Chapter 16
Isla
I'd been planning to leave.
The thought had kept me awake for three nights straight, circling my mind like a vulture.
That morning, while Leo ate his dinosaur-shaped pancakes, I searched "apartments Queens affordable" on my phone.
Looked at train schedules. Calculated how far my savings would take us if I walked away from the job, from the penthouse, from Cassian.
From the man who killed people when it was "necessary."
But Leo had laughed at something—syrup on his nose, maybe—and Cassian had smiled. A real smile, soft and unguarded, the kind I'd only seen him give our son. And I'd closed the browser tab, hating myself for the weakness but unable to deny it.
I didn't know what I felt anymore. Fear, certainly. Anger at being trapped. But underneath, something more complicated. Something that whispered, maybe, and what if, when I watched Cassian build block towers with Leo's complete trust shining in his eyes.
"Mama, go park? Wanna swing. Really high!"
I glanced toward Cassian's office. The door was closed, had been since his morning call with Marco. Something about the docks, about Matteo, about threats I couldn't quite hear but felt in the tension of his shoulders.
"I don't know, baby. Maybe we should stay here today."
"But Mama!" His lower lip jutted out in that expression that always undid me. "You said!
I had promised. And the thought of spending another afternoon trapped in this gilded cage made my chest tight. The security team would follow us. Cassian had made that non-negotiable. But at least we'd be outside, breathing air that didn't taste of secrets and violence.
"Okay," I said, ignoring the unease curling in my stomach. "Go get your jacket. The blue one with the dinosaurs."
Leo's squeal of delight made me smile despite everything.
Twenty minutes later, we stepped into the October afternoon.
The air was crisp, with that sharp bite that promised winter was just weeks away.
Trees lined the street, leaves turning gold and crimson.
Two bodyguards flanked us at a discreet distance—Marcus, the younger one who always snuck Leo cookies, and another man whose name I didn’t know.
Leo ran ahead to the playground, his small legs pumping with excitement. I followed more slowly, hyperaware of every person we passed, every car that slowed at the curb.
You're being paranoid, I told myself. Cassian's security is good. Nothing will happen.
But the unease didn't fade.
Leo made a beeline for the swings, climbing into the seat with practiced ease. "Push me, Mama! Push me high!"
I moved behind him, pushing gently at first, then higher as he demanded. His laughter rang out, pure and uncomplicated, and for a moment I could almost forget the danger that supposedly circled us.
"Higher! Touch da sky!"
"That's pretty high, baby. You sure?"
"Yes. Big like Cass'an!"
The words hit harder than they should have. Big like Cassian. Strong like Cassian. Already, my son was modeling himself after a man who admitted to killing people. A man who ran a crime family.
A man who looked at Leo like he was the answer to every question Cassian had never known to ask.
I pushed higher, watching Leo's dark curls fly in the wind, when Marcus's voice cut through my thoughts.
"Ma'am, we need to go. Now."
I turned, registering the tension in his posture, the way his hand hovered near his hip. "What's wrong?"
"Please, Ms. Quinn. Back to the car."
Before I could respond, tires squealed against pavement. A black van screeched to a halt directly beside the playground, so close I could have touched it.
Everything happened too fast and too slow at once.
The side door flew open. Three men in black ski masks jumped out.
"Leo, run!" I screamed, lunging toward the swing.
Marcus moved to intercept, his gun already drawn. "Get down!"
The first shot cracked through the air like thunder. Marcus stumbled backward, red blooming across his chest. He fired back even as he fell, and one of the masked men crumpled.
The other bodyguard was running toward us, shouting into his radio. Another shot. He went down.
Time splintered into fragments of horror.
I grabbed Leo from the swing, his scream piercing my ears as I tried to run. But hands seized me from behind, fingers digging into my arms.
"No!" I twisted violently, kicking backward. My heel connected with something solid. A grunt of pain.
Another man grabbed Leo, trying to wrench him from my arms. "Let go of the kid!"
"Don't touch him!" I clawed at the mask, felt my nails catch fabric and skin underneath. The man howled, but his grip didn't loosen.
Leo was sobbing, his small body trembling against mine. "Mama! Mama!"
"I've got you, baby. I've got—"
Something sharp pricked my neck. A needle. I kept fighting even as my limbs began to feel heavy, distant, like they belonged to someone else.
"Leo—" My voice sounded wrong, slurred. "Run—"
The man ripped Leo from my arms. My son's terrified face was the last thing I saw clearly, his mouth open in a scream I could barely hear anymore.
"Mama! Mama!"
I reached for him, but my arms wouldn't work. The world tilted sideways. Pavement rushed up to meet me, the impact distant and muffled.
Darkness crowded my vision. Through the haze, I saw Marcus lying in a spreading pool of red, not moving. The other guard wasn't moving either.
Are they dead? Did they die trying to protect us?
Strong arms lifted me. Carried me. The van door slammed shut, cutting off the sounds of Leo's screams.
Then nothing.
Cold.
The first sensation was bone-deep cold seeping through my clothes, through my skin, into my bones.
I tried to move and couldn't. My wrists were bound behind me, zip ties cutting into skin. My head throbbed where it had hit something—the van floor? The ground?
I forced my eyes open, blinking against disorientation. Darkness surrounded me, so complete I couldn't tell if my eyes were actually open or closed. Gradually, shapes emerged. Bare walls. Concrete floor. A bucket in the corner.
No windows. A single metal door with light seeping through the crack underneath.
"Leo?" My voice came out as a croak. "Leo!"
Silence answered.
I struggled to sit up, my head spinning with the effort. Every muscle ached, my neck burning where the needle had jabbed. How long had I been out? Minutes? Hours?
"Leo!" I screamed louder, the sound echoing off the concrete. "Where's my son?!"
The door remained closed. No footsteps. No response.
Panic clawed up my throat, threatening to choke me. Leo was gone. Those men had taken him, separated us. He was two and a half years old, terrified, calling for me—
No. Focus. You can't help him if you fall apart.
I forced myself to breathe, to think. The zip ties were tight but plastic. If I could find something sharp…
My eyes scanned the dim room. The bucket. The walls. Nothing.
Wait.
I maneuvered awkwardly onto my knees, then my feet, swaying as blood rushed from my head. Against the far wall, barely visible in the darkness, was a metal chair. Old. Cheap. The kind with exposed screws.
I stumbled toward it, nearly falling twice. When I reached it, I turned around and felt along the edge with my bound hands until I found what I needed—a rough edge where the metal had rusted, leaving a jagged point.
I positioned my wrists against it and began to saw. The angle was wrong, my arms screaming with the effort, but I kept going. The plastic bit into my skin as I worked, warm blood making my hands slippery.
Come on. Come on.
The zip tie snapped.
My hands flew apart, numb from restricted blood flow. I rubbed them together, wincing as sensation returned in painful prickles.
Free. At least my hands were free.
I moved to the door, pressing my ear against the cold metal. Voices, distant and muffled. Men talking, laughing. Nothing that told me where Leo was or if he was okay.
I tried the handle. Locked, of course.
I was backing away, looking for anything I could use as a weapon, when I heard it—faint but unmistakable.
A child crying.
"Leo," I breathed.
The sound came again, a little louder. It was him. It had to be him.
I pounded on the door with both fists. "Let me out! Where's my son? Let me see him!"
The crying stopped abruptly, as if someone had covered his mouth or moved him somewhere I couldn't hear.
"Leo!" I screamed until my throat was raw. "Leo, I'm here! Mama's here!"
Footsteps approached. The lock clicked.
I stepped back, heart hammering, hands curling into fists. If they opened that door, I'd fight. I'd claw and bite and do whatever it took to get to my son.
The door swung open. A man in a ski mask stood silhouetted against harsh fluorescent light. He was large, broad-shouldered, with a gun holstered at his hip.
"Shut up," he said, his voice flat and bored. "Or we gag the kid, too."
The threat froze me mid-breath. "Please. Please, I just need to know he's okay. Let me see him—"
"Boss's orders. You're separated until he decides otherwise." The man tossed something at my feet. A burner phone. "You got one call. Make it count."
The door slammed shut before I could respond. The lock clicked back into place.
I grabbed the phone with shaking hands. The screen was already lit, a video queued to play.
My finger hovered over the play button, terrified of what I'd see but more terrified of not knowing.
I pressed play.
Leo's face filled the screen. His cheeks were tear-stained, his eyes red and swollen from crying. He clutched his stuffed dinosaur—they must have grabbed it from the park—and looked so small, so frightened.
"Mama?" His voice was small, broken. "Want Mama."
"It's okay, little man," a voice said off-camera. Male, smooth, almost gentle. "You'll see your mama soon. Can you say hello to her?"
The camera panned out to reveal Leo sitting on a couch in what appeared to be a living room. Clean. Comfortable. Not a dungeon like mine.
"Mama," Leo cried. "Scared."
The video cut to black.
Then a new image: a man's face, handsome in a sharp, predatory way. Dark hair slicked back, expensive suit, smile that didn't reach his eyes.
I recognized him from photos I'd glimpsed in Cassian's office. The resemblance was unmistakable—the same strong jaw, the same intense gaze.
Matteo.
"Hello, Isla," he said, as if we were old friends. "I hope your accommodations aren't too uncomfortable. Consider them… motivation."
He leaned back in what looked like a leather office chair, completely at ease.
"Your son is safe. For now. He's being well cared for—toys, food, everything a little boy needs." His smile hardened. "Whether he stays that way depends entirely on Cassian."
My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles went white.
"It's quite simple. You want your son back? Tell Cassian to hand over the family business. All of it—the legitimate operations, the territories, the connections. Everything."
He leaned closer to the camera.
"You have his number now. When Cassian agrees to my terms, call me. You have twenty-four hours." His voice dropped, losing all pretense of civility. "After that, I start sending pieces of your son back to him. Starting with fingers."
The video ended.
I stared at the black screen, my entire body shaking. Not from fear—though that was there, cold and sharp. But from rage. Pure, molten rage.
They'd taken my son. Threatened to hurt him. Used him as leverage in whatever sick game Matteo was playing with Cassian.
I looked around the room with new eyes. The chair I'd used to cut my bonds. The bucket. The walls.
No windows. No obvious weapons. But there had to be something. Anything.
I moved to the chair and examined it more carefully. The legs were bolted to the floor, but the backrest was loose. I worked at it, ignoring the pain in my hands, until it came free with a screech of protesting metal.
One end was jagged where the weld had broken. Not much, but better than nothing.
I tucked it against the wall where it wouldn't be immediately visible and sat back down, forcing my breathing to steady.
Matteo thought I was just leverage. Just a frightened mother who would do whatever they wanted.
He was wrong.
I'd spent nearly two and a half years raising Leo alone—of figuring things out, of solving problems, of being everything my son needed. I'd fought for every dollar, every opportunity, every moment of stability.
I'd fight for this too.
Cassian would come. I knew that with absolute certainty. He'd move heaven and earth to get Leo back. And when he did, I'd be ready.
Ready to fight my way out if I had to. Ready to protect my son with everything I had.
Ready to show Matteo Barone that he'd made a fatal mistake when he took what belonged to Cassian Barone.
He thinks I'm just a mother, I thought, feeling the sharp edge of metal against my palm. He forgot I'm a fighter.