The city night had always been her safe space—until now. As she stepped into her apartment building, she saw them at the end of the hall. Two men. SWAT-like uniforms, faces covered. Her stomach twisted.

She ran.

Into the kitchen, grabbing a knife, heart pounding. The front door creaked open. No knock. No announcement. They were here for her.

“Put it down, bambina.”

That voice. Her father’s reach had finally caught up.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she lunged. One man blocked, the other grabbed her wrist. She twisted free, slashing wildly. A grunt—she caught flesh. But they were trained, fast. The second man—different from the first, controlled, deliberate—moved smoothly, catching her by the elbow and twisting her arm behind her back. Not rough, not brutal, but firm. Calculated.

He was the one her father trusted.

“Enough,” he said, his voice quiet but commanding.

She thrashed, but he held her in place, his grip shifting only to keep her from harming herself. There was no unnecessary force. He wasn’t here to hurt her—only to contain her. That realization sent a wave of dread through her. He wasn’t just some hired muscle. He was something worse: loyal.

A boot knocked the knife from her grasp. Another man moved toward her, but the trusted one lifted a hand, stopping him. “She’s pregnant.”

The words struck like a slap. Not because he cared—he didn’t—but because it meant her father had given instructions. No damage. No marks. He wanted her intact.

The voice she had tried to forget crackled through an earpiece. Calm. Final.

“Your brother is dead. You will come home. You will have your child. I will kill the man who left you. And you will marry someone I trust.”

No. She had run before. She could do it again.

She bucked against the hold, but the world spun. A sharp sting—sedative. The trusted man’s gloved hand was the last thing she saw as he eased her to the ground, making sure she didn’t fall too hard.

As darkness crept in, she heard the last words before everything faded.

hours later