Chapter 19
Nita
Happiness crept up on me like it didn’t want to spook me.
It showed up in small, quiet ways. In the way I woke up smiling for no reason. In how my shoulders stayed relaxed through meetings that would’ve once had me braced for impact. In the way my apartment felt warmer, fuller, like someone had rearranged the air.
I was the happiest I had ever been.
That truth startled me every time I acknowledged it. Because nothing about my life on paper had changed. Same job. Same city. Same routines. Same carefully constructed independence I had worn like armor for years.
Except Dante.
Long distance was harder than I wanted to admit.
I missed him in ways that surprised me. I ached for him in moments that felt stupidly domestic.
When I reached for a mug and remembered how he always warmed his hands around his coffee first. When I folded laundry and caught myself glancing at the doorway like he might walk through it, jacket slung over his shoulder, that half-smile he wore when he thought I was being too serious.
Every call helped.
And every call made the absence of his physical presence worse.
We talked every night. Sometimes long, sometimes just enough to hear each other breathe. He never pushed for more. Never pressed for definitions. He showed up exactly as promised, steady and present even from miles away.
That steadiness scared me. Because it made me want things I had trained myself not to need. Things I had given up hoping for.
Saturday was for my nieces.
Char dropped them off just after nine, both girls vibrating with energy, hair in braids with mismatched beads they had picked for themselves, sneakers already half-unlaced because patience was not their strong suit.
“Aunt Nita!” Elaina, the five-year-old shrieked, launching herself into my legs like a missile.
I laughed, steadying myself. “Good morning to you too.”
Jaihova, three-year-old followed more cautiously, arms up, eyes bright. “Park?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “Park.”
That earned cheers loud enough to wake the neighbors.
We spent the day doing all the things that reminded me life existed outside conference rooms and security clearances.
Swings and slides. Sticky fingers from ice cream. Juice boxes that somehow always leaked. The kind of laughter that came from the belly, unfiltered and pure.
At one point, while they chased pigeons with wild abandon, I sat on a bench and checked my phone.
A text from Dante waited.
Dante: You look happy today.
I frowned slightly, then smiled.
Nita: How would you know that?
A pause.
Dante: Call it a guess.
I glanced up at the park, at my nieces mid-squeal, then typed back.
Nita: You’re right. It’s a good day.
I dropped them back at Char’s in the early evening, both girls half-asleep, sugar crashes imminent. Char hugged me long and tight.
“You look good,” she shared softly.
“I feel good,” I admitted.
Her smile was knowing but not intrusive. “I’m glad.”
So was I. Home felt quiet after that. The good kind of quiet. I showered, changed into soft sleep clothes, and curled up on the couch with my phone balanced against a pillow.
Dante called right on time.
“Hey,” he said, voice low and familiar.
“Hey,” I replied, smiling despite myself.
We talked about nothing. The girls. His day. A stupid movie he half-watched. The sound of his voice soothed something deep in me, even as it sharpened the longing.
“I miss you,” I admitted before I could stop myself.
He didn’t tease me. Didn’t make light of it. “I know,” he replied quietly. “I miss you too.”
That simple acknowledgment meant more than any promise could’ve.
“I’m heading to bed,” I gave way to eventually, yawning as the fatigue washed over me.
“Lock your door,” he reminded me.
“I always do.”
“Check it.”
I smiled. “I checked it.”
“Good,” he affirmed. “Sleep.”
“You too.”
The line went quiet. I went to bed wrapped in the echo of his voice, my body heavy with contentment and exhaustion. Sleep came quickly, deep and dreamless.
Until it didn’t.
A sound pulled me out of it—sharp, wrong.
I lay still, heart pounding, listening. Another sound. A soft metallic click. Not loud. Deliberate.
Adrenaline flooded my system, cold and fast.
I slid my hand under my pillow where my phone lived, fingers closing around it without turning the screen on. The apartment was dark, the kind of dark that pressed in on you, every shadow suddenly suspicious.
I told myself it was nothing.
I told myself it was the building settling.
Then I heard it again.
Closer.
I moved slowly, every step deliberate, padding out of the bedroom barefoot, my pulse roaring in my ears. The living room loomed ahead, bathed in faint streetlight bleeding through the curtains.
That’s when I saw him.
Masked. Dressed in dark clothes. Standing near my door like he belonged there.
The gun was already raised.
Time slowed.
“Don’t scream,” he instructed calmly. “Do exactly what I tell you, and you won’t get hurt.”
My mouth went dry. My hands shook, but I kept them visible, raised slightly, palms open.
Okay, Nita. Breathe. Think. Overreactions got people killed. Playing it smart allowed me a chance to keep breathing.
“I won’t scream,” I agreed, forcing my voice steady.
“Good,” he replied. “Grab your coat. Shoes.”
I did as instructed, my movements careful, deliberate. Every training instinct screamed at me to memorize details—height, build, voice—but the mask obscured too much. He planned this. And planned it well.
He backed toward the door, gun never wavering. “Phone stays here.”
I hesitated.
“Now.”
I set it down on the table.
He opened the door and gestured. “Move.”
The hallway was silent. Empty. My heart hammered with every step as he guided me toward the back stairs. Smart. No cameras there once we got to the bottom.
The night air hit me like a slap as we stepped outside.
His car waited at the curb, engine idling. He opened the passenger door, motioning me in.
I slid into the seat, every nerve on fire. He restrained my wrists with ziptie cuffs. I fought to keep my anxiety at bay. Panicking right now wouldn’t help.
As he drove off, the city lights receding into darkness, my thoughts spiraled. I tried to count the stop lights, or gage the miles. But my mind was all over the place. All my training left because my brain and my heart wouldn’t stop thinking of the people I loved.
Dante.
Char.
The girls.
The only thing I could cling to was the hope—thin but vital—that my doorbell camera had caught something. A face. A car. A license plate.
Something.
As the city disappeared behind us and the night swallowed the road ahead, I closed my eyes for a brief second and held onto one thought like a lifeline.
Please. Let someone find me
The car ride felt endless, even though I knew—objectively—that it couldn’t have been.
Time warped when fear took over. Every turn stretched too long.
Every stoplight felt like a countdown to something worse.
I focused on breathing evenly, on not giving him the satisfaction of panic, on staying present enough to remember details later—sounds, turns, the way the road changed from smooth pavement to something rougher beneath the tires.
Eventually, the city thinned out. Streetlights gave way to darkness. The hum of traffic faded into nothing but the engine and my own heartbeat.
When the car finally stopped, my muscles were shaking from holding myself together.
“Out,” he ordered.
I obeyed.
The air smelled different here, damp, earthy, old. A door opened somewhere ahead of me, metal groaning softly, and then we were moving again, down a short set of steps, the temperature dropping with each one.
A basement.
The light flicked on with a harsh buzz, revealing concrete walls stained with age and moisture. Exposed pipes. A single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. No windows.
My stomach dropped.
He guided me to the center of the room where a thick metal post had been bolted into the concrete floor.
Without ceremony, he produced a length of chain and a padlock.
My wrists were already numb as I extended them for him to bind me somehow.
Except he surprised me when he looped it around my ankle instead—tight enough to be secure, loose enough that I could move a few feet in either direction.
Just enough rope. Just enough mercy to pretend this wasn’t what it was.
“There,” he said. “You’ve got room.”
I followed his gaze. A bucket with a toilet seat snapped onto the top sat a few feet away. Nearby, folded with deliberate care, was a thin blanket and a single pillow.
The details were almost worse than the threat. This wasn’t chaos. This was preparation.
“Sit,” he instructed.
I lowered myself to the concrete, the cold seeping instantly through the thin fabric of my night clothes. My ankle tugged against the chain, the sound loud in the quiet room. I forced myself not to flinch.
He crouched in front of me, eyes unreadable behind the mask. “You do what you’re told, you eat. You drink. You stay alive.”
Alive.
The word echoed long after he stood and walked away. The light clicked off. A door shut. A lock slid into place.
Darkness swallowed the room. I didn’t move for a long time.
My body trembled now that I was alone, the adrenaline crashing hard. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to keep warmth in, trying to keep my mind from splintering.
Okay. You’re here. You’re alive. You think. I tested the chain carefully. Solid. No give. The post didn’t budge. The concrete floor felt like ice beneath me.
I unfolded the blanket, laid it out as best I could, placed the pillow at one end. It was a kindness I didn’t trust, but I wasn’t foolish enough to refuse what little comfort was offered.
I didn’t lie down.
Not yet.
I sat with my back against the post, knees pulled to my chest, listening to the sounds of the building settling above me. A faint drip somewhere. The low hum of electricity. Maybe footsteps, or maybe my imagination filling in gaps.
My mind raced despite my efforts to slow it.
Someone knew.
That thought circled endlessly.
This wasn’t random. This wasn’t opportunity. This was targeted. Someone had known where I lived. Someone had known when I was alone. Someone had been watching long enough to plan.
And that meant—Dante was in danger too.
The image of his face flashed behind my eyes, sharp and immediate. His voice. His insistence on safety. His warning instincts that I half-dismissed because I didn’t want to live in fear.
I swallowed hard.
I didn’t want him hurt, but I also knew he would be aware of my absence soon enough. I knew that in my bones. He paid attention. Dante didn’t wait. He didn’t hope. He acted.
Which meant I had to do my part.
Stay alive.
Stay aware.
I cataloged everything I could remember. The drive. The turns. The sounds. The smell of the basement. The chain’s weight. The way the man spoke—controlled, calm, practiced.
Not panicked.
Not impulsive.
That scared me more than rage would have.
I hugged the blanket around my shoulders but didn’t lie down. Sleep was vulnerability. Sleep meant losing time. Losing awareness.
And right now, awareness was the only weapon I had.
I rested my head against the cold metal post, eyes open in the dark, listening.
Waiting.
And praying—quietly, fiercely—that somewhere, someone had seen something.
That the camera had worked.
That the man who did this for whatever reason left a trail behind him.
Because I wasn’t ready to disappear.