BELLA
Pain woke her before memory did.
A sharp throb behind her head. A burning pull around her wrists.
Then—
darkness.
Not the peaceful kind.
The suffocating kind.
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Bella inhaled sharply, her breath uneven as reality began to settle in pieces.
Cold floor.
Rough ropes.
The faint metallic scent of rust and something… darker.
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Her heart started racing.
Kidnapped.
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She forced herself to stay still.
To think.
Panic wouldn't save her.
It never did.
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A sound broke through the silence.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Coming closer.
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Bella's fingers curled slightly despite the restraints, her body instinctively preparing for something she couldn't yet see.
The door creaked open.
Light spilled in—but only enough to outline a figure.
Tall.
Familiar.
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"Awake already?" the voice said softly.
Too softly.
That was what made it worse.
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Bella's breath caught.
No…
It couldn't be—
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"You always were a quick one," the figure continued, stepping closer.
Boots scraping lightly against the floor.
Each step deliberate.
Each step calculated.
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Her vision adjusted slowly.
And then—
her world tilted.
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"You…"
Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
Shock. Recognition. Fear.
All tangled together.
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The man smiled.
Not kindly.
Not warmly.
But like someone who had been waiting a very long time for this moment.
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"Miss me, Bella?"
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Her stomach dropped.
Because she did know him.
Not well.
Not deeply.
But enough.
Enough to understand—
this wasn't random.
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"Why are you doing this?" she asked, forcing strength into her voice.
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He crouched in front of her, close enough for her to see the darkness sitting comfortably in his eyes.
"Because," he said quietly, "you were never supposed to be his."
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Silence hit harder than any blow.
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RICO
The convoy didn't slow.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't breathe.
⸻
"Location confirmed," Marco said, eyes fixed on the screen. "Abandoned warehouse district. East side."
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Rico said nothing.
But the air inside the vehicle shifted.
⸻
Danger wasn't coming.
It was already here.
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His fingers flexed once, slowly.
Controlled.
But the control was thinning.
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"Security?" Rico asked.
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"Minimal outside," Marco replied. "Too clean."
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A trap.
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Rico's lips curved slightly.
Not in amusement.
In recognition.
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"Good," he said.
⸻
Marco glanced at him.
That single word told him everything.
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Rico wasn't avoiding the trap.
He was walking straight into it.
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Because Bella was inside.
And nothing—not strategy, not risk, not consequence—mattered more than that.
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The convoy came to a sharp stop.
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Before the engine fully died, Rico was already out.
Gun in hand.
Eyes locked on the building ahead.
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Dark.
Silent.
Waiting.
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Perfect.
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"Surround it," he ordered coldly.
"No one gets out."
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Men moved instantly.
Positions taken.
Weapons ready.
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Rico didn't wait.
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He walked forward alone.
Each step steady.
Unhurried.
Certain.
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Inside, somewhere in the dark—
she was there.
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And whoever had taken her?
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They had just made the last mistake of their lives.
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BACK TO BELLA
"Say it," the man murmured, tilting his head slightly.
"Say his name."
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Bella's jaw tightened.
"No."
⸻
The smile disappeared instantly.
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His hand shot out—grabbing her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"Say. His. Name."
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Her pulse pounded.
But her voice didn't shake this time.
"Rico."
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Silence.
Then—
a low, dangerous laugh.
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"That's the problem," he whispered.
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A distant sound echoed suddenly.
Faint.
But unmistakable.
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Gunfire.
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Bella's eyes widened.
Hope.
Fear.
Collision.
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The man froze for half a second.
Then smiled again.
Slower this time.
More dangerous.
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"Looks like your husband is here."
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Another gunshot rang louder.
Closer.
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Bella's heart slammed against her chest.
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Because she knew—
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Rico wasn't coming to negotiate.
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He was coming to destroy.