Narrator’s Point of View

The wine in Rico’s glass dwindled, mirroring the emptiness inside him. Hours had slipped away, yet his blind date—Stephanie—remained absent. Rico's staff had gone home, leaving him alone in the dim glow of the restaurant. A solitary figure weighed down by the ache of singlehood.

He craved connection.

He craved a spark.

And for a fleeting moment, Stephanie had felt like the promise of something more.

But as the minutes dragged on, doubt whispered. Was she just another ghost in the night?

Rico's phone rang, slicing through his thoughts. His father’s name flashed on the screen. Rico braced himself for another tedious pitch about joining the family’s suffocating organization.

“Dad, what’s up?” he said, trying to keep his tone casual.

“I need to see you, son. It’s urgent,” his father's voice weighted with something unsaid.

“Why now, Dad?” Rico asked, pulse quickening.

“Come home and let’s talk,” his father urged, no room for argument.

“If this is about me joining your organization—”

“It’s about Scarlett,” his father cut in, stopping Rico cold.

The name hit like a thunderclap. His chest tightened.

“What happened to her?”

“Just come home. I need you now.” The plea trembled with an edge of desperation.

“Okay. Thirty minutes and I’ll be there,” Rico said quickly, ending the call.

Memories of his late mother’s last wish rushed in and her plea to protect Scarlett from their father’s enemies. The thought sent a storm crashing through him.

He had no choice.

He needed to get home.

The restaurant felt like a void. The air itself seemed to press down with dread. Stephanie’s absence was a shadow that lingered, leaving only unease in its wake.

Rico was about to leave when Joseph and Alesia rushed in, their faces pale with urgency.

“Where is she?” Alesia demanded, her voice sharp, brittle with fear.

Rico shrugged helplessly, his eyes flickering with an anxiety he couldn’t quite hide. “She’s just… not here.” The words sounded hollow, as though he didn’t believe them himself.

Stephanie’s bright smile haunted Alesia’s mind, her laughter still echoing in memory. The thought of that light being snuffed out made her stomach clench.

“I really liked her,” Rico admitted quietly.

“I just hope I get to meet her.”

Alesia’s worry deepened. Something was terribly, irreversibly wrong.

“I’d stay to help,” Rico said, “but my dad really needs me. It’s a family matter I can’t put off.”

Alesia nodded faintly, forcing a soft smile in return. With that, Rico slid on his glasses, left the restaurant, and disappeared into the place. Joseph turned to Alesia, grounding her again with his steady gaze.

“Babe, just look at me,” he said softly.

“We’ll figure this out together.

"Trust me.”

But his calm voice couldn’t smother the panic clawing at her chest. As they turned to leave, a faint chime echoed from the alley behind them—a metallic ring that cut sharp against the silence.

A phone.

The glow of a screen flickered in the shadows.

Stephanie’s phone.

Alesia’s breath caught.

“It’s her phone!” she gasped, her voice trembling.

Joseph’s jaw tightened, his grip on her hand firm.

“We’ll find her, babe. Let’s get to the police. We’ll sort this out.”

His promise was the only solid ground in a night unraveling into chaos. As they hurried into the blur of the city, neon lights streaked past like mocking reminders of time slipping away. Stephanie was missing. And nothing, not fear, not uncertainty—would stop Alesia from finding her best friend.

As Antonio and Mateo made their way toward the saferoom, Mateo finally asked the question that had been gnawing at him.

“Boss, who is she? Stephanie,” he said carefully, his tone edged with curiosity.

“She seems very important to you. Important enough that you’ve got Marcelo shadowing her every move without hesitation.”

Antonio didn’t answer right away. Instead, he cast a sidelong glance at Mateo, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips, before turning his gaze forward. His voice came low and deliberate, every word weighed.

“She’s important. One of the trump cards I plan to play against Manolo.”

There was a beat of silence.

“And I know Manolo’s watching her too,” Antonio added coolly.

Mateo said nothing more, but the weight of the statement hung between them.

Moments later, they reached the saferoom, where Jack and David stood guard. With silent nods, the men opened the door.

Inside, the air was heavy and dim. Stephanie and Charlie were still unconscious and bound, slumped against opposite ends of the room.

Stephanie was more than just a pawn. She was the only daughter of Antony and Astrid—the couple foolish enough to interfere when Antonio had eliminated Cintia and Jacob. Misplaced bravery had gotten them killed.

Now, only fragments of their family remained. There was another sibling in America, perhaps, but Antonio’s eyes had never left them. Marcelo, his most trusted investigator, had made sure no movement went unnoticed.

The silence shattered when one of the men yanked Charlie’s blindfold away and dumped a bucket of cold water over his face.

Charlie gasped, jerking awake, confusion and fear flashing in his eyes.

Across the room, Antonio’s gaze locked onto him. A slow, wicked grin stretched across his lips before shifting toward Stephanie, who stirred weakly, her resistance quiet but visible.

Without a word, Antonio moved to the wooden chair prepared for him. He sat down with deliberate calm, lit a cigar, and took a long drag. Smoke curled around him like a warning.

“Put on a good show for me,” he murmured with a sly smile, then turned to Mateo.

“Teach him a lesson.”

Mateo’s answering grin mirrored his boss’s.

At the unspoken order, Kael lunged forward, eager as always. He dragged Charlie roughly across the floor, untying his feet only to bind him again to a heavy wooden chair.

“If you don’t know how to dance yet, you will when the pain hits you,” Kael jeered, laughter spilling from the others.

The clamps snapped into place. Then came the wires.

Electricity coursed through Charlie’s body. Even muffled by thick tape, his screams through the room. His body convulsed with each jolt, veins straining, face contorting.

Kael paused between shocks, savoring the silence that followed.

Then a voice cut through.

“Your son has arrived, Boss,” Wilson called from the doorway, calm but urgent.

Antonio stood at once, his demeanor shifting instantly. He cast one last command over his shoulder as he strode out.

“Don’t let them out of your sight.”

With that, he vanished down the hallway—to meet his son, Rico.