Chapter 19 Iwake up to the rumble of an engine and the taste of blood in my mouth. My head pounds where they hit me, and my hands are zip-tied behind my back. The van lurches over a pothole, and I bite back a groan. Stay calm. Assess. Plan. The panic wants to claw its way up my throat-memories of another kidnapping, waking up in that mansion. But this is different. I'm different. I'm Sofia Renaldi, and I've killed men who underestimated me. I crack my eyes open just enough to observe my captors. Three men in the back with me, driver up front. Military bearing, high-quality gear. They're not talking, which means they're disciplined. That makes them dangerous but also predictable. I memorize faces, note weapons, assess distances. The van has no windows in the back, but I can feel us turning. So I count the stops. We're somewhere in the city based on the traffic sounds. My zip-ties are tight but not impossible. I start working on them immediately, tiny movements disguised as unconscious shifting. I fall back on what I've learned-always be working toward escape, even when it seems hopeless. Especially when it seems hopeless. The van stops. They drag me out, and I let my body stay limp, playing unconscious while my mind races. Industrial area. Abandoned warehouse district. Perfect place to hold someone-or kill them. They carry me inside to what looks like an abandoned warehouse. Industrial lighting casts harsh shadows across concrete floors. The air smells of rust and old oil. They tie me to a chair with fresh restraints, tighter than the ones in the van, but I immediately start working on these too while keeping my head slumped forward. Dante. Through barely open eyes, I spot him about ten feet away, slumped in his own chair, zip-tied and unconscious. Blood crusts in his dark hair where they hit him. I think he's breathing. I take inventory quickly. Five guards that I can see, positioned around the warehouse floor. Automatic weapons, but they're relaxed-they think we're secured. Their mistake. The plastic of the restraints is starting to give. Another few minutes and I'll be free. But I keep my hands positioned so it looks like I'm still bound. This isn't the first time I've been bound, and I know it won't be the last. I need to let them think they have the upper hand while I gather information and plan my move. They see a captive. I see an opportunity. The click of heels on concrete announces her arrival before I see her. That blood-red dress. That predatory smile. Madame Rouge emerges from the shadows like a nightmare given form. "Well, well. The petite princess awakens." Her voice drips with venom and satisfaction. "Did you really think you could destroy my auction house and just walk away?" I keep my expression neutral, even as rage burns within me. "I was hoping you'd died in the fire." Her laugh is cold. "Disappointed? You cost me millions, chérie. Burned down a business I spent decades building. And for what? A few girls who were going to better lives anyway?" "Better lives?" The words come out sharper than I intended. "You were selling human beings." Madame Rouge shrugs, nonplussed. "I was providing a service. Supply and demand." She circles my chair like a shark. "But you...you had to play hero. Had to ruin everything with your American idealism." "I'm going to kill you," I say quietly. Matter-of-fact. The anger is so fierce I'm surprised my voice comes out steady. "Maybe not today, but someday. I'm going to put a bullet in your head and watch you bleed out." I can still hear Maisie's screams echoing in my head-the sound of that baton breaking her back while this monster watched like it was nothing. Beautiful, brave Maisie who died for nothing. Who was beaten like an animal while Madame Rouge stood there counting the cost of my defiance. "And when I do," I continue, my voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carries more menace than any shout, "I'm going to tell you it's for Maisie. So you know exactly why you're dying." Her laughter fills the warehouse. "Oh, you precious child. You think you're dangerous because you killed a few guards? Because you rescued some merchandise?" She leans closer, her perfume cloying. "I am going to break you so thoroughly that you'll beg me to sell you. And this time, there won't be any dashing rescue." I count her breathing. Note how she favors her left side-old injury, probably. See that she's wearing heels, which will slow her down. Five guards, but three are watching Dante, two watching me. Overconfident. All useful information. "You're probably wondering why you're still alive," she continues. "Why I didn't just put a bullet in your head back at that cabin." "The thought had crossed my mind," I admit. I need her to keep talking. "Because death would be too quick. Too merciful." Her smile turns honeyed. "I want you to understand exactly what you've cost me. What your little rebellion has destroyed. And then I want you to live with that knowledge for a very long time." The zip-tie finally gives. I keep my hands positioned behind my back, waiting for the perfect moment. Madame Rouge is still monologuing, gesturing grandly, completely absorbed in her own voice. "You see, the auction house wasn't just business-it was art. The careful selection, the preparation, the presentation. You destroyed something beautiful, something⁠-" I move. The chair goes backward as I launch myself forward, my freed hands going for the nearest guard's weapon. He's so surprised he barely reacts before I've disarmed him and put two bullets in his chest. The warehouse erupts into chaos. Gunfire explodes around me. I throw myself behind something-concrete, pillar-bullets sparking off the wall inches from my head. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I lean out, fire blind, pray I hit something. "Kill her!" Madame Rouge screams from somewhere in the maze of shipping containers. "Kill them both!" Three guards left. I can do this. The first one tries to flank me around a forklift. I'm waiting for him, putting a bullet through his throat before he can raise his weapon. The second comes from the right-I drop him with a shot to the head. The last guard is smart, using the shipping containers for cover, trying to pin me down with suppressing fire. Pfft. Amateur. I work my way around behind him, using the industrial equipment for concealment. When I emerge behind his position, he's still firing at empty air. "Looking for me?" I ask in a sing-song voice. He spins, weapon coming up, but I'm already pulling the trigger. He goes down hard. Silence. "Madame Rouge!" I call out, advancing through the warehouse. "Come out and play!" But she's gone. Vanished like the coward she is, probably through some back exit while I was dealing with her men. "Bitch," I mutter, but there's no time to track her down. Not with Dante still unconscious and more enemies potentially on the way. "Dante!" I rush to his chair, checking his pulse. Strong and steady. "Come on, wake up." He stirs as I cut his restraints, blinking groggily as consciousness returns. "Sofia?" His voice is rough. "What-where are we?" "Warehouse. We were kidnapped. I handled it." I help him to his feet, noting how he sways slightly. Definitely concussed. "We need to move. Now." "The others-" he starts weakly. "Dead. But Madame Rouge got away." I grab weapons from the fallen guards, making sure we're armed. "Can you walk?" "Yeah." He's steadier now, the soldier reasserting itself. "Exit?" "Working on it." We move through the warehouse carefully, checking corners, watching for additional threats. But it seems like the five guards were all they had on-site. Madame Rouge didn't expect me to break free. Her mistake. Near what looks like a loading dock, Dante spots something on the ground. "Our gear." Dante's phone, weapons, cash-everything they took from us at the cabin, dumped carelessly in a corner. I grab his phone immediately, but Dante shakes his head. "There won't be any messages. No one's taking digital risks anymore, Sofia." Fuck. He's right. "The safe house protocol," Dante says suddenly. "Mario drilled it into me years ago. If primary and secondary locations are compromised, there's a tertiary site." My heart leaps into my throat. Safety. Shelter. "Where?" "432 Park Avenue. Penthouse level. Access code is seven-seven-four-nine. He made me memorize it in case everything went to hell and we couldn't communicate." Dante barks out a laugh. "I can't believe I'm finally able to use it." I look at the bodies scattered around the warehouse, at the blood on my hands, at Dante's battered face. "Think we can trust it?" "Mario's paranoid enough to have backup plans for his backup plans," Dante says, shouldering his gear. "Remember, he was trying to outfox O'Connor for a time. If anyone's thought this through, it's him." We slip out of the warehouse through a service exit, weapons ready, but the industrial district is eerily quiet. Dawn is breaking over the city, painting everything in shades of gray and gold. Fuck, how long were we out for? A whole day? "We need transportation," I say, scanning the empty street. Dante spots a delivery truck parked behind a nearby building, keys hanging from the ignition. He tsks. "Careless." I grin. "Lucky for us." The drive through the city is tense. Every siren makes us jump, every black SUV could be hostile. But Mario's penthouse is in Midtown-neutral territory where the foot traffic and security cameras actually work in our favor. The building is one of those gleaming towers that scrapes the sky. All glass and steel and money. The kind of place where doormen don't ask questions as long as you look like you belong. "Penthouse," I tell the elevator operator, showing the access code Dante memorized. He nods without interest. "Top floor." The elevator ride feels endless, my ears popping as we climb. Dante's hand finds mine, steady and warm. We're almost there. Almost safe. The penthouse is fit for a DeLuca-luxury and security in equal measure. Floor-to-ceiling windows show the city spread out below us, but the glass is clearly bulletproof. The door has enough locks to secure a bank vault. Most importantly, it's empty. Safe. I collapse onto the leather sofa. My hands shake as I set down the weapons I've been carrying. We made it. Somehow, we made it. "Hey." Dante sits beside me, his hand gentle on my shoulder. "You okay?" "Define okay." I laugh, but it comes out shaky. "I just killed another five people. Madame Rouge got away. We were kidnapped from what was supposed to be a safe house. My therapist is going to have a fucking field day." I look at him, taking in the blood in his hair, the bruises forming on his face. "Are you okay? How's your head?" He shrugs. "I'll live." Ugh, men. "That's not what I asked." I turn to face him fully, my hands gentle as I examine his pupils. Even dilation, reactive to light. "Any nausea? Dizziness? Blurred vision?" "Just a headache." His hands cover mine where they rest against his face. "Sofia, what you did back there..." I wave it off. "Was necessary." "Was incredible." His voice is rough with something deeper than admiration. "You saved us. You saved me." My cheeks flame with embarrassment even though pride rushes through me. "You would have done the same." "But I didn't have to. You did." His thumb traces across my cheek, and I realize I'm crying. When did that start? "You were magnificent." The word hits me like a physical thing. Magnificent. Not brave or lucky or desperate. Magnificent. "Dante..." "I thought-when they took you, I thought..." He stops, swallows hard. "I couldn't protect you. I fucking failed and I thought I'd lost you." "But you didn't lose me." I cup his face in my hands, careful of his injuries. "I'm right here." "You are." His eyes are intense, burning. "You're here and you're safe and you're so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you." I don't know who moves first. Just that one moment we're staring at each other and the next his mouth is on mine. This kiss is different. Deeper. Desperate. His hands tangle in my hair as I press closer, needing him closer, always closer. We're both alive, both here, both safe for the first time in hours. When we break for air, his eyes are molten. "We should stop." I don't want to. "Should we?" Instead of answering, he pulls me back down, kissing me like a drowning man finding air. And this time, nothing interrupts us. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...