Bella ran blindly through the night, her legs trembling under Jessy's weight. Her lungs burned with each gasp, but the only sound she heard was the echo of her baby's cries and the pounding of boots behind her.
"Stop her!" a voice roared.
She cut through an alley, her feet scraping against gravel, her arms wrapped tightly around Jessy's small body. Her tears blurred the streetlights ahead. "Please, God... please don't let them take him."
Suddenly....silence.
She glanced back. The men had stopped, circling someone on the ground. Her stomach turned when she recognized Isabel. The old woman had thrown herself in their path again.
"Go!" Isabel shouted hoarsely, blood at her lips. "Don't look back, child....just run!"
The next sound that followed was a sickening crack. Bella's scream tore through the night, but she forced herself forward, stumbling, clutching Jessy like her life depended on it. Because it did.
Her heart broke as she whispered through tears, "I'm sorry, Isabel... I'm so sorry..."
At Joanna's Toronto home, Vera paced the living room restlessly. Her hands shook as she tried to pray, but her words faltered. It had been days since Bella vanished. Every passing second gnawed at her heart.
The knock at the door was sharp, urgent.
Joanna answered and froze.
Chris.
Vera stormed forward, her face twisted with fury. "How dare you show your face here! I thought I told you to leave!!!"
"I came came to Toronto for Bella. I knew her life was in danger. My men had been silently protecting. I don't know how they allowed her to be kidnapped," Chris said evenly, though his eyes betrayed desperation. "I know she's in danger. Let me help. My men are working"
"Help?" Vera spat, her voice rising. "Where was your help when my daughter was torn apart in front of the world? Where was your help when she begged for you?"
Chris's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Vera's voice broke, grief spilling out like fire. "She lost one of your children already. Don't you dare make her lose another!"
The room went silent. Joanna's hand instinctively tightened on her sister's shoulder, as if holding her back from collapsing.
Chris's chest rose and fell heavily. For a moment, he looked older, worn, haunted. He lowered his voice. "I'll never forgive myself for what happened. But I will not lose Bella. I will not lose our family again."
Vera blinked, confusion flickering at the word family.
Chris pressed on, his eyes hard now. "I have men tracking Clinton's network. They'll move her soon. I can stop this, but I need your trust. Just this once."
Vera wanted to scream, to throw him out. But the raw conviction in his voice rooted her to the spot. She turned away, hiding the tears threatening to fall.
Joanna studied Chris quietly. She had noticed the way his words lingered not just Bella, but family. There was something unspoken there, something deeper than even Vera realized.
Meanwhile, Bella stumbled onto a deserted street. Jessy was quiet now, his tiny breaths against her chest. She pressed her back to a wall, sliding down to catch her breath. Her body shook with exhaustion, but her mind clung to one truth she had to survive.
For him.
For Jessy.
And though she didn't know it yet for Chris.
Toronto's winter cut like glass. Chris stood on Joanna's porch until the door latched behind him, Vera's words still lodged under his skin like barbs.
She lost one of your children already. Don't you dare make her lose another.
He swallowed hard and stepped into the streetlight's cold circle. The phone buzzed.
"Talk," he said.
Elliot didn't waste breath. "We picked up a name off a street camera sweep Clinton. He's here. Landed under a shell alias, running point on a local crew. Same gait, same scar on the brow. It's him."
Chris's grip tightened. Clinton had once been the silent shadow behind his father. "Who's giving him orders?"
"Tracing..." Elliot paused, then exhaled like the answer tasted bad. "The money's tied to a private foundation routed through Karex. Board of three. One's a proxy. One is Cindy Frederick. The third Cassandra Hampson."
The night went very still.
"That's confirmation?"
"Paper trail and voice sample from a scrambled line. It's her, Chris."
His jaw flexed, but when he spoke, his voice was even. "Drop pins. I'll take one."
"Chris..."
"I said I'll take one."
He killed the call and slid into the waiting SUV. The heater hummed; he didn't feel it.
They caught the tail at Dundas, two men peeling off a dark Sprinter to smoke. Cheap leather, wrong shoes for the cold, the kind of stance that belonged to rented guns. Chris stepped from the alley shadow like a verdict.
"Which of you reports to Clinton?"
One smirked. The other reached. Chris moved first.
A palm to the wrist, twist, elbow into ribs bone and breath buckled. The second came in low; Chris's knee found his sternum, his fist the cheekbone. By the time the larger one recovered, he was looking into the flat, unblinking eyes of a man who'd run empires and enemies both.
"Hands where I can see them," Chris said quietly, and put the heavier one to the wall by the throat. "Where is she?"
"Who...."
The wall thunked once with his skull. "Say Bella again like you've never heard the name and I'll break your hand before I ask the next question. Where. Is. She."
"Warehouse," the one on the ground coughed. "Down near the port. Red bay door, no sign. We...we move her when she calls."
"She?" Chris asked.
The thug hesitated. Elliot's warning flashed through his head. He decided to spend one more bruise. He wrenched the man's finger until cartilage squealed.
"Cassandra!" the man blurted. "The old lady. The one who signs the bonuses. We don't say her name, alright? We just...we just do what Clinton says."
The shock didn't show on Chris's face; it detonated behind it. His mother's name in a hired mouth.
He let the man slide down the bricks, left both of them moaning in the alley, and walked back to the SUV like he was steady on a wire strung over fire.
"Elliot," he said, buckling in. "Portside. Red bay door. Scramble a soft team, no police, no sirens. And put Cassandra on a separate line. Any device she touches; I want it mirrored. If she draws breath, I want to hear it."
"On it," Elliot said. "Chris...you sure you want to hear it?"
"I'm long past wanting," Chris said, eyes on the shrinking gray city. "Now I need