CHAPTER 17

Lohan

Paris

The ringing in my head drowns out the insistent sound of my cell phone ringing. I lift my body off the floor and sit down, feeling the weight that seems to crush me. The room is covered in bottles and cans scattered across the carpet. I lean back on the bed, the sharp ringtone echoing from the coffee table. I lean over it with difficulty, pushing empty bottles, syringes and pills that fall to the floor as I look for the phone. When I find it, I squint, my vision still blurry, and try to focus. When I see his number on the display, I let out a breath. I've waited weeks for this. I pick up, but he doesn't give me a chance to say anything:

“It's time for you to keep your end of the bargain”, his voice is authoritative

“And the girl, did she make it?”

“We're already watching her”, he replies, bluntly.

“Today I'll do what I promised”, I say, standing up.

“Perfect. I'll wait for you at the agreed place”, he finishes and I hang up.

I pick up the gun from the bed, tuck it into the waistband of my pants and button up my white shirt, stashing my cell phone in the front pocket of my black pants.

The mansion stands like a monument to ostentation. The grand entrance, with its high roof, is isolated from the coast, far away. He took my permission to enter, as always. A clear warning that he's not on my side, as if I needed that confirmation. The security guards give me a warning look, but let me know that I'm here, waiting. They allow me to pass, so I drive the car up the path to the entrance, where I park and get out, each movement heavier than the last. The door opens, and there he is, with his implacable countenance, his serious posture, ready to say what he wants and doesn't want, and he looks thoughtful. Perhaps remembering everything I've done.

“What are you doing here? You must be very brave... or very stupid”, Maurice says, in a harsh tone. He's wearing casual clothes, jeans and a band T-shirt, his black hair damp.

“I'm sorry, brother”, the words come out slurred, heavy.

He rolls his eyes and gestures impatiently for me to come in. My vision wavers and I feel the weight of my body. I run my hand through my hair, my head throbbing, and lean briefly on the wall, trying not to give in.

“I fucked up, Maurice. I want to make amends... with everyone. And apologize to Kiara.”

I enter the living room. Everything seems impersonal: the meticulously aligned furniture, the cold atmosphere, like a stage set, made to be shown, not lived in. Every detail seems to calculate the distance between what is and what should be.

“You show up here like that and expect me to believe a word you say?”, he says.

“You have to help me”, I sit in an armchair, my hands trembling, “I'm willing to suffer the consequences, as I have done in the past. Help me make it stop, man…”

“You have no idea what you've done, Lohan. No one will ever forgive you”, Maurice sits in front of me, in a firm voice, “And this time, rehab won't solve anything.”

My hands tremble, my body crumbles inside.

“Only you can help me now”, I raise my voice, exalted, “Everyone has turned their backs on me. I made a mistake, I was stupid. I take all the blame. But one woman can't destroy what we've built in thirty years.”

His cell phone rings, and Maurice absent-mindedly reaches into his pocket, checks the display and stands up. I feel the numbness take over, but on an impulse, I pull the gun out of my waistband and point it at his chest. I hold it steady, ignoring the weight that makes everything fuzzy, and pull the trigger. The shot breaks the silence and Maurice falls in front of me, his eyes paralyzed with shock. A high-pitched scream echoes through the room.

“FATHER!”, Jolie appears, running towards us, her eyes wide with terror.

I point the gun at her, my hands sweaty.

“I'm not going to let you suffer... you're going with us”, I growl, watching her stop her steps, her eyes fixed on me, her tears flowing

“Don't do that, please!”, says the girl, her lips quivering.

I pull the trigger a second time, but someone appears between us, intercepting the shot. The body falls on Jolie, who lets out a muffled scream as the figure falls. The shock throws me out of my daze, and without thinking, I run outside. I get into the car and speed off. Security is approaching, but I throw the car back, hitting those coming towards me and speeding off, knocking down anyone who tries to stop me in my tracks.

I don't know where the adrenaline starts and the relief of having escaped ends. My fingers slip over the steering wheel, breaking out in a cold sweat, my grip tight. I can still smell it... the smell of Maurice's blood. I can't get it out of my head, my breath rips through my chest uncontrollably... It's going to be worth it, I'm going to get what I want. She'll be mine... even if it costs my best friend his life. A cold sensation invades the heat of the adrenaline. It's too late, it was him for her. The car moves forward, the mansion is left behind and all that's left is this buzzing in my head. I press down even harder on the accelerator. I'm going to save her from him, Kiara will be mine. That's what she wants, I'm the one she needs. Her voice echoing through my head... I reach for my cell phone on the passenger seat, dialing its numbers:

“It's done.”

Kiki

It's official, I'm going mad. I can't do without hazelnut cream. I lasted a week. It was hard, but I managed. Today, however, I'm climbing the walls. I need it. Today is a drag. Blanca isn't answering her cell phone, Dominique needs to go to the casino and there's nothing to do here at home. I've looked for the pots in almost every room, I started upstairs, I've searched all the cupboards and there's nothing. It's worse than a treasure hunt.

I enter the office and start checking every corner. I go to the wooden bookcase behind the desk and open door after door, looking only at papers and documents. In the first one I find photos and letters from fans of the band's heyday. No kidding... I get distracted looking at them one by one, noticing that Dom never had a bad phase, physically. How beautiful! I keep thinking that I'd certainly be a fan if I'd met him back then. I smile sideways. I know what I'm going to do today: I'm going to rummage through this office to see what I can find on him. And then I'll leave everything tidy, without a trace, so that he doesn't get suspicious.

I continue searching, taking everything out of the drawer and find a CD of the band. I can't believe it! Why did they stop? That would be a hit! I found out that they've opened a record label and that they're all partners. Then they said I'm the one who's full of surprises... I rummage through more papers and find an envelope with "confidential" written on the front. Just a peek...

I open the envelope and take out a pile of papers, but what stops me is a photo of me, a single one, in the middle. I don't remember taking this photo... and my hair is shorter than it is today. My expression is serious. When I turn my attention to the first sheet, I see my details. It starts with my name...

"Research Dossier - Clara Mackay

Full Name: Clara Mackay Lambert

Date of Birth: April 22, 2002

Place of Birth: Edinburgh, Scotland

Current Residence: Malibu, California, USA

Family relationship: No living relatives registered.

Civil Identity and Marital Status

Marital status: Married

Conjured: James Lambert

Professional Background and Military Experience

Military Service: Former member of the Scottish Armed Forces (Length of service: 1 year)

Performance notes: Carried out mission with rigor and discipline; high adaptability in conflict scenarios

Specialty: Advanced training in tactical combat and infiltration in high-risk areas

Current Occupation

Position: Field Operator - Mercenary

Primary Employer: Dominus Agency

Responsibilities: Execution of special operations, elimination of specific targets and secret infiltration in areas of strategic interest.

Authorization Level: Restricted access to permitted information and specific missions

Specific notes

Clara Mackay acts independently, taking orders directly from the top of Dominus. Highly trained and efficient, she shows operational coolness and, according to records, no emotional attachment to the missions carried out. Her track record suggests that she possesses both field skills and the ability to adapt to high-risk situations, possibly motivated by personal issues, given her marital status and connection to James Lambert."

Suddenly, it's like I've been punched in the stomach. I can't absorb any of it. I've read it three times and I still have no idea who Clara is. I can't believe it: I'm married to that guy from the lake. My mind seems about to explode with this information, trying to connect one thing to another, but nothing makes sense. I see more photos inside the envelope: it's me with a rottweiler and a Siamese cat. They're beautiful... and I hope someone is looking after them, even if I have no idea who they are. In the next image, I'm standing next to James at an event, both of us in gala attire. He's holding my waist with one hand and my expression is closed, serious. But then again, what did I expect? If I was a mercenary, who can be happy annihilating people? Who has time to smile, right?

I don't like anything I feel or see. That's not me... if that James found me, why didn't he say anything? Why did he treat me as if he didn't know me? And all this information... it was with Dom and he didn't tell me anything either. Why hide it from me? I'm stunned, nervous. What am I going to do now? My chest tightens in anguish...

The lights suddenly go out and I stand there, staring at the fading glow, bringing me back to reality. Natural light still comes through the glass doors and I stand up, carrying the weight of my past in my hands. I leave the office, but the corridor is also plunged into darkness. The silence is absolute, as if the house were empty. Which is impossible, since there is no shortage of security guards outside. I walk down the corridor, each step echoing in this strange emptiness, until I reach the living room. Everything is dark. The power has gone out everywhere, but this house should have a generator...

“Berta?”, I scream, and the sound of my voice seems to be swallowed up by the house.

As I head outside and open the door, my eyes are met with a grotesque scene. The bodies of the security guards are scattered on the ground like broken dolls, their blood flooding the lawn and mixing with the earth. I stand paralyzed, my eyes wide. One of the security guards, near the door, has his face disfigured, his jaw crushed, dislocated in a brutal blow. His hands still hold fallen weapons, but it's clear that they were of no use.

“Berta!”, I shout, my voice hoarse with despair.

“Where do you think you're going, my pretty?”

Lohan's voice paralyzes me and an icy chill runs through my body. I drop the set of pages on the floor. He grabs me from behind, planting a kiss on my neck. Disgust overwhelms me, and I try to pull away, raising my shoulder and squirming. But he holds me tight, his hands like claws.

“I've missed you so much. You're coming with me today.”

I don't think twice. I stomp down hard on his foot and as he screams in pain, I elbow him in the stomach. Lohan bows, and I run back into the living room, jumping over the sofa and dodging the coffee table. I hear a loud shot, which hits the television, shattering the screen. I run faster, looking over my shoulder as Lohan stumbles and fires again. One of the shots hits a statue on the sideboard, which explodes into pieces. I open the door and run out, dodging the shots. The gate is wide open in front of me, but the surrounding garden is littered with bodies, more dead security guards.

I'm gasping for breath, the air entering my lungs with difficulty. I look back to see the distance between me and Lohan, but I trip and fall over one of the bloodied bodies. Lohan approaches, grabs my hair tightly, wrenching out a cry of pain, as I try to kick him, but he drags me across the lawn. I dig my nails into the earth, struggling, trying to buy time, pushing him with my feet. With an effort, I manage to break free. As I get up, I see a gun lying near one of the dead security guards and I grab it. At that moment, James appears and imposes himself on Lohan, and this time, his fury is in every blow. He advances like a predator, hitting Lohan with such a string of punches that his face begins to swell and bleed. He tries to react, raising his arm to throw a punch, but James is relentless and blocks it with ease, twisting Lohan's arm. Without giving him room to recover, James throws him to the ground, over his own body. The sound of Lohan crashing to the floor is a hollow thud that echoes through the entrance. Before he can recover, James drives his knee into Lohan's chest, immobilizing him. Blood drips from Lohan's lips and he tries to mumble something, perhaps a plea.

“Shoot”, he says, in a deep voice.

I cock the gun, aiming at Lohan, at his head, as it should have been that day, as I should have done. And I fire, hitting him precisely in the forehead. I see him fall into James' arms, who releases him. The sharp sound of the shot echoing, unfolding in my ears and a sense of relief coursing through me. It's over...

I stand there staring at Lohan lifelessly, feeling no remorse whatsoever, and I stop for a moment to wonder if it's my instinct or just revenge for what he did to me.

“Are you all right?”, James asks me, coming towards me, taking the gun out of my hand.

And as the adrenaline begins to dissipate through my body, I blink a few times, bringing my gaze to the pair of blue eyes that are serene. I don't answer his question.

“What are you doing here?”, I say. in a low voice

“On vacation. I was walking near here and saw that I needed help. Coincidence, right?”

I frown, raising my gaze in his direction.

“I'm not stupid, I'm just amnesiac.”

He nods in agreement, a restrained but firm gesture. His hair is impeccably straightened. His beard is neatly trimmed, contouring his strong face. His black dress suit suits him elegantly. His eyes are an icy blue, with a gleam that conveys imposing and absolute security, the kind that deciphers everything around him. His body language quickly changes. Despite the display of violence a few moments ago, James has the bearing of a gentleman, a vivid gaze and a casual air. Now, his body becomes rigid, his eyes tighten, his jaw seems to carry tension and even the way he speaks seems to stiffen. As if he had become someone else. A soldier.

“We had to come and finish the mission you didn't complete”, his tone is direct, without beating around the bush.

“What mission? What are you talking about?”

“This all started because you were tasked with executing Maurice Fouquet. But I imagine you've forgotten, just as you've forgotten that we're married. And from what I've seen, you're having an affair with the hustler.”

“I didn't know about you or Dominus until half an hour ago, I found a dossier…”

“Hm... so he didn't do the least to tell you, because there was plenty of time for such information.”

I run a hand through my hair, remaining silent. I don't know how long Dom has been lying to me, but it doesn't matter, at least not now. James pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, dialing a few numbers.

“The staff will sort it out here. While they do, we'll go.”

“Where to?”

“Home.”

I swallow, feeling my fingers tremble.

“Or would you rather stay here and I'll have Dominique killed?”

“And who's to say I won't kill you here? The way I did with Lohan?”, my tone is firm.

James points the gun at me from a safe distance so that I don't disarm him. He lets out a disdainful laugh.

“You're too mature for that now. If you'd done it before, you'd have stabbed me before I finished that sentence. You've been better, Clara. You needed my help to deal with this piece of shit”, he nods towards Lohan's fallen body, “I'm ashamed of you. The best killer I've ever trained and shared a bed with for three years goes down to the floor, rolling around in a nightclub. And if it wasn't enough that you became Dominique's plaything and fell in love with him... not only do you go to the house of the guy you should have executed, but you think you can be like one of them”, he fires with restrained anger.

I knew someone was watching me that day...

“How long have you been watching all this? You also had time to tell me who I was. To have been frank, after all, we met at the lake. Do you remember that?”

James fires a shot that bounces off the ground next to my feet. The sound echoes through the garden, but my body remains still, every muscle controlled. My breathing remains calm, and my eyes meet his. I know that facing him in the ordinary way would be pointless and I can't put Dom at risk because of my past. I need to protect him...

“ Promise me you won't do anything with Dominique. Give me your word that whatever you must sort out, it will be with me, not with him, James. It was my fault…”

He nods briefly, without removing his gaze from mine.

“You have my word.”

He comes closer, caresses my face and his lips touch my forehead gently.

“I promise I'll make you remember everything, my love. Let's forget what happened here. The operation has been accomplished: Maurice is dead, and you're safe now. Come on, the plane is waiting for us.”

The words fall on me like a sentence. My chest tightens, and I feel the weight of tears. Maurice... despite everything, I've learned to love him. A deep sadness grows inside me when I think of Dominique, who will be heartbroken. And Jolie... she's only eleven. Her mother has already abandoned her and now this? Losing Maurice is like tearing away a piece of her that will never come back. Tears wet my face, a mixture of loss and emptiness...

James leads me out of the estate and into the black SUV. I feel my heart breaking with the farewell, with everything and everyone I'm leaving behind. It's as if a part of me remains there and that hurts more than I could ever imagine. I take one last look at the mansion and a lump forms in my throat as the car starts to pull away. Suddenly, I hear frantic banging coming from the trunk. Casting a questioning glance at James, I try to understand what's going on.

“A surprise for you, love”, he says with an enigmatic smile.

Dom

I walk around the waiting room, restless, waiting for any news about Maurice's state of health. I was taken by surprise when Jolie called me in panic, saying that her father and Blanca had been shot by Lohan. The girl was in shock and could barely say more than that. I rushed to the hospital, and Maurice is in the operating room. The only information I've received so far is that he's in serious condition, as is Blanca. What the fuck happened? Worry consumes me and my nervousness only increases with every passing minute. I try to call Kiki, but she doesn't answer. Vlad has gone to the house to see what's going on, since even her security isn't answering. And with Lohan on the loose, a wave of apprehension washes over me. Why would he attack Maurice? It doesn't make sense. Why not me? I try to put the pieces together, but all I can feel is fear. Fear for my friend, for Kiki, for Jolie...

Jolie walks through the door accompanied by a nurse. Her face is red, with tears flowing freely. She runs to me and hugs me tightly, her sobs becoming more intense. I stroke her back, trying to comfort her.

“I need you to tell me what happened…”

“My father can't die, he can't abandon me, Dom”, she says, almost breathlessly.

“I need you to calm down. I'm here…”

She pulls away a little, looking at me, fear in her eyes, her breathing ragged. I hold her face in my hands.

“What happened?”

“I don't know. I had just arrived... I was at my friend's house and when I entered the house, I saw Lohan shoot Dad. He fell to the ground... and then Lohan took aim at me... Blanca came out, hugged me and took the shot instead of me... the hospital wants to call my mother. They won't let me, I want to be by my father's side!”

I hold Jolie's shoulders and look at her firmly.

“Pay attention: I have a legal power of attorney from your father for me to take care of you in situations like this. You're not going anywhere. We'll manage, I promise.”

She throws herself into my arms, completely desperate, and it couldn't be any different after witnessing such a tragedy.

“Why did Lohan do it, Dom?”

“I don't know, little one.”

Her despair tears me apart, because my hands are tied. I can only hope that Maurice will come out of this. But one thing keeps running through my head: what was Blanca doing there? Why did Lohan go after Maurice, when his problem was with me? The four guys enter the waiting room with distressed, tormented expressions full of worry.

“What the hell is going on?”, Simon asks, anxiously.

“What do you mean that son of a bitch shot him?”, Pierre says, excitedly.

“I'll kill that bastard!”, Thierry growls between his teeth.

“How is he? Any news?”, Louis asks.

“Nothing yet”< I reply, still comforting Jolie.

A few minutes pass before the doctor enters the room. We all stand up, eager for news, and he greets us formally, but his gaze is not the best.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Relatives of Maurice Fouquet and Blanca de la Rosa?”

“Yes”, I say in a short, serious tone.

“Mr. Fouquet's situation is delicate”, the doctor says, “The bullet was lodged close to his heart. During removal, there was a cardiac arrest, but we managed to reverse it successfully. He is under observation in the ICU, still unconscious.”

“What about Blanca?”, Pierre asks.

“The bullet hit her waist, also a delicate area. There was significant bleeding, but she received transfusions and is now also under observation. We are monitoring both closely over the next few hours to assess their progress. We'll let you know as soon as we have more news.”

I nod in agreement and Jolie gives me an apprehensive look. As soon as the doctor leaves, Vlad enters the room with a desperate look on his face. I get up immediately, moving away from Jolie and the guys to find him. I know that look on Vlad's face well: it can only mean one thing: it's fucked up. An uncontrollable affliction takes hold of me.

“What the fuck happened?”

“Sir, the mansion... there was no one there.”

“What?!”

“Security was gone. All the staff were gone, except for Mathilde, who was trapped in the games room. She said there was a blackout. I heard screams, gunshots... I looked everywhere for Kiki. She's not in the house, she's not in Monaco. And…”

Vlad takes out his cell phone and shows me a photo. The impact of the image hits me with shock. Lohan's body is lying on the ground, bloodied, his pale skin contrasting with the dark red around him. On his chest, marked with cruel precision, deep cuts draw the words "Don't touch what's mine". Each letter carved with violence, the exposed flesh revealing the brutality used.

I close my eyes, feeling unbearable despair and growing anger. Without thinking, I punch the door violently, slamming it repeatedly. He's found her. That son of a bitch took her from me. James. Kiki's fucking husband, the head of Dominus, one of the bloodiest mercenary companies today. Fuck! Only someone like him could bring down all the security and, of course, he must have used that asshole Lohan as bait. That's why he was missing... fucking bastard! I kick the wall as hard as I can, banging my head against it.

When the detective handed me the dossier, I told Maurice everything. We used Blanca's company, Seguridad Imperial. I didn't tell Kiki anything, I had to protect her, find a way to make James disappear from our lives, so that nothing would spill on her. Only he was quicker, son of a bitch!

January 19, 2024, 07:24 a.m.

Malibu

James Lambert

I enter the house, throwing the car key on the sideboard and the suitcase on the floor, and begin to walk across the white floor with golden veins. Natural light floods into the room through the glass panels, connecting the interior with the outside landscape of the beach by the sea. I pass through the main room, which is large and airy, and at the far end the space opens onto a deck with an infinity pool that seems to merge with the blue of the ocean. Dólar, the cat, is asleep on the sofa, and as I pass him, I stroke his head, tossing the bag I'm holding in my hand to the other end.

“Clara?”, I call, but there's no answer.

I check my watch, and I know she's not asleep by the constant sound of the waves breaking in the background. She must have been outside for some time. I go out onto the deck, down the wooden staircase and along the private path, surrounded by tropical plants. I soon reach the beach and find Euros lying on a towel, staring at the sea. I follow her gaze and see Clara gliding through the waves, cutting through them with agility. She finishes the maneuver balanced on her board, and when she's done, she sits down, waiting for the next wave. I watch until she looks back and sees me, waving before swimming back to the beach. Waiting for her to arrive, she tosses her board aside and walks towards me with quick steps, her body clad only in a red string bikini.

“At last you've arrived! I've been waiting for you for days.”

She says, jumping on top of me. I hold her tight and kiss her, while she grips the back of my neck tightly.

“How long do we have until your next operation?”, she asks, stepping back a little.

“One week, baby, but this one will take longer. But if it's any comfort, you have a special…”

Her eyes sparkle with anticipation as she hugs me tighter. I know I can count on her to do exactly what I need. I trained her to be perfect, no room for error. That's why she left the army. There, she wouldn't have the freedom to experience all the adrenaline that I can provide. Here in Malibu, safe in our home, when I need everything to go according to plan, without a glitch, it's Clara who I put in charge. And she always works the right way. Discreet and impeccable. A killing machine.

“Are you going along?”, she asks, excitedly.

“No... I have something to sort out which will even take longer than your mission. We won't be able to keep in touch for many weeks.”

“Yes, of course…”, her voice is disappointed.

“Clara…”

She pulls away, stepping out of my arms and onto the floor.

“Let's go in, Euros”, she says to the dog, who gets up and follows her into the house, while she leaves me behind without hesitation.

When I enter, I find her in the gourmet kitchen, her expression closed, opening a can of peaches in syrup. And that image speaks volumes. I knew I was right to bring her favorite sweet.

“You know I can try it to you.”

“Thank you, but no”, her speech is direct.

It frustrates me that I can't help with something so simple. It seems that Clara doesn't trust anyone else, not after the poisoning episode. She's my weak spot, and my enemies know it, they don't hesitate to act whenever they get the chance. Six months ago, Clara was in one of the bars the company frequented when Isabelle Rochefort, leader of the rival company, infiltrated one of her most experienced soldiers. He sent Clara a drink containing a very high dose of poison, and it was very close that we managed to save her. Since then, Clara only drinks sealed water, eats canned food, no longer smokes, and avoids any kind of medication.

I go to the sofa, pick up the bag, and return to the kitchen. I approach her from behind, place the package on the worktop and wrap her in a hug.

“What if I told you that the missions will take a while, but that when it's all over, we can spend time together anywhere in the world you want?”

“I'd say you're trying to buy peace”, she replies, picking up the jar of hazelnut cream and turning around with her eyes shining.

“There's plenty more where that came from.”

She frowns thoughtfully.

“Wherever I want to go? Without Dominus?”

“Exactly.”

“We have an agreement”, she says, smiling, casting an intense gaze in my direction.

I know I'm absent, but I can't put Clara and her desires above Dominus. It's convenient to have her as a wife, I love her, but it's even more advantageous to keep her as a card up my sleeve for important operations and strategic gains. The tension between us is as thick as ever. Her perfume drives me crazy, and my heart pounds as I hold her face in my hands. I analyze every feature of her face. Still trying to maintain control, but to no avail, I brush my mouth against hers. Without delay, I kiss her, teasing first her lower lip and then her upper lip. My body presses against hers. I pull my face away, stroking the skin of her chin with my fingertips.

“This mission, Clara, has nothing to do with Dominus. It's personal.”

She keeps a neutral expression, listening. I walk away and over to the sideboard in the entrance hall, opening the pocket of my suitcase and taking out the dossier full of the information she'll need. When I return to the kitchen, Clara is sitting at the island, dipping a spoon into the pot of hazelnut cream and watching me curiously. I hand her the folder and she takes it, opening it and reading it carefully.

“Maurice Fouquet? Lawyer, 35 years old... jeez, all that for a case? The guy's good, huh? Is he really a killer? Maybe you need a lawyer like that”, she comments.

I snort and scratch my eyes. It's a good idea, but...

“I would never ask that bastard for anything. He's the one who killed Ian.”

Clara is taken by surprise.

“Your cousin? But that was years ago…”

“And since when does revenge have an expiration date, Clara?”

“It doesn’t, James. You just never told me he was so close…”

“He was. Like a brother.”

“Here it says that the police hushed up the case and claimed self-defense for Maurice.”

I hit the marble surface, venting my anger.

“It doesn't matter. Ian died because of that worm and you’ll do it!”, I say, exalted.

She doesn't even flinch and goes back to reading the documents.

“James... he has a daughter”, she says with a fearful tone.

“Everyone you kill has a family. Are you getting fucking soft?”

“It's not that. I just think…”

“You don't have to find anything, Clara.”

“!All right…”

She moves on to the next sheets.

“And who are these guys?”

“His friends. You like to study everyone close to him, so make yourself at home.”

“Wow, wouldn't you be friends with this guy? He owns the casino in Monaco and seems to have a lot of fun. He skis, he parachutes, he's a professional gambler, he does jiu-jitsu on Wednesdays and Fridays, muay thai on Mondays... a professional sniper, as well as a gambler, he owns a sex game parlor... if I worked as a couple, I'd choose him. What's his name? Ah, Dominique Le Blanc.”

I pull the card out of her hand and rip it open.

“Don't question me, Clara. Just do it.”

Kiki

We arrive at an elegant mansion in Malibu, secluded in a deserted area by the beach. There are no other houses or people around. Before I could observe further, James pushed me inside with a mixture of anger and courtesy, opening all the doors but guiding me with a heavy hand.

He held me tightly by the arm, taking me straight to the basement of the house, where there was a hoplitic[1]: a complete arsenal. Weapons of all kinds were strewn across shelves and showcases with ammunition, bulletproof vests and sharp knives. The environment was safe and without blind spots. If I needed to defend myself, it seemed like the best place to try, even if James was as experienced a soldier as I was. I feel strangely protected amid so many weapons, but the most useful ones are trapped in security devices that require a password, which I don't know. I could try melee weapons, but his physical strength is superior. Facing him would be an all-or-nothing bet.

He seems to know every detail about me, while I, lost, try to guess his next steps. Sometimes his words are sweet, but soon they become harsh, threatening, punishing me for something I have no knowledge of, as if he really wants to hurt me and maybe he does.

He led me to the other side of the room. With his finger, he opened a side door, leading me inside. The place was cold and damp, lit only by fluorescent lamps of an intense, almost blinding white. In the center was a metal chair with buckles and leather straps. I try to break free of his grip, but he presses me against the wall, trapping me with his body.

“There's no need to be afraid, baby. Here, I'll make you remember, for better or worse.”

I shake my head, distressed.

“James, please! No!”, I scream in desperation.

“Shut up!”, he replies, furious, out of his mind.

He squeezes my neck tightly, pressing his lips against my face and mouth. Then he pushes me into the chair, holding me steady as I try to kick him, but he grabs my leg and holds it with the leather strap as I sit down. The pressure is so great that I can hardly feel the circulation in my limbs.

“James, please don't do this!”, I beg him.

“Shhh, baby, calm down. It's for your own good. It'll be the best for you... always.”

He holds my wrists, using the weight of his body to immobilize me. I start to scream, but he covers my mouth with his hand. I bite down hard and he responds with a punch to my face. I feel the metallic taste of blood flood my mouth, a stabbing pain runs through my jaw and I spit out the blood.

“Baby, I need you to cooperate with me. The sooner we get rid of Kiara, the sooner my Clara will come back. I'm sorry, but you're a parasite. You betrayed me, you dishonored me. You can't be trusted…”

“James…”, I whisper.

He walks over to a metal table with sharp objects lined up on it and picks up a black cloth bag. He returns to me, placing the bag over my head and fitting it tightly against my nose and mouth. A paralyzing fear takes hold of me, a silent despair that grows by the second. Everything goes out and the only sound I hear is the echo of his footsteps in the room. Suddenly, I feel the first jet of water fill the fabric, sticking it to my skin. My lungs contract, desperately searching for air, but the wet cloth suffocates every attempt. Despair spreads inside me, growing with every second that oxygen becomes scarcer.

“You had a single mission, Clara, and you failed... like you've never failed before. You had the nerve to betray me with that piece of shit Le Blanc”, he says, his voice cold and cutting

I cough and try to scream, but I swallow more water. My chest aches, my whole body throbs, trying in vain to free itself from the chains that bind me. The gush of water stops, and I gasp for breath, trying to fill my lungs. But it's a brief pause. Soon another wave of water comes, even stronger, drowning me from the inside out. The feeling of imminent death is agonizing, a dense darkness surrounds me.

“Are you starting to remember?”, he asks, with frightening calm, “Do you remember how we met? Do you remember the mediocre life you had in Scotland? Do you remember that you were Dominus' most exemplary mercenary?”

With every pause for breath comes a new cold wave of water, an agonizing cycle between life and death.

“I taught you everything you know. You're my wife, Clara. Not this slut you've become. I know the real one is out there, and I'm going to do everything I can to get you back.”

He stops the flow of water and takes the bag off my head. The air invades my lungs, bringing despair.

“James... James…”

I mutter, panting, my body soft and trembling. The sensation of the cold water on my skin and the soaked clothes weighs on my body, sapping my strength.

“I... I'm sorry. I didn't know we were married... but, please, don't do this.”

He stares at me coldly.

“When I got home, I was told that there was a guy who wanted to meet me. You were already scheduled to come back, but you weren't here. And, as you can imagine, I'm talking about Lohan. He hired Dominus to execute Dominique Le Blanc and asked them to capture Kiara Lefebvre to hand her over to him. And when he showed me a photo... I found my own wife. I said I would accept the operation, offered him shelter until the time was right and went to Monaco to see everything with my own eyes. And what did I find? You, an amnesiac, a drug dealer's whore, with Maurice alive out there.”

He pauses, his voice cold and merciless.

“I had no choice, Clara. I manipulated Lohan into doing exactly what I wanted. He thought he'd get you in return. Now he's dead. Maurice is dead. And you're safe at home. All that's missing is Dominique's head on my desk and that's only a matter of time.”

“You promised me... that you wouldn't do anything to him…”, I feel the tears running down and mixing with my wet face.

“You must really like this life of yours now, don't you? I've never seen you cry before, and I can only feel sorry for what you've become. Sometimes I think it would have been better if you had died, because you're an insult to your name.”

I can't answer. James approaches me, bringing his hand to my face, wiping away my tears with his thumbs

“Don't be like that, baby. You just need to remember…”

“James…”, I whisper, “Do whatever you want with me, use whatever methods you think are necessary. I won't question or resist. Just... don't kill Dominique, please. I'm here with you, I'm not going anywhere.”

He clenches his jaw, his gaze icy, with a clear fury reflected in his blue eyes. He grips my chin tightly, then lets go and steps away, walking back to the table. I see him pick up a pair of shock cords, the kind used to charge a car battery, and my heart races, helplessness taking over. He tests the charge, causing a quick fault between the metal claws.

“If you don't remember, I'll make you kill him in cold blood. So, if you want him to live so badly, you'd better get on with it, Clara.”

He says, approaching me slowly, his gaze dark, the cables in his hands. My breathing is ragged, and, although I want to scream, my voice falls silent, swallowed up by the hatred I feel. He pulls up the sleeve of my blouse, exposing the skin of my arm, and attaches the cables firmly. The first shock runs through my body with overwhelming intensity. My vision blurs, my body convulses against the restraints and a scream rips from my throat. The pain is overwhelming, a torture that irradiates every nerve, devastating. The electric current burns from the inside out.

“Nothing yet?”

He asks, coldly, remorseless. Without waiting for an answer, he delivers another shock. The taste of blood floods my mouth, my muscles react in involuntary spasms, and I feel my body surrendering to near unconsciousness. My head hangs to the side, my breathing is weak, irregular, as he watches me with a mixture of disappointment.

“What is our wedding day?”

James lets go of the cables and, in a menacing silence, stoops down to untie the leather straps that hold me to the chair. My head spins, my body is heavy as stone, and before I can react, he abruptly lifts me up, pulling my hair violently. Dragging me to the wall, he whispers in a low voice, containing restrained anger.

“No... I remember…”, I say, in a hushed voice.

“We got married on the fifth, Clara!”, he speaks with deadly coldness.

He grabs the back of my head, his fingers digging into the back of my head, pulling it back before throwing it hard against the wall. The shock is brutal, a deafening crack echoes through space as I feel my skull against the hard surface, a throbbing, sharp pain exploding across my face. A trickle of blood runs down my forehead, blurring my vision, but it doesn't stop.

“You betrayed me, Clara!”

He screams, hitting my head again. The impact takes my breath away and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. Another blow. My face slams against the wall with brutal force and I hear the sound of something breaking, inside my head, and a deafening ringing takes over my ears.

“It's for your own good... trust me.”

I whisper, as my face collides once again with the cold wall, each blow increasing the hot flow of blood that now runs freely down my face.

“It'll be worth it... you'll be back.”

He says, his voice mixed with a cold desperation, before attacking once more. On the fifth time, the final impact makes my vision go completely dark, my body collapses in his arms, consciousness fading before I pass out.

I wake up slowly, coming back in unbearable pain. Every inch of my body throbs as if every muscle and bone were being shredded. My head throbs in agony, with a suffocating weight that makes the pain even more excruciating. An incessant hammering makes my vision blur and everything around me spin. I try to take a deep breath, but the air comes in heavy and my stomach churns. My arms feel as heavy as lead. I look around, taking in my surroundings. I'm in an elegantly decorated room, with heavy curtains and light furniture. The mattress is soft and natural light comes through the glass windows, revealing the sea ahead. I hear the sound of waves breaking on the shore, but before we can focus on that, a familiar voice calls out to me:

“Kiki!”

I look at the armchair and see Berta sitting there, watching me with concern. She gets up and walks over to me, her face a mixture of shock and confusion.

“From the state you were in yesterday, I thought you wouldn't survive. That man came in here, threw you on the bed all bloody and told me to look after you... who is he? What's going on?”

“My husband…”, I whisper, my voice weak.

She stares at me in disbelief, her lips parted in astonishment.

“What do you mean?”

“Berta, I... I don't know…”, I try to get out of bed with difficulty, leaning on everything within reach as the pain stuns my movements, “You have to get out of here.”

“And leave you like this? Of course not.”

“How did you end up here?”, I ask, trying to understand

“I was caught while they were killing the employees and they stuffed me in the trunk.”

So it was Berta he brought to take care of me after the torture. I take a moment to think, ignoring the pain, and whisper:

“I need a gun.”

My eyes scan the room, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. Berta shakes her head, worried.

“You need to warn Dom, Kiki!”

I nod my head, trying to keep control.

“I can't involve anyone else in this.”

I lean on Berta, who helps me steady myself, but my feet can barely support my weight. I'm weak, but I force myself to walk towards the first door on the left. When I open it, I find a closet full of clothes, both mine and James'. On the display counter, I see a photo of me with him, we're on the beach and I look happy next to him. Not wanting to see more, I turn the photo down. I go over to the handbag display and find one with a chain strap. I pull the chain off, testing its strength, and slip it into my jeans pocket.

“Would you like some medicine? There's plenty in the suite”, Berta offers.

“No, thank you. I need to get you out of here. I'll manage.”

“Look at the state you're in, girl. One more of these, you can't take it.”

“I am strong”, I say, with a determination that contradicts the state I'm in, fighting pain and fatigue to find a way out.

I hear footsteps entering the room and see that Berta is nervous, nodding and whispering "No..." with her lips. I gesture for her to stay where she is.

“Honey, are you ready?”

When I hear James' voice, I feel my whole body freeze. I clench my fists, staring at the ajar closet door. I walk towards it slowly, feeling every muscle stiffen and ache. No... not again... with no time to prepare, the door opens and I meet James' menacing blue gaze. My breathing fails, and I struggle not to show how weak I am.

“Did you remember?”, he asks with authority.

I think lying would be an option, but that would only intensify the torture. Berta is right, a new round, in the conditions I'm in, I might not be able to bear it. But saying that I don't remember would also lead to the same result. I have nowhere to run, and he's visibly impatient and determined to get Clara back. I swallow dry, denying it with a slight nod. He agrees, seriously.

“Come on, I'll take you to breakfast.”

James grabs me by the arm and drags me out of the closet, squeezing my wrist as we leave the room and head down the long corridor to the stairs. The pain in my body is intense and his quick steps make it difficult for me to keep up. I stumble on the steps and fall. He doesn't care, he just pulls me up.

“I believe in your amnesia. I just don't believe that you didn't even wait to find out who it was and gave in to him. Two months, Clara! Three years of marriage for that? I'd rather have found you dead than see what you've become.”

“James…”, I try to say it's not my fault, but he shuts me up, covering my mouth with his free hand.

“Do you know what's worse? I don't see a hint of regret in your eyes, Clara. Maybe I should kill you so that you understand that it won't happen again. Do you understand, you bitch?”

His voice is full of anger, and he pushes me down the stairs. My body slams against each step, the pain is stabbing, and with each impact, I feel increasingly dizzy. When I reach the ground, my head hits the marble hard. The impact reverberates and my surroundings become hazy. My lungs burn and the air doesn't seem to be coming. Desperate, I turn my body over onto my stomach and try to stand up with trembling hands. Before I can plant my palms on the floor, I see James' impeccable​​ shoes approaching. He steps on my head, pressing it against the floor. The pain is staggering, and I feel as if my head is going to explode.

“You know I can't stand insects. And believe me, it hurts more knowing that you've become one.”

He finally stops the pressure and lifts me up with both hands. I can barely stand, my legs are wobbly.

“Now you can have your coffee. I've provided everything you like, my love.”

My vision is blurred by the tears I'm holding back, and I can feel the blood dripping from one of the bruises on my head. He drags me into the kitchen and sits me on a stool near the island, where several cans are available. He opens a can of peaches in syrup, the sweet smell nauseating me, and I notice James watching me, his gaze heavy and cold. He sits down next to me, picks up a knife to spread jam on some toast, satisfied as if nothing had happened.

“I... I can't.”

I mumble. It's the only thing I manage to say before I feel a burning in my throat and the flow goes away. I place my hands flat on the stone of the counter and lower my head. Everything is spinning, my body is shaking. I have to act, I have to do something and it has to be now. I take a deep breath, trying to control the panic and nausea.

“Are you pregnant by him?”, his voice is harsh, full of contempt.

I raise my head, confused, and my heart almost stops at the question. Does he think the reason for my condition is pregnancy? And not all the kinds of torture that have been committed so far?

“No…”

“Don't lie to me!”

He shouts, plunging the knife into the center of my left hand. I let out a scream of unbearable pain and quickly pull the knife out with a firm movement. The pain is desperate, the blood is flowing, but I know exactly what I need to do. With all the strength I have left, I shove the object into his thigh.

“You bastard!”

His scream echoes through the kitchen, and for a moment I feel that there might still be a chance of escaping this situation. James throws me violently, and I fall off the stool with a dry thud, my back slamming into the cold kitchen floor. The pain radiates down my spine, but I don't have time to process it. His shadow is cast over me, menacingly, and I instinctively roll to the side, narrowly escaping the kick he throws in my direction. I grip the edge of the counter tightly and, using the momentum, stand up, panting. My gaze meets his and I see the cold, calculated anger in his eyes. In one swift movement, I pick up the crockery on the island and throw it in his direction.

“You're going to have to kill me, James! I'm not staying with you!”, I gasp, tilting my body, fighting the pain that throbs in every muscle.

He lunges forward like a ferocious animal, throwing a punch that I can't dodge. The impact hits me hard in the face, blurring my vision. His hands grab me by the shoulders, pushing me hard against the wall. I struggle, using my elbows to try and push him away. With one last thrust, I manage to land a blow on his chest. He recoils for a moment but soon returns with even greater force. I land another kick, this time to his stomach, and he collapses to his knees, panting. It's my chance. I pull the cold chain out of my pocket and run up behind him, quickly wrapping it around his neck. I pull with all my might, my hands sweating and slipping, but I keep up the pressure, using his back as support for one foot, while the other is still firmly on the ground. The strength I have left is all directed at the chain, tightening it more by the second.

For a few moments, he struggles against the grip, his hands flailing desperately, trying to pull the chain off his neck, but he is strong. With a sudden movement, he throws himself backwards, forcing me to fall heavily to the ground. The chain slips out of my hands and before I can react, he's on top of me, grabbing my neck with animalistic strength. I feel the pressure increase, my breathing fails and my vision begins to blur. He slams my head against the floor with a thud.

“I taught you everything you know. So don't try to use it against me. And death... it would be too easy for you. You'll spend the rest of your days here with me, until you give me my wife back”, he says, with a cutting coldness, his voice seems to tear through the silence of the room and my mind begins to fade with the lack of air.

James suddenly releases me. But I don't have the strength to react. He stands up, still panting, but with his jaw clenched. He stares at me for a second, a visceral anger in his eyes. Then, with one swift movement, he delivers a right kick to my ribs. The impact is violent, and a scream escapes my throat, an agonizing roar that echoes around the room as the pain explodes, hot and unbearable, inside me.

Dom

From afar, I can see James' mansion. The Malibu property boasts modern, Americanized architecture. The façade combines straight lines and high-end materials, conveying an uncomplicated, beachy style. The minimalist garden with tropical plants complements the setting, and the deserted beach behind the house is only accessible to residents. So that's what he did: he isolated it from everything and everyone, and used it as his private matador whenever necessary.

The Dominus men are in position for the invasion. Our planning has culminated at this point. When I receive the signal that they are ready, I give the order and the soldiers move. Quickly, they head towards the huge house, infiltrating and taking out the security guards. On my radio, I hear their conversations, confirming the mission codes and the checkpoints for each objective. The entrance to the house is successfully taken and they head further inside. A few more moments pass, and they confirm the deaths of those protecting the outside area. A few minutes pass and I receive the final confirmation:

“All security neutralized. I repeat: all security neutralized.”

“What about the inside?”, I ask, already knowing the answer, “As expected?”

“Yes, sir. James values his privacy too much and that hasn't changed. As earlier, we confirmed the absence of security guards inside the mansion. You can come, sir.”

Without wasting any time, I join Vlad in the car, and we drive there, entering calmly through the front gate, still seeing the bloodstains of the dead security guards on the guardhouses. There is a degree of karmic justice here. I watched the security guards break into James' house in the same way he broke into mine. It took me longer than expected to work it out, but I discovered that the men who caused Kiara's memory loss were part of Dominus. The company itself had an interest in eliminating her, with the aim of weakening James' position inside. I found out all this thanks to the information I got from Blanca's company, with Maurice's help. I had to go to the head office and make my proposal.

“The way is now clear and the Dominus staff are standing by.”

“Good, turn off the lights.”

I enter the private estate, dodging the bodies lying on the ground, and make my way to the main entrance, with my security guards surrounding the area and Vlad at my side. He leads the way, unlocks the door and we enter an elegant hall. I notice a bunch of keys and a gun on top of the device; Vlad picks it up and puts it in the waistband of his pants.

“Come back, Clara!”, the American's angry voice echoes.

Just then a high-pitched scream fills the room. My legs take on a life of their own, carrying me in quick steps towards the living room. As I enter, I'm confronted with a scene that hurts my mind: Kiara, passed out, being held by James. Her head is pressed against his chest and her whole, bloody body is bruised, marked, blood dripping and staining the marble. He holds a dagger against her neck.

“Take one more step, and I'll finish her off”, he says, with a cold tone

I swallow, but my voice remains firm.

“I put together a team of mercenaries as soon as I heard about you. Interesting for my shareholders and investors... I hear your leadership isn't very well regarded. Not today, is it, James? No wonder they were trying to eliminate you. And not for the first time, right?”, I stop, watching him, “As someone with experience in business management, I realized that Dominus needs a new direction.”

James laughs ironically.

“Of course, and I imagine that those inept primates decided to use you as a pawn.”

“Pawn? I've built a fortune the size of a small country's GDP so you think your men want me as a pawn? Of course not, James... they want me as their boss.”

“Ah, yes. Because the voice of the people is the voice of God, isn't it?”

“No, you're just a fucking asshole, and nobody can stand you anymore. As well as being a cuckold, because, as you can see, even your wife doesn't want you.”

“I'm amazed at how you're cockier than expected... but that's only because she doesn't remember... when Clara comes back, she'll kill you in your sleep and come running back to me.”

“Enough talk, James. Let my wife go and we'll sort out the purchase of Dominus in peace. I'll even let you live here.”

“Your wife? Oh, Kiara, is it?”, James' eyes lost their intensity, feeling the weight of the situation on his shoulders, “All right, this doesn't have to be the end.”

He eases his grip on Kiki and I feel a small dose of relief. I haven't even had time to process the rapid movement James makes with the knife on Kiki's neck. The blade passes close to her throat, causing blood to pour down her body, which falls to the ground like a rag doll.

“I have a better offer, Dominique. Either you save her life, or you come after me”, James takes a few steps back, out onto the deck and down a flight of stairs.

I approach Kiara, kneel down beside her and take her in my arms. The air stops in my lungs at the sight of her: so fragile, vulnerable, a deep cut across her throat. Blood drips, staining my clothes and arms, hot and thick, as she tries helplessly to breathe, still passed out. Desperation hits and I run in the opposite direction to James, meeting Vlad who is coming towards me too.

“Leave it to me, sir. I'll take care of her. Go after him!”, says Vlad, taking Kiki from my arms, while the blood continues to flow, relentlessly, dyeing everything around red.

I shoot after him, down the stairs, hearing his rapid footsteps echoing ahead. Every beat of my heart explodes in hatred; every second only reinforces the certainty that he won't escape. Not after what he did to her. I wonder what I'll do when I catch up with him, following James along the deserted beach. The sand gives way under my feet, the wind cuts my face, the smell of the sea invades my nostrils and adrenaline bursts through my veins. Anger pulses, infecting my every thought as I visualize every atrocity he has committed against Kiki. This son of a bitch won't survive.

James looks back, sees me approaching and, instead of running, stops. He turns and takes up a fighting stance, his face cold and inexpressive. I charge forward, hatred guiding every step, but he strikes first. His fist hits my jaw. My head turns, but I don't flinch an inch. I respond with a straight punch to his ribs, feeling the impact reverberate. He steps back and measures the distance carefully. He doesn't want me to get close, so this is how I'm going to knock him down. When I get close, thinking about grabbing James by the neck, in one swift movement, he pulls a dagger out of his pocket and drives it into my thigh. The pain explodes, radiating through my body as the steel pierces my skin, drawing a scream from me. But the anger is greater. I stare at him, my breathing heavy and my muscles on fire, and I clench my fist with all my might, punching him in the throat. He chokes, trying to catch his breath, and I take the opportunity to take the dagger from his hand, disarming him with one final blow, my eyes fixed on his.

The pain spreads like lightning down my leg. Fury is what keeps me on my feet. He laughs, panting, with that maniacal grin on his face.

“She's not the little princess you imagine, Dominique. She's a bomb, a weapon ready to kill without remorse. Remember my words, because she's going to get tired of this mediocre little life of yours. Nothing you do will be enough for Clara. Do you know why? That's not who she is, never was, and never will be. You'll be shocked when you meet the real Clara... so I'd really rather she died than see her submissive in the hands of someone like you.”

Anger is a suffocating heat.

“Fuck you!”, I advance with the dagger, aiming for his chest.

James dodges nimbly and, before I can react, hits me in the face with a fucking punch. I spit blood, the pain radiating through my jaw. He notices my bewilderment and advances again, his blows precise and always aimed at a vital point. The knife has already fallen out of my hands, which isn't so bad, because they're not in his. With this leg, I can only break it on the ground. He approaches again and grabs the back of my neck, striking me in the stomach with his knee. I feel the air escape, but I've prepared myself for this. I grab his leg and before he can lower it, I throw him to one side and we hit the sand. It's all or nothing. We roll around, exchanging punches, until the cold waves of the tide wet our bodies. James is on top and I pull him away from me with my legs, wrapping them around his back. He's not as good on the ground as he is on his feet, as he hits me without the same control and precision. Even so, one of his punches hits me full on, obscuring my vision. Then I feel his fists in my nose and mouth, filling my tongue with the metallic taste of blood. The pain throbs in every corner of my face, but the fury in me is greater than any blow. I feel James' weight crushing me against the sand, but when he tries to hit me again, I grab his arm and throw my hip to the side. I press down on his elbow with both my hands and in one swift movement, I feel the bones break. His scream is music to my ears. Before he can recover, I pull away from his broken arm and throw myself on his back, slipping my arm around his neck, turning my body so that I'm on my back on the ground and wrapping my legs around his body. I stand between James and the sand, squeezing his neck and feeling him struggle with just one arm. When I feel his consciousness starting to fade, I throw him to one side and sit on his stomach. I throw a few punches just for the pain to keep him awake. Challenging me with his gaze.

“Did you really think it would end like this?”, I grunt, hatred painting each word, “My people are just waiting to shove you in a sack along with the other bastards who tried to take her away from me.”

I grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer.

“You can try to be better than me, but you'll never be, Dominique. You couldn't even take care of my wife. Do you really think you can have her as your own?”

I interrupted him with a violent punch, straight to his face.

“It's a very greedy thought for the underdog, motherfucker.”

I feel the anger explode with each blow, my fists sinking into his skin. His lips crack, blood drips from his nose, and I don't stop. I feel the blows on my own fingers sting, the skin bursting with the force of the blows, but I keep going, each punch echoing the hatred he deserves, for every part he has hurt.

“Go to hell!”, I howl.

With every movement of my fist, James' face distorts even more. Blood flowing in a continuous stream stains the sand beneath him. His breathing becomes weaker and weaker, but I don't stop. My rage reaches its limit without any pause, any mercy. James tries to say something, but the sound is swallowed up by the blood collecting in his mouth. His eyes, once cold and arrogant, are now opaque and lifeless. I can see that he's giving in, his body no longer resisting, but my fury demands more. For her. My hand trembles, my fingers are covered in blood, his and mine, and yet I don't stop. The last vestige of life in James' eyes begins to fade, his chest barely moves, abandoning any attempt to breathe. Finally, he gives in completely, his body relaxing under mine, inert, feeling the echo of my own blows reverberate in the silence I'm left with. The crashing of the waves brings me back to reality and I let go of James' collar and leave his body heavy against the sand.

I grab him by the ankle, still panting, feeling the adrenaline rush. The weight of having taken his life doesn't affect me, I don't even feel guilty, on the contrary, I feel avenged. With my leg aching and burning, I drag his body, but I go on like a winner. I climb the stairs back to the house, listening to his head banging on every step. Tic-tac.

I cross the house, spreading the blood wherever the body goes, passing through the front door and pushing James' body into the garden. I look at the mercenaries with satisfaction.

“Y’all already know what to do.”

They agree and start to move.

I get out of the car, slamming the door and rush into the hospital. My heart seems to explode, torn between the collapse of having put an end to all this shit and the agony of not knowing her condition. The scene of her falling, surrounded by all that blood, bruised and unconscious, never leaves my mind. The fear of losing her grows inside me, uncontrollable. I need to see her. Now, damn it!

I speed through the wide, crowded corridors of the emergency room, looking for Vlad amid the intense movement. What kind of fucking place is this? I try to spot a familiar face amidst the confusion of movements and serious expressions. And then I see him. He's sitting on a chair, away from the main commotion, his posture hits me like a blow to the stomach: head down, elbows resting on his knees, hands covering his desolate face. What the fuck happened? I've never seen him like this... The sight stops me in my tracks, a cold shiver runs up my spine. I ignore the people and noises around me, moving straight towards him, my steps steady but with an urgency that can't be contained.

“Vlad!”, my voice comes out hoarse.

He slowly removes his hands from his face and raises his head. His gaze is empty, and tears run down his cheeks. My stomach turns when I see him like this. Vlad clenches his hand into a fist and brings it to his lips, as if he's trying to swallow the words, as if he doesn't want to say them. And I look away, not wanting to understand.

“I'm sorry, sir... but she didn't survive the surgery. The doctor just told me.”

Vlad's words sound like a dry blow and it's as if the ground disappears beneath my feet. My mind struggles to understand, but his voice seems out of touch with reality. The pain in my chest surges through me, burning like hot coals, cutting through every fiber of my being. My shoulders slump under the weight of what I've just heard. The air around me becomes dense, too heavy, difficult to breathe. The emptiness that consumes me is noisy, I'll never be able to talk to her again... Everything loses its meaning and, without the strength to continue standing, I let my body fall into the chair next to Vlad. My vision blurs and his words, though carefully spoken, are distant.

“I…”, my voice fails me, a lump in my throat prevents me from continuing. I run my hand over my face, trying to contain my despair, “I didn't even have the chance to say that…”

I close my eyes tightly, swallowing what I can no longer change.

“I love Kiki, Vlad”, a sentence escapes whispered, broken, almost inaudible.

“I know, sir…”, he replied, his voice equally laden with grief, “I'm sorry I can't say something to comfort you now, but... I loved that girl too much. She was a daughter I never had.”

I clench my fists, my jaw clenches.

“I thought I could take her home... but I took too long”, my voice breaks again, “I should have killed that son of a bitch before she found out. That's my fault.”

“You did what you could”, Vlad says, pain showing in his eyes.

I shake my head in denial, the weight of guilt crushing my chest.

“I had to do the impossible…”

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket and when I take it out, I see Maurice's name on the display. I pick it up and hold it to my ear:

“I'm listening.”

“So?”, his voice is so serious, urgent, “Are you bringing her back?”

That's all I wanted to answer with a yes...

“I couldn't save her... she's dead.”

“What?”, his incredulity explodes on the other end of the line.

I hang up before he says anything else, unable to hear a word now.

“Sir, do you want me to deal with the bureaucracy?”, Vlad asks, his voice drowned in worry.

I deny it immediately, shaking my head firmly.

“No. I'll take care of everything myself.”

I stand up, feeling the weight in every movement of my legs, the news still as late as a blow. I never imagined that I would bury the woman of my life without her knowing how important she was to me. I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the knot that twists in my throat, but the pain is insistent.

I walk up to reception, asking for information as if on autopilot. The words come out emotionless, disconnected from what I'm feeling. I follow the directions to the administrative area, but before I reach it, I stop in the corridor. I lean my head against the cold wall, trying to gather my strength. Disgust, anger, sadness, guilt. It all consumes me, like a storm dragging me into an abyss. The feeling of loss is unbearable, as if I'm being torn apart again, reliving the curse of losing what matters most to me.

“Fuck!”, I scream, throwing a punch against the wall, as if the physical pain could relieve the agony that is eating away at me.

A sound echoes down the corridor, but that's not what catches my attention. Hurried footsteps​​ sound behind me, followed by a male voice calling out to me in English:

“Mr. Le Blanc!”

I turn around abruptly to find a man wearing a white coat, dark-framed glasses and light clothes underneath. He approaches with quick steps, stopping in front of me. His gaze is serious, transferred with urgency.

“What's wrong?”, I ask, my English voice laden with impatience.

“Mr. Le Blanc, I need to talk to you. First of all, I want to apologize for the mistake that occurred. A serious miscommunication. There was an accident on the road, and we received a large number of emergency patients at the same time. The confusion happened because two women were admitted in similar conditions, one of them being Miss Kiara.”

He pauses, as if organizing it into words.

“The other patient, unfortunately, didn't survive the surgery and there was an error in linking the medical records. However, Miss Kiara is alive. She was admitted to the ICU. Her condition is delicate but stable. We are monitoring her closely and the next few hours will be crucial.”

The doctor stares at me, his gaze full of regret.

“Once again, I apologize for the misfortune. I know that we have caused unnecessary pain, but I can assure you that we are doing everything in our power to take care of her.”

When he speaks, the words seem disjointed and for a moment, I think it's a delusion in my mind, desperately wanting a chance that she's alive. But as I remain silent and see Vlad behind him, with a smile stretching from ear to ear and hope shining in his eyes, I realize that this is just Americans being Americans.

“I'm going to get her out of here, understand?”, I grunt, “Your only mission is to stabilize her so that she can be transferred to Monaco today. Do I make myself clear?”

The doctor takes a deep breath.

“It is not advisable…”

“It's not advisable to leave her here in neglectful care!”, I say, firmly.

“I understand that you're angry…”

“No, my friend, I'm pissed off. And I hope this hospital has good lawyers, because mine is excellent.”

I start walking around the doctor. Then I stop suddenly, turn to face him and speak:

“And I'm going to see her now!”

The transfer went smoothly. We arrived at the hospital in Monaco at 3am by airlift. Kiki was attended to and is in the ICU, still unconscious. The doctors are doing their best. Most of them were chosen by me, because I can't accept anything less than the best. Her case is complicated. There is significant head trauma that needs to be monitored due to possible blows to the head. Two fractured ribs, bruises all over her body, indicating a brutal beating. The wound to her neck narrowly missed her vocal cords. She was put into a coma to facilitate her recovery. I won't know everything she went through until she tells me herself. Until then, I only have a few guesses as to what might have happened.

Berta came back with us, frightened, carrying the cat and the dog. She said it would be extremely ignorant to leave them behind. I didn't say anything, because my only concern now is Kiara. Right now, I'm looking at her through the glass of the ICU. I don't have access to go in, and I just hope that she recovers soon, preferably without any sequelae. But if there are any, I'll be by her side. The doctors still can't predict the seriousness of the situation until she wakes up...