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
SARAHThe door creaked open slowly.I squinted as little light spilled in from the hallway, making my already pounding head throb harder. The room had been nothing but darkness, filth, and whispered threats. Now, the light cut through it like a blade, sharp and blinding. My eyes struggled to adjust, but I didn’t need to see to know something had shifted.The guards straightened immediately, their lazy arrogance vanishing. Their boots scraped against the floor as they stepped back, backs stiff, shoulders squared.Someone important had arrived.Then I heard it. Heels clicking against the grimy floor. A slow, confident rhythm. Each step deliberate, unhurried. Whoever it was, they weren’t afraid of this place, of the stench, of the filth.I forced my eyes open, blinking hard as my vision cleared. And then I saw her.Isabella.She stood there, perfectly put together, draped in luxury that didn’t belong in this pit. A silk dress that clung to her figure, nails painted a deep red, makeup fla
SARAHI woke up groggy, my head pounding like someone had taken a hammer to it, over and over again. My skull throbbed with each slow beat of my heart, a dull, crushing pain that made it hard to think. Everything was heavy. My eyelids, my limbs, even my breath felt like it took too much effort.The air pressed down on me, thick and suffocating. It smelled awful—sweat, dampness, something rotten. The kind of stink that clung to a place, to the walls, to the people trapped inside. It crawled into my lungs, making my stomach churn.I tried to move, but a sharp ache shot up my arms. My wrists pulsed with pain. Tied? No. Just stiff, numb from how I had been lying. My fingers tingled as I flexed them. The cold floor bit into my skin, rough and unwelcoming.My thoughts were sluggish, crawling through a thick fog. I blinked hard, trying to push past it, to make sense of anything. My head was too clouded, my body too weak. It felt like waking up from a deep, drugged sleep, the kind where reali
MARCOThe phone nearly cracked in my grip as I rushed into the SUV. My hands were steady, but my heart was beating like a war drum. I jammed the key into the ignition, twisting hard, and the engine roared to life. I didn’t waste a second. I slammed my foot on the gas, tires screeching against the pavement as I tore out of the parking lot.The streets blurred past me. Headlights flashed. Horns blared. I didn’t care. I pushed the speed, weaving through cars like they were standing still. The city was a mess of moving lights, but I only had one thought in my head.Sarah.She had to be safe.I prayed, gripping the wheel tighter. I never prayed, but right now, I did. Let me get there in time. Let her be alive.My knuckles were white on the wheel as I cut through traffic, dodging between cars, taking turns so sharp the tires nearly lifted off the pavement. A semi braked hard ahead of me. I spun the wheel, the SUV sliding through a gap so small I felt the side mirror graze metal. The moment
FLASHBACK: The Attack on Marco’s HouseMarcel’s POV⸻I had been waiting for this moment. Watching, studying, knowing that Marco would retaliate the second he got the chance. That was the kind of man he was. If he got hit, he didn’t rest until he hit back harder. It made him predictable.That’s why I wasn’t going to wait for his move. I was going to make the first one.No spies. No informants. No middlemen. Just patience. Observation. And now, execution.I stood with my men in the darkness, watching Marco’s house. The place was locked down tight. Armed men patrolling the perimeter. Cameras on every corner. Motion sensors near the fence line. He thought this would keep him safe.It wouldn’t.I turned to Matteo, my second for this mission. He was calm, like always. He lived for this.“Marco just left,” I said. “Now we move.”No one questioned me. They were waiting for this order.“The objective is clear. No survivors except for Sarah. You see someone moving, you drop them. Fast. No game
MARCOI slid into the SUV, the door shutting with a heavy thud. The weight of it felt final, like the closing of a chapter. The engine rumbled beneath me as we pulled out, cutting through the quiet streets, heading straight for the Rossi base. The city passed by in a blur of lights and shadows, but I wasn’t looking. My mind wasn’t here. It was already ahead, in that warehouse, already seeing how this was going to play out.Hopefully, this was it.This war had dragged on too long. The back and forth, the blood, the bodies—enough. I was tired of the cycle, tired of waiting for the next move, tired of watching the Rossis breathe when they should’ve been six feet under. Tonight, that changed. No more counterattacks. No more back and forth. Just an end.I sighed, pulling out a cigarette, lighting it with one flick of my lighter. The first drag burned just right. My body knew what was coming, and the nicotine settled me just enough.I thought about Sarah.She was probably still sitting at t
MARCOThe chessboard was already set when I walked into the living room. Sarah sat across from my chair, arms crossed, a smug little smirk playing at her lips.“You’re late,” she said.I raised an eyebrow. “Late for what?”She nodded at the board. “For your loss.”I let out a short laugh, shaking my head as I took my seat. “That so?”“Mm-hm,” she hummed, moving a pawn forward. “I’ve been studying.”I glanced down at the board, already seeing how she had set up her pieces. She wasn’t playing like she normally did—impulsive, eager to attack before she had control. No, this time, she had structure. Her knights were placed well, her pawns controlling the center. It was actually… decent.I moved my own piece, slow, measured. “You know studying only gets you so far, right?”Sarah shrugged. “Says the man who’s about to lose.”I smirked, letting her have her confidence. She moved again, faster this time, her fingers light on the pieces. The game picked up, back and forth, each of us watching,
************The Rossi estate was quiet, but inside, the air was thick with frustration and failure. Damien stood near the fireplace, his jaw clenched so tight it ached, hands curled into fists at his sides. The ambush was supposed to end Marco. They had planned everything down to the second, every angle covered, every escape route cut off. And still, he survived. Their men weren’t just beaten. They were slaughtered. It was more than a loss. It was humiliation, and the weight of it sat heavy on Damien’s shoulders.Across the room, Isabella was pacing like a caged predator, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. The anger rolling off her was almost suffocating. She stopped suddenly, raking a hand through her dark hair, her breath coming in sharp bursts.“Unbelievable,” she spat, eyes burning as she turned toward Damien. “We had him. We fucking had him. And now look at us—sitting here like cowards while he reloads.” She took a step closer, voice slicing through the room. “
MARCOThe city blurred past me as I drove, headlights cutting through the darkness. My fingers tapped against the steering wheel, slow, steady. My pulse didn’t spike. My breathing didn’t change. But inside, something cold settled in my chest.They really tried to kill me. Again.And I wasn’t surprised. That was the thing. It didn’t shock me. It didn’t make me pause. This life, this war, it only ended one way. You either take out the enemy, or they take you out. No in-between. No second chances. And last night? They took their shot. Sarah had to pull the trigger to survive. My wife. My unborn kid in the middle of it. Because of them.The Rossis thought they could take something from me. They thought they could shake me. And maybe years ago, I would’ve given them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I would’ve given Damien Rossi a call, laid it out, given him a chance to fix it before I burned his whole fucking house down.But those days were gone.This wasn’t business anymore. It wasn’t neg
MARCO I sat on the edge of the bed, watching Sarah sleep. The room was quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier after a night like last night. The gunfire, the chaos, the blood. It was all still sitting on my chest, but none of it weighed more than the fact that Sarah had pulled the trigger. That she had to. She wasn’t built for this. I knew that from the beginning. But life didn’t care what someone was built for. It threw them into the fire anyway. And now, she was in too deep. I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. I didn’t like the way she looked even in sleep—tense, uneasy, like her body was still trying to fight off whatever threat it thought was coming next. I reached for my glass of water on the nightstand, taking a slow sip, keeping my eyes on her. Sarah shifted, her body stirring like she was fighting her way back to consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then landing on me. “Morning,” I said, my voice quiet. She barely responded, j