Laurel P.O.V
Poland felt colder than Italy.
Not just the weather,but the air itself, sharp and unforgiving like it knew I didn't belong here. By the time I stepped out of the taxi, my bones ached from exhaustion and fear. The city lights flickered weakly above narrow streets and the apartment building in front of me looked forgotten by time—cracked walls, dim stairwell, no security. Perfect.
Or so I thought.
I dragged my bag inside, my injured leg burning with every step. The hallway smelled of damp concrete and old paint. My heartbeat thundered louder than my footsteps as I climbed the stairs, counting every breath like it might be my last.
Room 3B.
I unlocked the door quickly, slipped inside and shut it behind me.
Relief flooded my chest for exactly two seconds.
Then I saw him.
Richardo was seated on the couch—relaxed, composed like he'd been waiting for a late-night guest. One arm rested casually along the backrest, his long legs crossed, his dark coat draped over his shoulders like a crown.
The room suddenly felt too small to breathe in.
My bag slipped from my fingers and hit the floor.
"You're late" He said calmly, his voice smooth and terrifyingly controlled.
I stumbled backward, my spine hitting the door. My hand fumbled behind me, searching for the handle, but I already knew it was useless.
"How…" My voice broke. "How did you find me?"
He tilted his head slightly,studying me like a chess piece that had made a foolish move.
"You crossed three borders" He said. "Changed flights. Paid cash. Slept in places you thought were invisible"
He stood up slowly.
"But you forgot something important"
Each step he took toward me felt like a countdown.
"You forgot who I am"
Fear crawled into my throat, choking me.
"I didn't come here to challenge you" I whispered. "I ran because I wanted to live"
His lips curved,not into a smile, but something colder.
"Running doesn't save people like you, Laurel"
He stopped inches away from me.
"I have eyes in airports. In hotels. In taxis. In police stations"
His voice dropped. "Even this building belongs to someone who answers to me"
My knees trembled.
"Did you really think Poland would hide you from me?"
I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes. "Let me go"
"I let you walk" He corrected. "That's not the same thing"
He reached out—not touching me—but close enough that I felt the heat of him.
"You escaped twice" He continued quietly. "Do you know what that means in my world?"
I swallowed.
"It means I'm curious"
That scared me more than anger ever could.
"I should've killed you" He said, almost thoughtfully. "Anyone else would already be buried"
He finally looked directly into my eyes.
"But you're still standing"
Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.
"I didn't come to beg" I said, forcing the words out. "If you're going to kill me—do it"
For the first time, something unreadable flickered across his face.
"Killing you would be easy" He said. "Ending this chase would be simple"
He leaned in slightly.
"But letting you believe you can keep running?"
His voice hardened.
"That would insult me"
He stepped back,straightening his coat like this was a business meeting.
"Pack your things" He ordered.
My heart sank.
"I'm not done with you"
The finality in his tone told me one thing with brutal clarity:
Poland wasn't my escape.
It was just another cage.
And Richardo had been holding the key the whole time.
Before I could move, the door burst open behind me.
Boots. Shouting. Heavy footsteps.
Richardo's men flooded the apartment like shadows with guns.
"Boss" One of them said urgently, "the FBI is on their way. Five minutes. Maybe less"
The word FBI hit me harder than any slap.
Richardo didn't panic.
He turned slightly,his eyes flicking to me.
"Take her"
Two men grabbed my arms instantly, rough and efficient.
I struggled. "Why am I the only one suffering?" I shouted at him, panic spilling over.
"My friends stole from you too!"
Richardo didn't answer.
He simply adjusted the expensive watch on his wrist—slow and precise before walking toward the entrance.
Two of his men moved ahead, guns raised.
Two stayed behind,dragging me along like I was the criminal here.
That was when everything exploded into chaos.
There was a sharp crash.
Glass shattered.
Something small rolled across the floor.
My heart stopped.
"DOWN!" someone yelled.
Richardo moved faster than I could process.
He yanked me toward him just as the explosion went off—noise, smoke and force threw us both behind the couch.
The world turned into sound.
Gunfire. Shouting. Orders being barked in languages I didn't understand.
I curled into myself, trembling, ears ringing, my heart trying to break out of my chest.
Richardo was already firing back, calm and lethal, using the couch as cover while pulling me tighter into the safest corner.
I didn't know where the bullets were coming from.
I didn't know who was shooting who.
All I knew was that Richardo's arm stayed around me the entire time.
Men in black moved through the apartment and dropped dead just as fast, disappearing from view.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Then I felt it.
That sharp instinct.
I opened my eyes just in time to see a man at the window, aiming directly at me.
I couldn't scream.
I couldn't move.
The shot never came.
Instead, he fell instantly dead.
A single precise hit.
I looked up and saw a woman in an FBI uniform.
She lowered her weapon and rushed toward Richardo.
"Retreat" She whispered urgently. "Now"
Richardo glanced at her, then at me.
"Get her out" He ordered. "Somewhere safe"
My head snapped up. "No—I'm not going with—"
"You can stay with me" Richardo snapped, firing again without looking,
"and witness the chaos if you're strong enough"
The FBI woman grabbed my arm. "Move!"
Two of Richardo's men appeared beside us, covering our escape.
Bullets hit walls. Furniture splintered. The apartment was falling apart.
I stumbled. Nearly fell.
Someone shouted my name.
The FBI woman pulled me through the back door just as another shot whizzed past.
Outside, cold air hit my face.
I turned back.
Just once.
Richardo stood in the middle of it all—smoke, shadows, gunfire—commanding, fearless, terrifyingly alive.
For one horrifying moment, my heart betrayed me.
I didn't see a monster.
I saw a man who had dragged me out of death—twice.
A man who lived inside danger like it was home.
A man I should hate.
A man I was falling for.
A car screeched to a stop.
The door flew open.
I was pushed inside before I could protest.
The FBI woman slammed the door and ran back toward the chaos.
The car sped away.
I collapsed into the seat, hands shaking, breath uneven and running my fingers through my tangled hair just to remind myself I was still alive.
Why would anyone choose this life?
And worse—
Why did part of me want to run back into it?