5. A Dangerous Awakening
A Dangerous Awakening
Damian
I wake with one objective.
Valentina.
The dream fades instantly, but the information remains crystal clear. I don’t waste a second—I push myself up, already reaching for my phone.
I don’t need noise. I need precision.
I dial, my voice sharp the moment the line picks up. “We move tonight.”
A pause. Then, “Confirmed. What’s the approach?”
“Silent.” I push off the bed, already dressing. No chaos. No unnecessary deaths. “We go in and out. No alarms, no bodies left behind.”
Another pause. Then, “Understood. I’ll assemble the team.”
I hang up.
The Berettis won’t see this coming.
By the time they realize Valentina is gone, we’ll be ghosts.
The night is quiet. Too quiet.
We move through the darkness, shadows slipping between cracks in the concrete. The hideout looms ahead—isolated, forgotten by the world.
Perfect for men who want to disappear.
I signal my team, two fingers pointing forward. We split, flanking the building. The side entrance is unguarded—reckless oversight.
Or a trap.
I don’t second-guess. We breach, weapons low, silencers locked in place.
Inside, the air is stale, thick with the scent of damp stone. Every step is calculated, every breath measured.
Still, something feels wrong.
Where the hell is everyone?
I push forward. We need to find Valentina.
The silence is absolute.
We move deeper into the hideout, our steps calculated, shadows among shadows. The stillness isn’t just unsettling—it’s wrong.
I signal my men to slow. Stay sharp.
The Berettis are brutal, but they aren’t careless. And yet, no one has sounded an alarm.
We reach a corridor where the walls narrow, the air thicker, colder. At the end—reinforced doors. The first locked passage we’ve encountered.
This is it.
I hold up a fist. My men freeze.
No one speaks, but the message is clear. Controlled approach. No mistakes.
Enzo steps forward, pressing his ear to the door. A breath. A shift of weight. Someone is inside.
I nod. Two guards, no more.
I step back, grip tightening around my silencer. We go in clean.
One of my men moves to the side panel, tools already working the lock. A heartbeat passes. Then, a soft click.
The door swings open without a sound.
We move.
The first guard doesn’t have time to react. Enzo is on him instantly, a blade sliding between his ribs—silent, clean.
The second stirs, reaching for his weapon—I put two rounds in him before his fingers even graze the handle.
Done.
I exhale, scanning the room. No alarms. No reinforcements.
And then—a soft, uneven breath.
I turn.
Valentina.
She’s bound to a chair, wrists raw from the restraints. Her breathing is shallow, but she’s alive.
I move forward, crouching before her. Her eyes flicker, unfocused, not yet registering me.
“Valentina,” I murmur, my voice low, steady. “Can you hear me?”
A sluggish blink. Then, recognition flickers. Barely.
Her lips part, dry and cracked. She swallows hard, her voice hoarse.
“Who… who are you?”
Something isn’t right.
I scan Valentina’s face, searching for signs of injury, of trauma. There’s none.
No bruises, no visible wounds. Only exhaustion.
I pull a knife from my belt and slice through the ropes at her wrists. She flinches but doesn’t fight me. The bindings fall away, leaving red, irritated skin, but nothing worse.
I glance at Enzo. His expression mirrors my own confusion.
She wasn’t beaten. She wasn’t tortured.
She was left here.
Why?
Valentina’s fingers twitch as I carefully untangle the restraints from her ankles. She sways slightly, barely holding herself upright.
I grip her shoulders, steadying her. “Can you walk?”
She blinks up at me, her breathing unsteady. Then—a small, weak nod.
I stand, lifting her carefully. She’s lighter than she should be—like she hasn’t eaten in days.
Another piece that doesn’t fit.
This was too easy.
I signal to Enzo. “We’re done here. Move.”
Enzo leads the way, scanning for movement as we navigate through the warehouse’s skeletal hallways. Valentina leans against me, her steps sluggish, unsteady.
Every instinct in my body tells me to hurry.
Not because we’ve been compromised—but because this was too easy.
We slip through the same route we entered, keeping to the shadows. The night air is thick with dampness, the faint scent of rain still clinging to the concrete.
No sirens. No alarms. Nothing.
We reach the back of the compound. The extraction vehicle is waiting—a dark SUV, engine running. My men fan out, ensuring the perimeter is clear before we move.
Then we hear movement. Not near the entrance. Farther. In the distance. Watching.
My grip tightens around Valentina.
I scan the darkness, my pulse a steady drum. Too far to make out details. Too close to be ignored.
Who the hell is watching us?
Enzo shifts beside me, murmuring under his breath. “You see it?”
“Yeah.”
We hold position for half a second longer. No movement. No approach.
Whoever they are, they don’t want to be seen.
I don’t have time to figure it out.
“Move,” I order.
Enzo helps Valentina into the vehicle. I take one last look at the darkness behind us, my grip flexing against the weight of my gun.
Then, I climb in.
The door shuts. The vehicle pulls away.
The SUV cuts through the night, the city lights a distant blur beyond the tinted windows.
Valentina leans heavily against the seat, her breathing slow, controlled—but she’s still not speaking.
I watch her, scanning her body again for any signs of injury. Nothing.
No bruises. No wounds. No visible reason why she was taken.
Across from me, Enzo glances up, breaking the silence. “She’s stable.”
“For now.” I shift my gaze back to Valentina. “But something isn’t adding up.”
Enzo exhales, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee. “We got in and out clean. No alarms tripped. If anyone finds that place, all they’ll see is a missing prisoner and two dead men.”
That’s not what concerns me.
I lean forward slightly, resting my elbows against my knees. That shadow outside the hideout—someone was watching.
They weren’t armed, at least not that I could tell. They didn’t follow. So what the hell were they doing there?
Valentina stirs.
I shift toward her. “Valentina.”
Her lashes flutter, her expression hazy. Her lips part slightly, like she’s searching for words. But nothing comes.
I exhale, pushing down the irritation burning beneath my skin. “We’ll get her somewhere safe. Then we’ll get our answers.”
Because right now, we don’t have nearly enough of them.
The safe house is quiet, the air heavy with tension.
I stand near the window, watching the city stretch beyond the glass. Enzo moves in the background, checking exits, ensuring security. No unnecessary risks. No mistakes.
Behind me, the rustle of sheets.
I turn.
Valentina shifts, her body sinking deeper into the plush couch. She stirs, blinking up at the ceiling like she’s trying to orient herself.
Then, slowly, she sits up.
I cross the room in two strides. “Valentina.”
She tenses at my voice. Too sharply.
Her gaze snaps to me, and for a moment—just a fraction of a second—I expect relief. Recognition. Something.
But there’s nothing.
Just confusion.
She swallows, her voice hoarse. “Who—?” Her breath catches. “Who are you?”
I go still.
Enzo stops pacing. The room feels smaller, heavier.
I lean forward slightly, my voice even. “Damian.”
Valentina’s brow furrows, her hands clenching into fists against her lap. She’s searching, trying to place the name, the face. But it’s not there.
“What do you remember?” I ask.
Silence.
She presses her palm against her forehead, frustration tightening her features. “I—I don’t know.”
Enzo steps closer. “Nothing at all?”
She inhales shakily. “I was… at home.” A flicker of something crosses her face. “I think. And then…” Her fingers tighten against her temples. Her breath quickens.
“And then—nothing.”
I exchange a glance with Enzo.
Valentina doesn’t remember being taken.
Doesn’t remember the hideout.
Doesn’t remember anything.
She’s still trying to piece everything together.
Her fingers press against her temples, brows furrowing as she blinks rapidly, her mind searching for something solid to hold onto.
I don’t let the silence drag.
“You were taken,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “You don’t remember because they drugged you.”
Her breath hitches.
Enzo steps forward slightly, but I raise a hand, signaling him to hold back. She doesn’t need pressure. She needs clarity.
“You’re safe now,” I continue. “That’s what matters.”
She swallows hard, her throat working around the words she can’t seem to form.
I crouch in front of her, making sure she meets my eyes. “My name is Damian. I found you before worse could happen.”
Something flickers across her expression—uncertainty, recognition.
Her lips part slightly, like she’s trying to place me in the blur of her fractured memory.
Then, understanding settles in.
She doesn’t speak, but I see it in the way her shoulders relax. The way some of the tension leaves her frame.
I push myself back up, exhaling slowly. “You’re safe now,” I repeat.
For now.