Laurel P.O.V
I woke up choking on darkness.
Not the gentle kind that fades when you blink,but the heavy, choking kind that presses against your chest and makes you wonder if you're already dead. My wrists ached where the ropes had bitten into my skin overnight. The room smelled of cold concrete and metal like a place meant for endings.
My ankles ached too.The room had no windows. No light. Just silence so loud it screamed.
Then—
I heard gunshots.
Not distant. Not imagined.
Close. Violent and rapid.
The sound ripped through the silence like thunder tearing the sky apart.
My heart slammed against my ribs as shouting followed—men yelling in Italian, furniture crashing, metal clanging. Chaos exploded outside the door, raw and uncontrolled.
And for the first time since I was dragged here, a dangerous hope flared inside me.
What if Richardo doesn't show up! I'd be killed by the ugly truth.
Something exploded nearby, shaking like dust from the ceiling.
Richardo.
The fighting grew closer. Louder. Ruthless. Whoever had come wasn't here to negotiate.
The door burst open.
"Don't look back" A voice snapped. "The moment you step out—don't turn"
Strong. Hoarse. Familiar.
Richardo stood there breathing hard, blood streaking his jaw, his shirt torn, a cut above his brow dripping down his face. He looked like war itself—furious, lethal, unstoppable.
His eyes locked onto mine, wild and burning.
"Go!!"
My legs shook as he cut the ropes. My fingers barely worked.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
As he pulled me up, I blurted the question burning my chest.
"Why didn't you leave me?" I whispered, my voice breaking. "You could've—"
He grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him.
"You have no right to die" He snarled. "You belong to me"
The words should have terrified me.Instead, something cracked open in my chest and struck deeper than the chaos around us.
Before I could answer, men poured in—thick-armed guards with blades raised, faces twisted with hunger for violence.
Richardo shoved me behind him.
"Run" He ordered. "Now"
"I—"
He didn't wait for my answer.
"RUN"
He lunged into them like a storm.
I ran.
I didn't look back.
I didn't want to see him fall.
I ran past gunfire, past bodies hitting the floor, past screams that echoed like warnings. I didn't look back,not even when I heard Richardo grunt in pain, not when his men clashed with the Don's guards in a storm of violence.
Gunfire chased me through corridors that twisted like a maze.
I ran until the building changed.
I burst into a club—music thundering, lights flashing.
The air pulsed with bass and laughter, the smell of alcohol and sweat thick in my lungs. people dancing,unaware that death stalked the building.
I tried to find an exit. Every hallway looked the same.
Fear froze me when two drunk men suddenly stumbled toward me, blocking my path and grinning wrong—too slow, too close.
"Wrong night" One slurred.
Fear flooded me.
Then one of them grabbed my hands,forcing a kiss on my neck and I tried to push him away,but he was too strong,he ripped off my shirt,already turning me to face the walls and he moved closer,about to slip his hand into my pant,but a hand struck one of them down.
Both men dropped.
Abigail moved like a shadow, precise and merciless.
Her eyes was sharp as glass.
She grabbed my wrist and dragged me through the back exit where a car waited.
I didn't argue. I got in because survival demanded it.
The car sped off.
Silence settled heavily inside.
I tried to speak.But failed.
Finally, I whispered, "Will the mafia be—"
She didn't look at me.
"Alive" Abigail cut in flatly.
After a pause, I asked, "Why am I a weakness?"
She exhaled hard.
"You made this mess"
Her phone rang.
"She's not harmed" Abigail said into it.
Then I heard a groan on the other end.
Richardo.
Pain, raw and real.
My chest tightened painfully.I didn't understand why I cared, why my heart twisted for a man who once terrified me.
"I don't know why you chose this path" Abigail voice lowered. "You've never gone this far for a victim"
Victim?
"Perché ti importa? È solo una persona caduta nelle mani sbagliate"
(TRANSLATION: Why do you care? She's just a person who fell into the wrong hands)
"Non mi interessa" Richardo snapped. "Ma non morirà come leva di qualcun altro"
(TRANSLATION: I don't care)
(TRANSLATION: But she won't die as someone else's leverage)
Abigail continued.
"Sei cambiato"
(TRANSLATION: You've changed)
"Dying by the Dons would stain my name" Richardo snapped back.
"Ma a lei non importa" Abigail pressed.
(TRANSLATION: But she doesn't matter)
Another voice cut in—deep, amused. "I Dons vogliono parlare"
(TRANSLATION: The Don wants to speak)
The call ended.
Abigail stared out the window.
"He's changed" She murmured.
I pressed my forehead to the glass.
And for the first time, I understood something terrifying more than the gunfire ever could.
Richardo hadn't saved me because it was convenient.
He saved me because losing me would destroy him.
And loving him might destroy me too.
Katy P.O.V
I didn't wake up gently.
I woke up with my chest tight, lungs aching, the weight of last night pressing down on me like a hand that never lifted. The clock glared at me from across the room.
I woke up too late.
The kind of late that comes from sleeping with a heart that refused to rest. My eyes burned as soon as I opened them, my body was heavy, my chest aching like it had been bruised from the inside. Poland's gray morning light filtered through the hotel curtains, dull and cold, matching the mood I couldn't shake off.
Sleep had only come in fragments—short, cruel pieces filled with Richardo's voice and Laurel's face, overlapping until I couldn't tell which hurt more.
I dragged myself out of bed and went straight to the bathroom.
The mirror showed me a woman who looked fine on the outside. But I knew better.
I brushed my teeth tiredly, barely aware of the mint burning my tongue, then stepped under the shower. Hot water poured down my scalp, slid along my spine and wrapped around me like a lie pretending to be comfort.
I closed my eyes.
Richardo.
The way he sounded distant. The way he didn't call back. The way silence screamed louder than words.
My throat tightened. I tilted my head back, letting the water hit my face as tears slipped out anyway—hot, traitorous, unstoppable.
Get it together, Katy.
I stayed there longer than I should have, until my skin prickled and my legs felt weak. When I finally stepped out, I wrapped a white towel around my body and walked into the closet with slow, deliberate steps.
Blue winter coat. Blue jeans.
Clean. Sharp. Controlled.
I dressed like someone who wasn't breaking,like a lady who didn't fall apart over a man. Even if my heart said otherwise.
My phone rang.
I picked it up without looking, my heart foolishly hoping.
"Good morning, Miss Katy. I hope you slept well"
The caller was Donald.
The hope died instantly.
"I did" I said lightly, forcing the sound of ease into my voice. "Why did you call so early this sunshine?"
"It's 11 A.M"
I exhaled. "Have you found Acadia's location?"
"Yes. Surprisingly, she lives closer to where you reside"
My fingers tightened around the phone. "Send me her location"
"Yes, ma'am"
The call ended.
A text followed seconds later.
I stared at the address. My lips parted slightly.
That close.
All this time.
I grabbed my bag and left the hotel apartment immediately.
The taxi ride was so silent that my thoughts felt so loud.
By the time we arrived, my jaw was already clenched.
Acadia's house stood like a fortress—tall gates, sharp lines, cold glass. The kind of place built to keep people out. Or keep secrets in.
I stepped out of the taxi and immediately felt eyes on me.
Two guards blocked my path when I got to the gate.
"I need to see Acadia" I said,firmly.
"She's not home" One replied without emotion.
Before I could argue, a sleek GLE car pulled up behind me. The engine purred like a predator. The window lowered.
Acadia appeared.
Her gaze flicked over me once, dismissive, bored.
She didn't even look surprised to see me.
"Let her in" She told the guards casually.
The gate opened. She drove past me without another glance, as if I was already beneath her notice. Rage simmered in my chest as I followed inside.
She parked, walked into the house and I followed her in silence.
Inside her house, everything smelled like money and control.
She went straight to the kitchen, unbothered as if my presence was an inconvenience rather than a confrontation.
"So" She said, pouring herself coffee, "Why did you suddenly show up at my house, Katy?"
"I want you to help me put James Bron in jail"
She laughed.A short, humorless sound.
Not amused. Not surprised. Just tired.
"You never learn" She said. "Always chasing revenge"
"This isn't revenge" I snapped. "It's justice"
"Your obsession with revenge is exhausting" She turned slowly,her eyes became sharp. "Justice according to you"
"He murdered my father"
"And your father" She replied coolly, "knew exactly what kind of man he was dealing with"
My breath caught.
"You don't get to say that"
"You brought yourself into this mess" She continued, voice steadied, merciless. "Both of you did. Don't expect me to clean it up"
I stepped closer. "James Bron is a monster"
"And he is my client" She said. "Which means I will protect him"
"You came to Poland for him" I said bitterly. "Don't pretend this is just work"
Her jaw tightened. "You and your father dragged yourselves into a mess you couldn't handle. That's not my responsibility"
"You're helping a killer walk free"
"I'm doing my job"
"You're choosing money over morality"
She smiled thinly. "Morality doesn't pay bills"
I felt something snap.
"My father died because of him"
"And?" she said coldly. "That doesn't change the law"
I stared at her, disbelief flooding my veins. "You're heartless"
"No" She replied. "I'm realistic. You confuse emotion with righteousness"
"James Bron is a murderer" I said through clenched teeth. "And helping him makes you complicit"
She laughed softly. "I'm not helping him. I'm defending him. Learn the difference"
Our voices rose.
The air thickened.
"You always hide behind the law" I accused. "Because it gives you power"
"And you hide behind grief" she shot back. "Because it gives you purpose"
That one hurt.
I staggered back half a step.
"You wanted my father dead" I whispered.
She didn't deny it.
She only said, "He made choices"
Something inside me broke into anger. "Watch your mouth"
"Or what?" She challenged. "The truth hurts?"
I stepped closer. "James Bron is evil"
"I'd defend anyone the law assigns me" She replied. "That's how this works. Not your emotional crusade"
"You're corrupt" I hissed.
She smirked. "And you're predictable. Always chasing justice when what you really want is blood"
I clenched my fists. "Helping a murderer makes you just as guilty"
She laughed again, slower this time. "No. It makes me successful"
I stared at her, disgust flooding my veins. "Why did you choose to be his lawyer?"
She took a sip of coffee. "Why should I tell you?"
"Because history will remember who chose justice" I said bitterly.
She leaned closer. "History only remembers winners. And if I lose this case, I lose my career which I know you'd love"
"You're the worst" I whispered.
She shot back. "James Bron is not the court's problem. He's your personal nightmare"
Rage flooded me—hot, uncontrollable.
Our voices rose. Words turned sharp. Accusations cut deep. It stopped being professional,it became personal. Old rivalry. Old hatred. Years of resentment spilling out in one explosive clash.
I stepped back, shaking with fury.
"I will bring the devil down" I said, staring straight into her eyes. "And when I do, you'll taste your own medicine"
Her eyes hardened. "Then don't come crying to me when you fail"
I turned and walked out before she could say another word.
My hands trembled as I stepped outside. Anger. Betrayal. Determination. They all tangled together.
James Bron thought he was untouchable.
Acadia thought she was in control.
They were wrong.
And I would make sure of it.