Chapter 8
Sophie
Blood pooled in my mouth. I turned my head and spat it onto the concrete floor, adding to the growing crimson stain beneath my chair. The metallic taste lingered on my tongue as I glared up at the man who'd just backhanded me.
"That the best you got?" I rasped, forcing my split lips into something resembling a smile.
The thug—I'd mentally named him Knuckles for the brass accessories adorning his fingers—cracked his neck and circled behind me.
"You got a death wish, lady?" he growled in my ear.
I didn't flinch. "Just bored with your technique."
The punch to my kidney sent lightning bolts of pain through my lower back. I bit down hard on my cheek to keep from screaming, refusing to give them the satisfaction. My wrists burned against the zip ties cutting into my skin, but I kept my face neutral, breathing through the waves of agony.
Don't show weakness. Don't break.
I'd been here for hours—three, maybe four.
Time blurred between beatings. They'd stripped me of my watch, my shoes, anything I could use as a weapon.
The warehouse smelled of mildew, motor oil, and rust. Massive textile machines loomed like prehistoric skeletons in the shadows.
High windows let in slivers of fading daylight. Evening was approaching.
"Boss wants you conscious when Ricci shows," said the second man, a wiry guy with a face like a ferret. "So take a breather."
They retreated to the far corner of the room, leaving me alone with my pain.
I closed my eyes, taking inventory of my injuries.
Bruised ribs. Split lip. Swollen cheek. Nothing broken—yet.
They were professionals, knowing exactly how to hurt without causing permanent damage.
I was merchandise, after all. Damaged goods were worth less.
A wave of nausea rolled through me, different from the pain-induced kind.
My baby.
Fear clutched at my throat, sharper and more visceral than any physical pain.
Not just for myself anymore. For the tiny life inside me—innocent and unaware of the violence surrounding it.
I'd never considered myself maternal. Never even thought about having children.
But now, facing the very real possibility of death, the need to protect this child consumed me.
"We're going to be okay," I whispered, so softly even I could barely hear it. "I promise."
Another wave of nausea hit, stronger this time. I closed my eyes, willing it away through sheer force of will. I couldn't throw up here, tied to this chair. I'd choke. Die ignominiously, drowning in my own vomit while these animals watched.
The baby. Focus on the baby.
My mother had abandoned me when I was eight. Just walked out one day and never came back, leaving me with a father who drowned his sorrows in whiskey and channeled his rage through his fists. I'd sworn I'd never be like her. Never leave a child to face the world alone.
"I will not die here," I whispered to my unborn child. "You will not grow up without a mother. I will get us out."
The warehouse door slammed open. Sunlight briefly flooded the space before the heavy metal door swung shut again. The silhouette of a man appeared, flanked by two larger shadows. As they approached, I straightened in my chair, ignoring the screaming pain in my sides.
"So this is the famous Sophie," said a voice dripping with artificial charm. "The woman who brought the mighty Vittorio Ricci to his knees."
Gianni Falco circled my chair slowly, like a jackal assessing wounded prey.
Hours of captivity had given me plenty of time to study my captor—smarmy, overdressed, with the faux confidence of a small man playing at being powerful.
Gold chains glinted at his neck. Rings adorned his stubby fingers.
His slicked-back hair revealed a receding hairline he was clearly fighting a losing battle against.
He circled my chair slowly, like a jackal assessing wounded prey.
"Not much to look at now, are you?" He grabbed my chin, forcing my face up. His breath smelled of cigars and cheap cologne. "But still, there must be something special about you. Ricci doesn't typically keep his whores around this long."
I spat in his face.
The backhand was expected, but no less painful. My head snapped to the side, stars exploding behind my eyes.
"Feisty," he chuckled, wiping his cheek with a monogrammed handkerchief. "I like that. Makes it more fun when you finally break."
"Fuck you," I managed through gritted teeth.
"Maybe later, if Ricci doesn't come through." His smile never reached his cold eyes. "He has six hours to deliver what I want. After that, I start mailing pieces of you back to him. One finger at a time. Antonio's paying me well to make sure his brother learns some respect."
He traced a line down my arm with his fingernail, pressing hard enough to leave a white trail on my skin.
"I had a girl once, about your age. Beautiful thing. Thought she was too good for me." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Took me three days to convince her otherwise. By the end, she was begging me to kill her."
Ice spread through my veins. This wasn't just business for him. This was pleasure.
"Vittorio will kill you," I said, voice steady despite the terror crawling up my spine. "He'll make it slow."
Falco laughed. "Vittorio Ricci's gone soft. Word is he's been distracted, making mistakes. All because of you." He leaned in close. "What's your secret, hmm? What kind of magic pussy you got that's worth ten million?"
I headbutted him.
The crack of his nose breaking was the most satisfying sound I'd heard all day. He stumbled back, blood pouring between his fingers as he clutched his face.
"You fucking cunt!" he screamed. "I'm going to—"
The distant pop of gunfire cut him off.
My heart leapt. Vittorio.
Falco's head snapped toward the sound. "Check it out," he barked at his men. "Now!"
The two thugs rushed out, leaving me alone with Falco, who was still cursing and dabbing at his bleeding nose.
More gunshots, closer now. Shouts. The heavy thud of boots on concrete.
Hope surged through me. I began rocking my chair, trying to make noise. The metal legs scraped against the concrete floor, creating a harsh grating sound.
"Vittorio!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "In here!"
Falco lunged forward, clamping his hand over my mouth. "Shut up!" he hissed, his eyes wild with panic.
I bit down on his fingers. Hard.
He yelped, jerking his hand away. I toppled my chair sideways, crashing to the floor. Pain exploded through my shoulder, but I kept screaming.
"Vittorio! Warehouse floor! I'm here!"
Falco kicked me in the side. Not hard enough to do serious damage, but enough to knock the wind from my lungs. I gasped, fighting for breath, terror for my baby overwhelming everything else.
No, no, no. Please be okay.
The gunfire intensified. Something exploded outside, the concussion rattling the warehouse windows. Falco pulled a gun from his waistband, his movements jerky with fear.
"Shut up, or I'll shoot you right now," he threatened, pointing the weapon at my head.
"Then you'll have nothing to bargain with," I wheezed.
His face contorted with rage. He raised the gun to pistol-whip me—
A commotion erupted from deeper in the warehouse. Angry voices, shouting in Italian. Then a gunshot—close, inside the building.
"What the hell—" Falco started, turning toward the sound.
Jonah stumbled into view, clutching his side. Blood seeped between his fingers, staining his tactical vest dark red. His young face was pale with shock and pain, but there was something else there, too—desperate fear.
"Boss, they're everywhere," he gasped. "Ricci's men, they're—"
"Shut up!" Falco snarled, raising his weapon. "You led them right to us, you worthless piece of shit!"
"No, I did everything you said! I gave you all the information—"
"And now they're here anyway!" Falco's finger tightened on the trigger. "You're a liability."
Understanding dawned in Jonah's eyes—the terrible realization that he'd traded his loyalty for nothing. That even after betraying Vittorio, even after giving Falco everything he'd asked for, he was still expendable.
"Please," Jonah begged. "I can still be useful. I know more about Ricci's operations—"
The gunshot echoed through the warehouse. Jonah's body jerked backward, a look of surprise frozen on his young face before he crumpled to the concrete floor.
I stared in horror as blood pooled beneath him, spreading across the cement floor like spilled paint. Even wounded, begging for his life, Falco had killed him without hesitation.
"That's what happens to people who disappoint me," Falco said conversationally, as if he hadn't just executed a man in cold blood. He turned back to me, his smile never wavering. "Take notes, sweetheart."
The message was clear—if Jonah, who had given Antonio everything, could be discarded so easily, what chance did I have?
Falco gestured to his remaining men. "Clean this up and get her back in position. We've got a new video to make."
Two men emerged from the shadows, grabbing my chair and roughly setting it upright. My head spun from the sudden movement, nausea threatening to overwhelm me again.
"Ricci thinks he's so smart," Falco continued, stepping over Jonah's body like it was debris. "But I'm always three steps ahead. His little spy gave me everything I needed—patrol routes, response times, tactical preferences. By now, half his rescue team is walking into my traps."
He gestured to one of the men, who handed him a phone. Falco turned the camera on me, his smile widening at whatever he saw on the screen.
"Say hello to your boyfriend," he taunted. "Tell him what happens when he thinks he can outsmart me."
I stared directly into the camera, summoning every ounce of defiance left in my battered body. In my peripheral vision, I could see Jonah's lifeless form—a reminder of how quickly loyalty could turn to betrayal, and how little that betrayal ultimately meant.
"You can't trust anyone," I said clearly, hoping Vittorio would understand the deeper meaning. "Even the people closest to you will sell you out for the right price."
Falco's hand connected with my face, cutting off my words. The world tilted sideways, darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision.
As consciousness slipped away, one thought burned through the haze of pain:
Jonah had chosen his side and paid the ultimate price for it. But his death proved something important—in Falco's world, everyone was expendable. Everyone was already dead; they just didn't know it yet.
Including me.