Page 75 of Gilded in Blood

“Are you hurt?” the woman asks, her eyes scanning the blood covering Milana’s hands and clothes.

Milana shakes her head. “No. It’s not my blood.”

The paramedic checks her anyway, running practiced hands over her arms and shoulders.

“No visible injuries,” she says to her partner before turning back to Milana. “We’ll still need you to come with us so a doctor can examine you.”

“I’m fine.”

“We’re going to make sure.”

Behind them, another team carefully lifts a groaning Ilya onto a stretcher.

Only then do I notice the police officers entering the apartment.

Two uniforms secure the scene while a taller woman in a charcoal suit steps inside, her dark hair pulled into a severe bun. She has the kind of face that rarely smiles and eyes that miss nothing.

She introduces herself as Detective Ramirez. I watch as she studies the apartment.

The body. The blood. Me. Finally, her gaze settles on Milana.

“What happened here?”

For one agonizing second, I expect Milana to look at me and tell her everything.

Instead, she closes her eyes briefly before opening them again. Then she repeats exactly what we’d discussed. Every word.

“We'll need you both to come to the station for more questioning,” Detective Ramirez, says.

An hour later, we’re sitting in separate interview rooms at the precinct.

I have no idea what’s happening on the other side of the wall.

No idea whether Milana is still standing by the story or whether she’s finally decided to tell them who I really am.

The interview room door opens and detective Ramirez walks in carrying a thin file and a paper cup of coffee.

She sets both on the table before taking the seat across from me.

For several seconds, she says nothing. Just watches me. Trying to make me uncomfortable. I’ve spent years across tables from people much scarier than her. Silence doesn’t bother me.

Eventually, she speaks. “Walk me through it again.”

I repeat the story exactly as Milana had told her earlier.

She leans forward, eyes narrowed. “So, you expect me to believe someone who isn’t a resident of your building had access to the basement, was holding a man captive for who knows how long, and the building management had no idea?”

I meet her gaze evenly. “I don’t know what the building management knew,” I say calmly. “All I know is we heard noises sometimes when we were on our way to the gym. We finally decided to check today.

“We found him chained up. Brought him upstairs. My girlfriend called 911.”

“And while waiting for emergency services, another man burst into the apartment shooting.”

I nod. “That’s right.”

She studies me for another long beat. “You said you're a software programmer.”

“I am.”