{ Mia }
As soon as my hand touched the other side of the door, the man inside yanked a walkie from his pocket and barked into it.
"Boss! The kidnapper has escaped! I repeat—the kidnapper is—"
Before he could finish, an angry, booming voice cut through the hallway.
"What the hell do you mean she's gone?! She was half dead when brought in!"
I froze, muscles trembling, suspended from the ceiling.
Poor guy… he might be in a world of trouble… Do I… take him with me? My thoughts raced, panic and calculation warring inside me.
"Let him go… Just leave… Save your—" Ash's voice rang sharply in my head before fading completely.
She's right… I have to leave… I whispered, more to myself than anyone.
I adjusted my grip, blood dripping from raw palms, and silently lowered myself down the wall. Every movement was careful, deliberate—my body screaming in protest.
The hallway stretched before me, dim and echoing with distant footsteps. I slid along the ceiling, shadowed and silent, heart hammering, praying the man wouldn't notice me.
I froze, halfway across the ceiling, when I saw him.
A man, tall and broad-shouldered, standing in the hallway below. His jaw was sharp, his cheekbones high, and his dark eyes burned with something I couldn't name—anger? Threat? Both? My stomach twisted, part fear, part… something else. He was terrifying, but I couldn't stop noticing how symmetrical his face was, how his strong hands flexed like they could crush steel, and yet… there was a magnetic pull to him.
Every instinct screamed to stay invisible, to move silently, but my blood betrayed me—a slow drop fell from my shredded wrist, landing on the top of his head.
He froze. Tilted his head. Sniffed.
I held my breath, pressed against the ceiling tiles, trying to disappear into the shadows. His gaze swept the room slowly, deliberately, like a predator circling a prey it knows is near. My pulse thundered.
Even like this, half-hidden, I noticed the way his lips tightened, how a crease formed between his brows, and… why did I feel my chest tighten?
Dangerous. Terrifying. And… impossibly compelling.
I had to move. Fast.
{ Enzo }
I froze, every instinct screaming, when I saw her—clinging to the ceiling like some impossible, daring shadow. My pulse roared in my ears, half fury, half disbelief. The girl was small, but her presence was enormous—bold, reckless, defiant. And yet… undeniably, almost maddeningly… cute.
My eyes roamed over her, and my chest tightened. Her wrists were raw, shredded—blood still smeared where she had fought the chains. Tiny puncture wounds from the bullets my men had fired peppered her arms and legs. Her hair hung damp and clinging to her face, streaked with sweat and grime. My heart ached, despite my anger, at the sight of her like this—bruised, battered, yet stubbornly alive.
I gritted my teeth. She had taken my niece, and every fiber of me wanted to tear her to pieces for it. But the fire blazing in her golden-brown eyes, the unyielding tilt of her chin… it both infuriated me and drew me in. How could someone so beaten, so bloody, radiate that kind of raw strength?
My hands moved before I even fully processed it. I reached up, grasping her leg and hauling her down. She tensed, struggling for balance, but she didn't scream—too stubborn, too alive, too fierce for that.
As I set her on the ground, my fingers lingering on her arms to steady her, I found myself struggling against a tide of conflicting emotions. Anger warred with fascination, duty with something dangerous and personal I couldn't name. "You think you can take her from me?" I hissed, voice low and rough, every syllable laced with fury.
And yet, even as my mind screamed at her, part of me couldn't tear my gaze away. Her defiance, her courage, her sheer audacity—it both enraged me and… captivated me.
My hands tightened on her arms, but I couldn't help noticing how small and fragile she felt in my grip. And yet… she wasn't fragile. Every inch of her screamed fight. The way her golden-brown eyes met mine—unflinching, defiant—made my teeth grind in frustration.
"Do you even know what you've done?" I growled, trying to push the flicker of… something else… out of my chest. Her head jerked slightly, and a drip of blood from her wrist fell onto my hand. I flinched—once from surprise, once from guilt. That tiny, defiant spark had cut deeper than any blade.
Her breathing was uneven, shaky but steady, and her lips quivered as if she wanted to say something. I could almost hear her thoughts: she wasn't afraid. She was daring me to make a mistake. My heart clenched, torn between the rage boiling inside me and the admiration I couldn't fight.
"You have no idea what you're messing with," I whispered, voice low, trying to remind myself she was dangerous—but the words sounded hollow even to me. My fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, and I hated myself for the tenderness I felt.
She wriggled, testing my hold, and a wry, almost amused smirk tugged at her lips. That smirk—so bold, so unbending—made my blood boil in a different way. She was infuriating, infuriatingly brave, and I had no idea whether to punish her or… protect her.
I tightened my grip slightly, but not enough to hurt her further. My jaw ached from holding back the roar of frustration, my chest tight with the conflicting ache of anger and something dangerously close to… care. Every beat of my heart screamed at me: she was mine to control, mine to stop—but I also wanted… something else.
The girl's leg brushed against my side, testing me. I growled, tightening my grip, yet couldn't pull away. Something about her—bold, defiant, unbroken—made my blood roar in ways I didn't expect.
And then… she blinked.
A faint, almost imperceptible pop echoed in the quiet room. Her brown eyes, the ones I'd been staring at, suddenly vanished. In their place, brilliant, piercing blue eyes stared back at me. My grip faltered, just slightly, and my chest tightened.
Before I could process it, her wig slipped. Golden strands tumbled over her shoulders, soft and bright against the dim light. I froze. My mind stuttered. She was… beautiful. Not the usual kind of dangerous beauty I'd seen a hundred times before. This was different—innocent yet fierce, helpless yet bold. And right now, she was both bleeding and taunting me with her audacity.
I cursed under my breath, hating that my body reacted before my mind could. Her wrists were raw, the chains and saw marks burning into her skin, blood smeared across her forearms. My chest ached at the sight. Every fiber of me wanted to punish, to demand answers, to protect her all at once.
She shifted again, testing me, inching her weight forward just enough that I felt her strength, her daring, her sheer defiance. My instincts screamed to grab her harder, to stop her from moving, yet another part of me wanted to pull her close and shield her from the world—including me.
"I can't… I can't let her…" I muttered under my breath, fighting the dual pull of rage and desire. My hands itched to act, yet every movement made my chest ache, each heartbeat pounding like a drum in my ears.
Her smirk, subtle but undeniable, widened, daring me. She had no idea who I was, didn't even know my name, yet she looked at me as though she owned this moment. And somehow… that made me even angrier. And more fascinated.
She leaned forward, testing the tension in my arms, her eyes—those impossible, shocking blue eyes—locking onto mine. My jaw clenched. I wanted to bark at her to stay still. I wanted to let my anger loose. But I couldn't. My heart, my mind, my very instincts were all in chaos.
The sight of her bruised, beaten form—wounds from my men's bullets, wrists raw from sawing through chains—hit me harder than I expected. My chest ached as if someone had struck me there. And yet… her audacity, her nerve, the way she challenged me with every small movement… it was maddening.
She tested me again, just a tiny shift, a nudge, a silent challenge. I wanted to growl, to take control, to make her obey. But a deeper, stranger pull in my chest told me I couldn't just act on fury. My hands tightened instinctively, yet I felt like I was losing—losing control, losing focus, losing reason.
And then, as if daring me further, she let her body lean just enough toward the edge, the smirk on her bloodied face promising she might slip away if I faltered.
I faltered.
My breath hitched. My mind spun. And for the first time, I realized just how dangerous she really was—not just for me, but for herself… and for me.