SARAH
The bakery smelled of fresh bread and cinnamon, a comforting aroma that greeted me every morning. I enjoyed the simplicity of our life. Our bakery, though it was small and modest, it was our pride and joy. Papa, had poured his heart and soul into this place, and it was a decent addiction to our community. “Good morning, Mrs. Alvarez! The usual?” I asked, already reaching for a loaf of brown bread. “Good morning, Sarah. Yes, please,” she replied with a warm smile. Handing her the loaf, I couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride. Despite the financial struggles and the countless hours of hard work, I loved every moment spent here. My father and I shared a close bond, working side by side to keep our beloved bakery running. After Mrs. Alvarez left, I returned to kneading dough, humming softly to the tune playing on the radio. My father was in the back, preparing a new batch of new dough. The old Spanish tunes on the radio filled the space with nostalgia, reminding me of my mother. I pushed the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. “Sarah, how’s it looking out there?” my father called from the kitchen. “Busy, as usual,” I replied, looking at the clock. It was mid-morning, our busiest time of day. “But I can handle it.” He appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a towel. His face, lined with years of hard work, softened as he looked at me. “You’re a good girl, Sarah. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I smiled, but before I could respond, the bell above the door rang again. This time, it wasn’t a familiar face that greeted me. A group of men, rough-looking and clearly out of place, walked into the bakery. They spoke in low tones, casting glances around the room that made my stomach churn. I took a deep breath, reminding myself of my father’s warnings about not getting into trouble. “Stay calm, Sarah,” I muttered under my breath. One of the men, tall with a scar running down his cheek, approached the counter. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Got any fresh bread for us?” I forced a smile. “Of course. What can I get for you?” He looked me up and down, a nasty look playing at the corners of his mouth. “How about a smile to start with?” I clenched my teeth, resisting the urge to insult him. “We have rye, sourdough, and baguettes fresh out of the oven.” Rye, huh?” he said, leaning over the counter. “You know what I like about rye? It’s tough. Just like me.” The other men laughedlaudly, crowding closer. I could feel their eyes on me, sizing me up like I was some kind of hooker. My heart pounded, but I stood my ground. “How many loaves do you need?” “Let’s start with two,” the scarred man said, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “And we’ll see if your service is good enough for more.” I turned to grab the loaves, trying to keep my hands from shaking. As I placed them in a bag, one of the men knocked over a display of pastries. “Oops,” he said with a smirk. “Clumsy me.” “Hey, watch it!” I snapped, it was getting difficult to control my patience. “Those aren’t free, you know.” The scarred man’s grin widened. “Feisty, aren’t you? I like that in a woman.” Another man, shorter but stocky, moved closer, he looked at me with a perveted smile. “What else you got back there, sweetheart? Maybe something sweet for us?” I glared at him, my fists clenched up. “Just the bread. Take it or leave it.” “Oh, we’ll take it,” he said, reaching out to brush a finger against my cheek. “But I bet you’re sweeter than anything here.” I slapped his hand away, my heart racing. “Don’t touch me!” The men laughed, the scarred man leaning over the counter again. “What’s the matter? We’re just having a little fun.” “This isn’t fun,” I said through gritted teeth. “This is harassment. Now either buy something or get out before I call the police.” The scarred man’s expression darkened. “You’ve got quite a mouth on you, girl. Maybe we need to teach you some manners.” Before I could respond, the bell above the door chimed again. Mr. Morales, an elderly man who visited the bakery daily, shuffled in. He looked around, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the men and the mess they had made. “Good morning, Sarah. Could I get a baguette, please?” he asked, his voice a little shaky. I quickly handed him the bread, my hands steadying slightly in the familiar transaction. “Of course, Mr. Morales. That’ll be two dollars.” As Mr. Morales fumbled for his wallet, one of the men snatched it from his hands. “What do we have here?” he taunted, rifling through the old man’s belongings. “Hey!” I shouted, I didn't care about my fear. “Give that back!” The scarred man laughed. “Looks like the little princess wants to play hero. Why don’t you stay out of it, sweetheart?” I stepped around the counter, my anger boiling over. “Give it back, now!” The men laughed again, clearly enjoying the show. The scarred man waved the wallet in front of Mr. Morales, taunting him. “Come and get it, old man.” Mr. Morales looked at me, his eyes pleading. I could see he was terrified, but he tried to put on a brave face. “Please, just give it back,” he said softly. The men ignored him, their attention focused on me. One of them, a burly guy with tattoos snaking up his arms, knocked over another display, sending pastries scattering across the floor. “Oops,” he said again, smirking. “Enough!” I shouted, my voice shaking with anger. “Leave him alone and get out of my bakery!” The scarred man stepped closer, his face inches from mine. “You’ve got guts, girl. But guts can get you in trouble.” I stood my ground, refusing to back down. “I said, give it back and get out.” The bell above the door jingled, and another man entered. My breath caught in my throat. He was tall, professionally dressed, and he had an air of authority that made everyone in the room turn to look. His dark eyes scanned the bakery with a mixture of curiosity and calculation, finally landing on me. “Boss!” the scarred man exclaimed, visibly straightening. “We were just—” He silenced him with a look. “Behave with class,” he commanded, his voice smooth yet edged with steel. “This is not how we conduct ourselves.” There was something about him, something magnetic and intimidating all at once. He moved with the confidence of a man used to being obeyed, his every step purposeful. He was undeniably attractive, with chiseled features and an air of authority that made my skin crawl. His gaze returned to me, and I felt a strange pull, as if he could see right through me. “I apologize for my men,” he said, his tone surprisingly courteous. “They seem to have forgotten their manners.” I managed to find my voice. “It’s… it’s okay. No harm done.” He smiled, a small, knowing smile that felt more like a threat than a reassurance. “Good to hear. What’s your name?” “Sarah,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. “Sarah,” he repeated, as if savoring the sound. “A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.” Heat rose to my cheeks, not from flattery, but from anger and discomfort. I quickly looked away, busying myself with a tray of cookies that didn’t really need arranging. What was it about this man that made me so uneasy? He turned to his men, his expression hardening. “Apologize to the lady and help clean up this mess.” They scrambled to obey, their earlier drama replaced with obedience. As they arranged the fallen display and muttered apologies, I stole glances at Marco, trying to understand who he was and why he had such a powerful effect on everyone around him. “Again, my apologies,” he said once more, stepping closer. “It seems my visit caused quite a stir.” “Who… who are you?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop myself. He chuckled softly, a sound that was both charming and dangerous. “Just a businessman, Sarah. But I think we’ll be seeing each other again.” With that, he turned and walked out, his men following like obedient dogs. The door closed behind them, and the bakery seemed to exhale, the tension slowly disappearing. I stood there, trying to steady my breathing, my mind dashing with questions. Who was that man? And why did he have his subordinates come here?MARCO The ride back to the estate was silent. My men knew better than to question me right now, not when I was deep in thought. “Sarah..” I muttered to myself. , seeing her action at the bakery, had been an unexpected surprise. I hadn’t planned on her—hadn’t planned on any of this, really. But sometimes, life throws curveballs. I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes for a moment. Her face flashed before me: bold, fierce, and simply captivating. There was something about her that stirred something wild within me. I loved breaking the wills of stern girls, and Sarah just had “challenge” written all over her. When we finally pulled up to the estate, I got out of the car and motioned for my men to follow me into my office. Once we were all inside, I closed the door and turned to face them. “Change of plans,” I announced, my voice steady. “We’re not touching Santiago. Not yet, anyway.” Tony, my younger brother and second-in-command, looked confused. “But boss, I thought the pla
SARAHI laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the incident at the bakery. That guy who walked in—yeah, he was undeniably good-looking. The kind of looks that make you glance twice. But, ugh, that cocky attitude. I hated cocky guys. They always thought they could get whatever they wanted just because they flashed a smile or said the right things. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, snapping me out of my thoughts. I grabbed it and saw Nicole’s name flashing. “Hey, crazy girl!” I answered, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. “Hey, Sarah! Guess what tomorrow is?” Nicole’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement. “Hmm, let me think… your birthday?” I teased. “Bingo! And you know what that means—we’re hitting up the biggest club in town to celebrate!” I frowned, feeling a bit skeptical. “A club? You know I’m not really into that scene, Nic.” “Oh, come on! It’s my birthday! We have to do something big. Plus, you need a break. You’ve been all work and no play la
SARAH “You’re insane! You have no idea what you’re talking about!” I screamed, my voice barely audible over the throbbing music in the lounge. The air felt heavy with smoke and sweat, and my heart pounded in my chest. Marco’s smug expression didn’t waver. “You’ll see, Sarah. You’ll come around.” I couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him for another second. I spun around and pushed through the crowd. As I reached the door, Marcel stepped in front of me, concern written all over his face. “Hey, you alright?” I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak without breaking down. “I need to go,” I muttered, trying to sidestep him. “Sarah, what happened?” Marcel persisted, his brow furrowed. “I just… I need to leave,” I repeated, brushing past him. My steps quickened as I made my way through the club, the pulsating music and flashing lights becoming too much to bear. I felt like I was suffocating. I grabbed my phone and sent a quick text to Nicole: “Had to leave. Don’t worry abo
SARAH I was blindfolded, my hands bound in front of me as the car bumped along a rough road. My heart raced, the sound of the tyres on gravel filling my ears. Where were they taking me? My mind swirled with fear. I tried to calm myself, but the darkness only made my thoughts more terrifying. Had they found out about our plan to run away? My mind raced with fear and regret. What if something had happened to my father? My heart ached at the thought of him, alone and worried. I strained to hear the men’s conversation, hoping to catch a clue about my fate or my father’s safety. “You think the boss will go easy on her?” one of the men asked, his voice rough and casual like he was discussing the weather. “Hell no,” another replied with a chuckle. “You saw how pissed he was. She’s lucky if she gets out of this without a few broken bones.” My stomach churned at their words. My father’s face flashed in my mind, his kind eyes filled with worry and fear. Had they already gotten to him? W
SARAH The car ride was quiet, except for the hum of the engine and the occasional groan from my father. Marco had instructed his men to take us home, but not before stopping at a clinic to get my father’s injuries cleaned up. I sat by the car window, the cool night air on my face, trying to process everything that had happened. Marco’s threats echoed in my mind, each one more terrifying than the last. I fought back tears, not wanting to show any more weakness. My father needed me to be strong right now, even if I felt like I was falling apart inside. When we arrived at the clinic, they led us inside. The place was small and discreet, perfect for keeping things under the radar. A doctor came out, took one look at my father, and quickly set to work. I watched as he cleaned and bandaged my father’s wounds, my heart breaking at the sight. I felt so helpless, caught in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. After what felt like an eternity, we were back in the car, heading home. I sta
I sat silently in the car, the sound of the engine blending with my thoughts. The road stretched out before us, flanked by tall trees and rolling fields. The scenery passed in a blur, but I tried to focus on it, anything to distract myself from the dread forming in my stomach. The ride began to slow, and I looked up, startled. We approached a pretty, ornate gate. The driver honked, and the gate swung open smoothly. We drove in, and I felt a lump form in my throat. As the car came to a stop, Martha and Anne got out first, their heels clicking on the gravel. I followed, my legs feeling shaky. The compound was stunning—manicured lawns, pretty flowers, and a grand mansion at the center. It was the kind of place I’d only seen in magazines, the kind of place that spoke of power and wealth. I forced myself to look away, to not be taken in by the allure. “Stop it”, I told myself. This isn’t beautiful. It’s a prison. Marco’s prison. My mind raced, chastising myself for even finding a f
As we left the church, the difference between Marco and me was crystal clear. I felt like a pawn in some twisted game, while Marco had that smug look, like he'd just won a prize. The reception hall was huge and filled with people celebrating a marriage that felt more like a hostile takeover to me.Marco's hand stayed glued to my waist, his grip firm and unyielding. Every touch was a reminder that I was now his, whether I liked it or not. I walked beside him, my posture stiff, my face a mask of cold indifference. Guests swarmed around us, congratulating us on our union.“Congratulations, Marco. You’ve outdone yourself with this one,” one man said, clapping Marco on the back. “Thank you, Lorenzo,” Marco replied smoothly, his charm never faltering. “We’re very happy.”I forced a tight smile, nodding politely. My eyes scanned the room, looking for an escape, but there was none. Marco's grip tightened slightly, as if sensing my thoughts.“Sarah, you look stunning,” a woman gushed, her eye
I woke up the next morning, still feeling the weight of last night’s encounter with Marco. I dressed quickly, determined to face him with as much composure as I could muster. When Marco finally stirred, he looked disoriented. Good, I thought. At least he wouldn’t have the upper hand completely. “How did I get here?” he asked, his voice groggy. I crossed my arms and gave him a cold stare. “You came into my room reeking of alcohol and tried to force yourself on me,” I replied flatly. Marco smirked, his eyes narrowing as he assessed me. “Did it work?” I felt a surge of anger. “The least you could do is show some gratitude for not leaving you on the floor all night,” I snapped. He chuckled darkly. “I owe you no gratitude. You seem to forget that you’re my wife. My possession.” The words hit me like a slap. “I am not your possession, Marco,” I retorted. “You can’t just treat me like a thing you own.” He moved closer, the space between us charged with tension. “You think you ha
ISABELLAI sat near the window with a half-full glass of wine, legs crossed, posture easy. Outside, the yard stretched quiet under soft light, the fences glowing under the dim wash of security lamps. The wind barely moved. Even the trees felt too still. It looked like peace, but it wasn’t. It was something else. Something pretending to be calm.Behind me, Marcel was laughing, his voice bouncing off the walls like this place was some damn hotel and not the cage it really was. Two of his men stood with him, drinking, cracking jokes like they didn’t have a care in the world. That’s what bothered me. They weren’t tense like they used to be. There was no edge in the air. No clipped words or extra rounds being loaded. Just pride. Stupid, loud pride.Marcel turned a bit, speaking louder now, wanting me to hear. “You know what I think?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He never does. “I think Marco’s done. Crawled into whatever hole he came out of, dragging his tail behind him. Wallowing in that
SARAHThe cold woke me before the pain did. My body was already curled tight, but it didn’t help. The chill still found its way into my bones, into my stomach, into everything. I tried to stretch, just a little, but my back screamed and my legs cramped. My head throbbed with that dull pressure that never really left. I didn’t even open my eyes right away. I just laid there, breathing through it, waiting for the nausea to pass.I was starving. And still, the idea of food made my stomach twist. It wasn’t just the baby. It was the food they brought. Cold, bland, rough like they’d scraped it off the bottom of a pan and tossed it at me out of pity. Or worse, duty. I’d thrown it up more than once. Now I just took small bites and held it down as long as I could. My throat stayed dry. My mouth too. I’d started cutting what little food I got into pieces, counting the bites like that somehow helped. It didn’t. But it gave me something to do, something to control.I turned onto my side slowly. T
MARCOThe city was already buzzing by the time I stepped into the club. Word had spread like it always did when there was fire involved. Loud. Messy. Unavoidable. The warehouse attack I sent Gio on didn’t just go up in smoke, it sent the exact message I wanted it to, just the one we wanted out there.I kept my head down as I moved past the crowd. Familiar faces, familiar noise. A few of my guys were already drinking like nothing happened, laughing like we hadn’t just made the loudest move in weeks. All part of the script. They were playing their roles. I was about to play mine.I slid into the usual booth in the back. Dark corner. Good view of the whole room. I threw my coat beside me and knocked on the table once. Bartender looked over, already moving.“Double,” I said when he got close, tapping the glass down like I needed it more than air. “And don’t stop unless I say.”Tony was leaning against the wall by the booth, arms crossed, eyes scanning the floor. He always looked like he w
MARCOThe room was quiet. Real quiet. The kind where you can hear someone blink. Denis sat across from me, hands on his knees, eyes low. Petrov leaned against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Tony stood by the window, one hand in his pocket, the other tapping the frame like he couldn’t stand still.I didn’t say much. I just stared at Denis. Made him squirm a little. He knew what was expected.“You can start talking,” I finally said.His head jerked up like I pulled him out of a bad dream. He looked at each of us. Then down again.“Alright,” he muttered. “I’ll talk.”He took a breath. Then it all started pouring out.“Marcel’s base isn’t at the club. That’s just his face. The real spot’s a compound in the industrial zone, the one behind the fake textile plant. Everything happens there. The trucks, the drops, the meetings.”I didn’t move. I kept watching him. Trying to see if he was holding anything back.“There’s a basement setup. Clean. Sealed. That’s where he’s keeping her. Sara
MARCELThe city looked soft from up here. All that noise, all that movement, and still, it bowed. I stood at the window in my suite, cup in hand, nothing but silence around me. That was the kind of power I liked. Quiet. Steady. It meant everything was still running how I wanted it.The espresso was hot, bitter, smooth. Just how I liked it. The robe hung loose on my shoulders. I didn’t need armor in my own kingdom. Marco was definitely out there throwing tantrums, yelling into the wind, kicking at doors no one opened. He thought if he made enough noise, something would shake loose. But that’s all it was, noise. His people were scrambling. Mine were planted.I set the cup down as I went to freshen up. I had a meeting to attend. The new head of the Rossi family.. young, loud, trying to act like he had his brother's shoes on, but everyone in the room could see the fit was wrong. He needed to be reminded who still ran the rhythm of this city.I picked a black suit. Simple. Heavy fabric. N
MARCOI stared at the dartboard across the room. Three darts were stuck in it. One near the bullseye, two scattered like they were thrown without care. I hadn’t touched it in a week. Didn’t feel like playing games. Not until we had something real.The room was quiet, just the sound of the coffee pot clicking under the small warmer. I poured myself a cup, black, no sugar. I needed to stay sharp. Petrov said he had gotten Denis, I could feel it. Something about tonight told me this was it. This was the closest I had been to getting Sarah back.I cracked my knuckles and leaned on the edge of the table, still staring at that board. One dart for Denis. One for Marcel. One for Isabella. That last one would get replaced soon, maybe with a blade. I smiled at that thought.A knock came at the door. I didn’t even turn around.“Yeah?”It was one of the guys from the main floor. “Boss. Petrov’s back. He says he’s downstairs. Dungeon.”I took one more sip of coffee and nodded. “Alright. Let’s go s
PETROVThe engine was quiet, but I still kept my foot light on the brake. Sitting in an unmarked black car in the middle of a warehouse lot at night ain’t glamorous. It’s cold, it’s slow, and you’ve gotta know how to sit in silence without letting it eat you up.Gio sat beside me, chewing on a toothpick. He didn’t say much. That’s why I liked him. Good eyes, sharper hands. One of Marco’s quiet soldiers, but sharp enough to make noise when it counted.I flicked the ash of my cigarette out the half-cracked window. The smoke stayed low inside the car, curling slow, the way my thoughts moved when I was on a tail. We weren’t here to guess. We were here to read the pattern.“He’s in there,” I muttered. “Warehouse across the lot. Denis. Carrying a duffel. No escort.”Gio nodded once. Didn’t need to speak. He knew what that meant. For a guy like Denis, showing up solo? Out of place. Logistics men don’t walk around without backup unless they’re doing something they ain’t supposed to.“Somethin
ISABELLAI needed to see Sarah. Needed to look into her eyes and knock that calm out of her face. I was sick of hearing the guards say she wasn’t making trouble. That she wasn’t even flinching. That she just sat there like she was above all of this.Like this place wasn’t real to her.I walked down to the basement. Two guards at her door stood straight when I showed up. One of them moved to unlock it.“Open it,” I said. My voice didn’t shake.The door creaked and I stepped inside.She was sitting by the window. Again. Her back to the door. Same white T-shirt. Same silent attitude. Like she didn’t even hear me come in.That alone made my jaw clench.I shut the door myself and crossed the room, slow. Waiting for her to move. Say something. Look at me.She didn’t.“You’re quiet,” I said.No answer.“Still dreaming, huh? You think he’s coming for you?”Nothing. She didn’t even turn her head.I walked right behind her chair.“He doesn’t even still know where you are,” I said. “And if he di
MARCOPetrov walked in without knocking. He didn’t have to. The door was open, and when things are heavy like this, you don’t waste time with manners. He stepped into the office and came to a stop near the board behind me. Eyes sharp. Face serious.I didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Just stared at the photos, the pins, the lines that connected nothing but dead ends.Then I turned to him. “Denis.”Petrov looked at the picture I was pointing to. “Marcel’s logistics guy?”I nodded. “Yeah. One of our guys spotted him earlier today. Said he was moving different. Not his usual routes. First stop was a fuel depot. He lingered, made a few calls, then drove across town to a shut-down warehouse. Didn’t go in, just parked across from it, like he was checking something. Then he drove to the pier. Got a coffee. Sat there for almost forty minutes. Staring at the water.”Petrov didn’t speak right away. He just stared at Denis’s face like he was reading a puzzle out of it.“That sound like erra