MARCOBang!Blood hit my face, warm and thick. The sound of Anton’s body slamming against the floor echoed in the room, his lifeless eyes still open, staring up at nothing. His mouth, which had been running nonstop just seconds ago, was frozen in shock. The pool of blood beneath him spread fast, the deep red spilling across the cracked tiles. The smell—sharp, metallic—filled the air, mixing with the lingering scent of gunpowder.I didn’t move. My chest was still tight, my breath locked in my throat. That bullet should’ve been for me.Tony stepped in, gun still raised, his eyes sweeping the room. He took one glance at Anton’s corpse, then at me. A smirk tugged at his lips. “Damn. Came in just in time, huh?”I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension still coiled in my muscles. My hand flexed involuntarily, the ghost of a gun still lingering in my grip. “Yeah… that was too fucking close.”Tony chuckled, sliding his gun back into its holster. “Close? Marco, you were done for.”I ran a hand ov
MARCOBlood was everywhere. Thick, dark, warm against my skin. It soaked through my fingers, through Aisha’s torn clothes, pooling on the leather seat beneath her. The metallic stench filled the SUV, mixing with the acrid scent of gunpowder and burnt rubber. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, eyelids fluttering, skin sickly pale.“Stay awake,” I muttered, pressing my hand harder against the wound. “Don’t fucking pass out.”Her head lolled slightly, lips parting. “Can’t…”“You can,” I snapped. “You don’t get to bleed out here.”The Rossis were still on us, their engines snarling, the air filled with the rapid cracks of gunfire. Another window shattered. Glass sprayed across my arm, cutting into my skin, but I didn’t flinch. My focus was locked on Aisha and the goddamn blood leaking out of her too fast.Petrov yanked the wheel hard to the left, barely dodging a parked car. The SUV fishtailed, tires screeching, but he kept control, pushing forward.Tony was still hanging out the window, c
MARCOSarah appeared at the top of the stairs, her eyes scanning the room, and the moment she took in the sight before her, confusion flashed across her face. Then something else. Something unreadable. Her gaze drifted from the blood pooling on the floor to the doctor hunched over Aisha’s body, his hands moving fast, his jaw tight with focus. My men stood around, tense, waiting, their shoulders stiff with the weight of what had just gone down. The air was thick, the kind that pressed against your chest. But I barely noticed any of it.All I saw was Sarah.I moved toward the staircase, instinct taking over, ready to guide her down, but before I could reach for her, she stopped me with a small shake of her head.“I’m fine,” she murmured. “I can walk.”I hesitated for half a second before stepping back, watching her carefully as she descended. Her hands gripped the railing a little tighter than usual, and I could see the way her breath hitched as she got a closer look at the scene. The b
ISABELLAThe morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my private suite, casting golden light over the silk sheets of my king-sized bed. I stretched lazily, savoring the coolness of the fabric against my skin before reaching for the remote on my nightstand. With a press of a button, soft classical music filled the room, the kind that played in the background of the world’s most expensive penthouses. The kind that reminded me of power. Of control. Of exactly who I was.I slid out of bed, my bare feet sinking into the plush white carpet as I made my way toward the bathroom. Marble countertops, a freestanding tub, gold fixtures—everything hand-selected, everything perfect. I twisted the faucet, letting warm water spill into the sink before splashing my face gently. A morning cleanse, followed by an ice-cold jade roller against my skin. Every inch of my routine was precise, curated.Next came the serum. The kind infused with gold flecks, a favorite of European royalty.
SARAHI tried to focus on the yarn in my hands, but my fingers trembled too much to knit. The needles clicked together uselessly, slipping from my grasp, the pattern I’d started completely forgotten. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning, tangled in the mess of Aisha’s confession, each word cutting deeper than the last.Marco never cheated.The pictures were fake.Isabella was behind it all.I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t help. The truth slammed into me over and over, breaking apart everything I thought I knew. Everything I let myself believe.I should have known.After Isabella was caught lying about her pregnancy, after she was humiliated and exposed, I should have realized she wasn’t the type to let things go. That woman didn’t lose. She didn’t forget. She was like a viper, coiling in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to sink her fangs into my life and tear it apart.And I let her.I swallowed hard, but my throat was dry, aching with the weight of my own stupidity.Every
MARCOThe knife gleamed under the low light of my office, smooth and polished, stripped of the blood it had worn just few days ago. I turned it in my hand, inspecting the flawless steel. Clean now, harmless too but that would change soon. It always did.I reached for another, picking up the cloth beside me, running it slowly along the blade’s edge. There was something satisfying about it to me, the way a weapon could look so calm until the moment it was used. It was a deception I admired. A blade never needed to look dangerous. It only needed to be.La Paloma had been a massacre. The blood had dried fast, crusting against the ridges of the handle, settling in the fine lines of the steel. It took effort to wipe it away completely. A kill wasn’t finished until the weapon was ready for its next one.I moved to the next knife, then the next, until each one sat before me, shining like they had never been used. That was when I reached for the sharpening stone.A clean blade was one thing. A
MARCOSarah’s laughter was soft, the kind that settled deep in my chest and made me forget—just for a moment—that there was a war outside these walls. My hand rested on her belly, feeling the faint movement beneath my palm. It was a strange thing, feeling something so small and fragile yet knowing it carried my blood. My child. A part of me growing inside her. The thought made something tighten in my chest, something unfamiliar. A kind of protectiveness I wasn’t used to.Sarah placed her hand over mine, her fingers threading through the gaps, holding me there like she never wanted me to move. “She’s kicking again,” she murmured, her voice full of amusement.I smirked, rubbing slow, lazy circles over her stomach. “She?”Sarah arched a brow, tilting her head slightly. “You don’t think so?”I glanced down at her belly, pressing my palm a little firmer against it, waiting for the movement again. A few seconds passed, then there it was—a sharp little kick against my hand. I huffed a quiet
THIRD PERSON Two guards stood at the Rossi estate gates, shoulders hunched under their coats as they leaned against the cold stone wall. The night was quiet, too quiet, the kind that made men like them start talking just to fill the silence.Luca lit a cigarette, smoke curling past his lips as he exhaled slow and steady. “My wife’s still on my ass about leaving all this behind,” he muttered, staring out past the iron gates into the dark. “Wants me to pack it up, move back to Naples, be a family man.”Franco chuckled, counting out a wad of crumpled bills in his palm. “Yeah? And do what? Sell fruit on the street corner? You ain’t made for that life, Luca.”Luca smirked but there was a sadness behind his eyes. “Neither are you.”Franco shrugged. “Fair point. But I’m smarter than you. I ain’t married.” He tucked the bills back into his pocket. “Besides, we’re sitting on money, power. What’s Naples gonna give you that the Rossis don’t?”Luca didn’t answer right away, just flicked his ciga
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
MARCOI stood in front of the board again. Maps. Pins. Strings. Scribbled notes. All of it looking back at me like it had answers. But it didn’t. Not yet.The Bronx setup still replayed in my head. That moment when I saw her. The fake her. How sure I was. The way her hair smelled. Her trembling hands. For a second, I let myself believe it was Sarah. I let my guard down. I walked right into Marcel’s damn show. And he played me like a fool.I stepped closer to the board, staring at a red pin that marked another location upstate. The lead had was still weak, a whisper from a runner who barely made it out alive. But I kept it. I kept every maybe. Because right now, a maybe was all I had.I dragged my fingers through my hair, jaw tight. Every goddamn angle I took just looped me back here. To this board. This silence. And her still missing.“Where the fuck are you, Sarah?” I muttered.The room was dim. Just the lamp by the desk on. Everyone in the house knew to stay away when that light was
MARCEL She sat just like always. On the edge of the bed. Back straight. Hands stiff in her lap. Eyes locked on the window like it had something new to show her. It didn’t. Just the same damn walls, same sky, same guards outside. I sat across from her, cigarette between my fingers, legs crossed. Quiet at first. I wanted her to feel it. The silence. The weight of me just watching. “You look thinner,” I said. She didn’t turn. Didn’t blink. “How long has it been now? Weeks? Maybe more.” I smiled a little. “Still haven’t settled in, huh?” She didn’t answer. “Don’t gotta be like this. You know that.” She turned her head halfway, eyes meeting mine. Cold, tired eyes. “What do you want?” I shrugged. “Conversation. It’s been too damn quiet around here. Figured we could talk.” “You can talk. I’m not interested.” That made me chuckle. “You always had bite, I’ll give you that. Strong. Loyal too. I can respect that. But you’re wasting it, Sarah.” She looked away again. Back t
MARCOI sat silently in the SUV, my head leaning against the window, watching the city pass by like it didn’t just eat me alive. The lights, the streets, the people… all of it blurred together while my mind stayed locked on that damn warehouse. My jaw clenched. I didn’t say a word. There was nothing to say.Marcel played me. He fucking played me like a damn puppet. The whole thing was a trap from the start. He knew we were coming. He was ten steps ahead of us, watching, laughing. Every bullet we spent, every man we lost, every second we wasted thinking we were doing something smart… it was all for nothing. We didn’t win anything. We didn’t find Sarah. That wasn’t Sarah.I whispered it to myself, bitter and broken. “He planned it all. He knew we were coming. He really planted that girl there to make me think that was Sarah.”Petrov kept driving like he always does, calm and quiet. Tony sat beside me, looking straight ahead, no words. What could they say? They knew. They felt it too. Bu
MARCOI stepped closer. My hands were shaking. I didn’t even notice until my fingers touched the edge of the blindfold. The cloth was damp, smelled like sweat and piss. My throat felt dry as I slowly pulled it off.My heart was hammering so hard I thought it would break through my chest. I was ready. Ready to see her face. Ready to pull her into me, to tell her it was over, that I came for her, that I wasn’t too late.The blindfold dropped to the floor.And everything stopped.It wasn’t her.The light from the hallway hit her face and I just stood there. Frozen. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Blonde hair, yeah. But the face… not Sarah. Too narrow, older, bruised. Mouth cracked, lip bleeding, cheeks hollow like she hadn’t eaten in days.My whole body went cold. My vision blurred for a second. I blinked hard. I kept looking at her like somehow she’d shift into Sarah. Like maybe the drugs or the light or my eyes were lying to me. I stepped back once, then forward again.I whispered it
We pulled up two blocks from the warehouse. The SUV came to a slow crawl and stopped, engine running low, like it didn’t want to be heard. The street was dead. Not a single soul out. No cars. No movement. Just the faint buzz of streetlights and the wind dragging trash down the road.I stared out the window, eyes locked on the building sitting in the middle of the block like it was waiting for something to happen. Cracked bricks, rusted windows, a chain-link fence barely standing, like the place was already giving up. But I knew better. That warehouse wasn’t empty. It was hiding something. Hiding her.I turned and looked at the crew. Tony in the front, sliding a mag into his piece, no emotion on his face. Petrov behind me, checking his rifle, smooth and silent. The other two, focused, guns in their laps, eyes on me. Nobody said a word. They didn’t need to. We weren’t here to talk. We were here to finish this.I gave a slow nod. They moved. Tony and the guy beside him slipped out to the
MARCOIt’d been a whole damn day since Tony came back with that lead.Since Mickey Two-Times pointed us toward the warehouse in the Bronx, my world had shrunk to this office. Four walls, a ticking clock, and my phone screen lighting up every couple minutes with nothing but the time. No calls. No texts. Just silence.I hadn’t eaten. Couldn’t. My stomach turned every time I tried. I’d take a bite, chew it twice, and spit it out like ash. The only thing that kept moving was me—back and forth across the room, pacing like some caged dog. Phone always in my hand, like it had answers. Like I could will it to ring.Every second felt like it was dragging a chain behind it. I kept checking my watch, hoping an hour passed when it’d only been five minutes. My nerves were shot. My fists kept clenching up without me realizing. I’d sit on the edge of the desk, then stand again right after. I couldn’t stop seeing her. Sarah. Tied to a chair. Locked in some dark room. Bruised. Alone. And him. Marcel.
MARCOI stood in front of the mirror, elbows on the sink, just staring at myself. Same face, same eyes, but none of it looked familiar anymore. I was pale. Eyes darker. I hadn’t slept. I hadn’t eaten anything that stayed down. My beard was growing in patchy. My shirt was wrinkled. Tie loose. I looked like I’d been hit by a truck and dragged for miles. Maybe I had. Just not the kind that leaves tire marks.She was still gone.I gripped the edge of the sink tighter. My knuckles went white. I stared at my reflection and saw everything I’d lost.Sarah.She was out there. Somewhere. I didn’t know where. I didn’t know if she was safe or suffering. I didn’t know if she was being fed or locked in some cage. I didn’t know if she was being hit, or worse. My stomach turned at that. My heart beat faster every time my mind went there.I hated not knowing.I kept waiting for something. A message. A call. A note. Some kind of signal that Marcel wanted to talk. That he wanted to bargain. But there wa
SARAHMy whole body ached. My back felt like it had been beaten with bricks. My legs were sore, heavy, like they didn’t belong to me anymore. My stomach hurt too, and that scared me the most. I couldn’t tell if it was from hunger or something worse. I hadn’t eaten properly in days. Maybe longer. Time didn’t exist in here. No clocks. No light. Just this thick air that never changed. Always cold. Always still.I laid on the hard floor staring at the ceiling. Nothing up there, just cracks and stains. Still, I kept looking, like it might tell me something. Give me a sign. I didn’t even cry anymore. I couldn’t. My face felt dry, like I’d cried out everything I had.I rubbed my hand over my stomach.Was the baby okay?I tried to feel something. A kick, a twitch, anything. But it was quiet. Still. I didn’t know if that was normal. I didn’t know anything anymore. And that scared me more than anything else.Marco… where are you?The thought crept in without warning. I tried to push it away. I’