened her eyes and spotted a gold paper box still sealed up in cellophane—her mother’s favorite brand of dark chocolate caramels. Gabriella remembered sneaking into the closet—her mom insisted on keeping the doors open—during a few late nights as a child to snitch a caramel before diving back in bed with a flashlight and a book. Her mother always knew, though. It was easy to count the chocolates. As if on autopilot, Gabriella unwrapped and stuck a chocolate in her mouth.
The door behind her slid open. “What are you doing?” He stepped out in a light-blue-and-navy striped flannel shirt and carpenter jeans that looked too tight. At least they were dry, though.
“Stress eating,” she mumbled and popped another one in her mouth.
He raised his eyebrows and reached out for one. “Oh. Dark chocolate.”
“The only good kind,” she muttered and replaced the box lid. “Were you able to patch yourself up?”
He moved to the rod and shoved the hanging clothes apart. “Getting dry helped a lot and I found Steri-Strips. It’ll have to do.” He placed his hand on the back of the closet and glided his hand across the wooden surface.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for an exit, or panel for a phone, or something that will help us out! Your mom went to the trouble of making this safe room because she feared something might happen.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “At least we know she picked one paneled with Kevlar.”
Gabriella rifled through the dresser and pulled out a green cotton blouse. “She used to have an alarm security system. I’m not sure she thought she’d have to get out of here without help.” She pointed to the red button above the top shelf. “I had no idea her neurotic overprotective nature was justified.”
She dropped to her knees and pulled out the lower drawer. Her mom used to keep her “skinny days” clothes at the bottom. Gabriella pulled out the acid-washed denim. “You know, I don’t even know how to think of her anymore—was she Samantha or Renata?”
Luke stilled. “She was your mom. For now, that’s all that matters.”
“I know that,” she snapped and instantly regretted it. The back of her neck heated. “Sorry.” She bit her lip and stood. “Find us a way out while I change.” She closed the bathroom door behind her. She didn’t want to think about her mother any longer. Her ribs literally hurt, as if they couldn’t handle the concave hole in her heart. She needed to focus on a way out. She hastily changed. It was a relief to have warm and dry fabric on again.
She opened the door to find Luke with her mother’s diary. He held it out. “I think we need to start reading. It’s possible she had some backup scenarios already planned if the mafia ever came looking for her...for you. If it’s too painful for you, then I can read it aloud.”
Gabriella’s fingers touched the smooth leather. “No, I will.”
A high-pitched squeal, though stifled, sent a chill up her spine. “Luke?”
“I hear it.” She held her breath as they listened together. A horrible grinding noise seeped through the walls and abruptly stopped. “I think he’s trying to drill through the doors,” he whispered. “These walls are so thick, though, it’d take him hours. Sounds to me like he drilled at high speed and snapped the bit. To drill through metal you need to go at a low speed.”
She could feel her eyes widen. “I’ll read fast.”
“And I’ll keep looking for an escape.”
She sank to the ground, taking care not to sit on a previous wet spot. The whir of the drill started again.
“What kind of tools did your mom own?” Luke asked. “What are we dealing with?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to think about it. It’s hard enough to focus on reading my mom’s journal without reminders that we’re really not safe in the safe room.”
His lips formed a grim line. “Understood.”
That feeling she remembered from college returned. Peace, even if temporary, relaxed her shoulders. Luke had a way of making her feel like she was acting reasonable, even when logically she knew she wasn’t. He listened...he empathized. He made her feel calm despite the storm surrounding her. “Thank you,” she said. “If I remember anything, I’ll say.”
He gave her an encouraging grin. She opened to the first page. Her mother’s familiar script lined the pages.
I’m so hopeful to give this baby the life she deserves. At church today they read a Bible verse in Philippians about forgetting about the past and pressing on. There was more to it, but just the reminder that I can leave my past behind and focus on my future as a mom gives me hope. Maybe I can be the woman—the mom—God desires me to be, even though if you’d asked me a year ago I would’ve thought it impossible.
Gabriella’s fingers drifted across the page. “I’ve read this before.”
“You have?” Luke lifted his arms while raised on his tiptoes and grabbed a plastic storage container. He lowered it to the ground and faced her. A sudden high-pitched growl erupted from the other side of the wall. His eyes widened. “I can’t imagine how loud that had to be out there if we can hear it through the steel.”
“Another broken drill bit?”
“That’d be my guess.” He dropped to a knee and flipped the latches holding the top of the container down. “You’ve read your mother’s diary before?” he asked again.
“Yes.” Her cheeks heated. Nothing like revealing every horrible thing about herself, and her family, to a guy. “But I think she knew I peeked sometimes. All her entries are very vague except for the scriptures she loved. Those she’d go on and on about in detail. Or at least she did early on in it.” Her eyes lingered on her mom’s first words, wishing she could have the woman who penned them. Her eyes welled. “I thought she wrote about the Bible verses for my benefit. Except, now if it’s true...if my mom had a life in the mafia—” She stopped and pressed a hand to her closed eyelids. She wouldn’t let herself cry. “It has a different meaning.”
“We don’t know that yet. Don’t give up hope.”
The sound of the lid popping open snapped her out of it. “What’s in there? More clothes?”
Luke grinned as he reached inside. “A flashlight, bottled water—”