Chapter 14 - The Reunion
The harsh light of a single bare bulb hanging from a frayed cord illuminated the small, damp holding cell. In the center of the room, sitting upright on a simple wooden chair with her hands bound loosely behind her back with plastic zip ties, was Isabella. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and the dark circles under her eyes spoke of hours spent in silent, agonizing apprehension, but her posture was unbroken. When the door slammed open, she flinched, turning her head sharply toward the threshold.
When she saw Dominic sitting there in his graphite-gray wheelchair, framed against the dark stone corridor, the breath caught entirely in her throat.
"Dominic..." Her voice was a trembling whisper, rich with disbelief and an overwhelming wave of relief that broke through the stoic facade she had maintained all night.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He propelled his chair across the threshold, stopping right in front of her. Without a word, he reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a heavy tactical blade, and sliced effortlessly through the zip ties binding her wrists. The moment she was free, Isabella launched herself forward from the chair, dropping instantly to her knees before his wheelchair and burying her face against his chest, her shoulders shaking with silent, pent-up tears.
Dominic wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him as if he could physically shield her from the entire world. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of jasmine that somehow managed to survive the stale, subterranean air of the warehouse. For a brief, stolen second, the war, the betrayal, and the crippled legs didn't matter. There was only the solid, beating warmth of her life against his.
"I told you I was coming," Dominic whispered against her ear, his voice cracking ever so slightly before hardening back into absolute steel. "Nobody touches you. Nobody takes you from me."
Isabella pulled back slightly, her hands resting on his broad shoulders, her tear-filled eyes searching his face with fierce intensity. "Victor... he knew you would come. He’s upstairs, Dominic. He’s waiting in the main executive office with his entire personal detail. This whole place—it’s a trap."
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A cold, humorless smile touched the corners of Dominic’s mouth. He reached once more into his heavy wool overcoat, his fingers finding the smooth, cream jeweler's box. He pulled it out, popped the lid open with his thumb, and held it out before her eyes. The three-carat princess-cut diamond caught the harsh glare of the overhead bulb, flashing with a brilliant, unyielding fire.
"Let it be a trap," Dominic said quietly, slipping the ring gently onto her trembling finger. "I brought an army of my own to spring it."
