Bring the bítcth to me alive

"Please... Stop!"

"Leave me alone!" Arabella jolted awake, her voice quivering with fear and panic.

She let out a piercing scream, gasping for breath, and clutched her throat as sweat dripped down her face. Frantically, she groped for the bedside lamp switch, accidentally knocking something off the nightstand. With the room bathed in light, her eyes widened, and she huddled on the bed, rocking back and forth.

It had returned.

The nightmare had returned, its haunting grip as strong as ever. Despite her best efforts to suppress the memories of that dreadful night, they surged back with even greater intensity. For the past two years, she had believed it to be behind her, only to have it resurface today.

After each occurrence of the nightmare, she found herself pondering the same question about her father's involvement in the crime. It was a relentless query that echoed in her mind, but one for which she could never unearth answers.

Arabella grimaced and raked a hand through her disheveled hair. She descended from the bed, moving towards the window. Sleep had completely fled her, replaced by an overwhelming flood of fear, pain, and grief that now seemed to be her constant companions.

She tugged at her hair, fighting against the urge to scream, forcing her turbulent emotions under control. But the tears, they couldn't be contained. Her vision blurred as she sniffled, the first tear tracing a path down her pallid cheek. She bit down on her quivering lower lip, her thoughts consumed by the jumbled mess her life had become.

Ever since the incident six years ago, she had been living as though she were a fugitive, relentlessly pursued. She wasn't a criminal, but she was acutely aware that if he found her, he would fulfill the chilling promise he had made to her father that dreadful night.

Arabella acknowledged her father's wisdom in his warning. No matter where she sought refuge, he always managed to locate her. Each narrow escape was a testament to sheer luck. Yet, she couldn't help but wonder how much longer her luck would hold.

A shudder coursed through her as she contemplated the terrifying prospect of him finally tracking her down. She had severed ties with friends and family, leaving her utterly alone. There would be no one to search for her, no one to miss her if she vanished. Even her colleagues at work were distant acquaintances at best.

Arabella was a loner, a fact well-known to those around her. After all, she had been working at Peace Blossom Plaza for only three months—far too short a time to establish any meaningful friendships.

"Seriously," Arabella muttered with a bitter laugh, her lips twisting into a wry smile. She brushed her cheeks with her palm, trying to wipe away the tears, then directed her gaze at the ceiling. It appeared as though it might collapse at any moment. With a heavy sigh, she shifted her focus to the window.

But how could she even entertain the idea of friendship when she was perpetually on the move? With her transient lifestyle, settling down in one neighborhood was a luxury she couldn't afford.

She was only twenty years old, yet on the run. Arabella's mind involuntarily returned to the night her father was brutally murdered. The image of Allesandro De Luca shooting her father was seared into her memory. The blood, the pain etched on her father's face as he crumpled to the ground—it haunted her every waking moment. She had witnessed it all from her hiding place. She had even seen the face of the monster responsible and wished she could do the same to him.

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she continued to navigate the desolate streets of New York City. The darkness of the night concealed her as she urgently sought the location her father had mentioned before he was killed.

“Papà,” she whispered, her voice trembling with grief.

She closed her eyes, attempting to dispel the image of her father's lifeless body, his skull brutally violated by a bullet. She drew in a shuddering breath and blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision.

"Sorry," she mumbled as she collided with a passerby.

The person reached out to steady her, but she evaded the offered hand and quickened her pace. Fatigue gnawed at her, and hunger pangs added to her distress. Nevertheless, she couldn't afford to stop, lest they catch up to her.

Ever since she fled her home, she had refrained from looking back, consumed by the fear of being pursued.

Finally, Arabella darted into a dimly lit corner, allowing a sigh to escape her lips. She furrowed her brows, her gaze settling on an old, dilapidated warehouse. She wiped her tear-streaked cheeks with the back of her hand and retrieved a crumpled piece of paper and a set of keys from the back pocket of her torn jeans.

As she squinted at the paper, moonlight came to her aid, rendering the words legible. The lamppost nearby provided little illumination, leaving the surroundings mostly in shadows.

She diverted her gaze from the crumpled paper in her hand and examined the location.

Approaching the metal gate, Arabella selected a key and inserted it into the padlock's hole. With a push, she creaked open the old, rusted gate, taking care to close it behind her as she entered.

Standing near the closed door, her eyes widened. Illumination flooded the warehouse, raising questions about potential occupants. "Hello…" she called out tentatively, but only her own voice reverberated through the space.

Her brows furrowed as she noticed several black bags strewn across a large table in the center of the room. Her heartbeat quickened, and she clenched her hands, drawn almost involuntarily toward the table.

With hands trembling, she unzipped one of the bags. A gasp escaped her lips as a cascade of dollar bills spilled out. She hastily covered her mouth to stifle an impending scream. Retrieving a sheet of paper that had fallen from the bag, her eyes raced over the contents. The realization hit her like a tidal wave.

Her father had been fully aware. He understood he was leaving her in a harsh world, and he had taken steps to alleviate her burden…

Arabella jerked, roused from her reverie by a twinge in her hand. Her narrowed gaze locked onto a woodpecker, its flight breaking her train of thought as it disappeared into the distance.

She shook her head, shifting her attention from the old wall clock to the swaying trees beyond. The knowledge that her father had left her resources did little to soothe her. Instead, it tore at her emotions, tears streaming down her cheeks. The void left by her father's absence was overwhelming. She longed to have him back, to seize the opportunity for one more chance to see him.

______________

Alessandro De Luca, who often went by the name Sandro within his close circle, tilted his head back, a moan escaping his parted lips.

The woman knelt before him, a provocative grin curving her lips, their corners crinkling suggestively. A teasing flicker of her tongue against the tip of his manhood was followed by its full acceptance into her mouth.

Sandro grunted, his fists tangled in her curly red hair as she worked her magic on him. It didn't take long for him to find his release, and he spilled his load into her mouth. He sighed with satisfaction, but the woman wasn't finished yet. He had paid her to please him for the entire day, and she had only just begun performing fellatio on him.

He groaned as a knock resounded on the door. He wasn't expecting anyone. He had instructed his secretary to cancel all his appointments for the day. He wondered who was about to interrupt the erotic session he was engaged in.

"Come in," Sandro called out, irritation evident as the knocking persisted.

He pushed the woman straddling his lap aside, and raised an eyebrow as one of his security agents strode into the room.

"Would you care to explain the reason for this interruption?" Sandro's voice was icy, his annoyance evident.

"I apologize for the intrusion, Signore, but I've brought you some information," the security agent said, still bowing his head respectfully.

"What is it?" Sandro narrowed his eyes, his tone demanding.

"We've managed to track down the Signorina in the new neighborhood. We've located her current whereabouts."

A grin spread across Sandro's face. "She can run, but she can't hide from me."

"Take the others with you. Ensure that she doesn't escape this time. If you fail, I'll have your heads served to my dogs. Do you understand?" Sandro's threat hung in the air.

Giuseppe trembled with fear, his anxiety evident. He swallowed hard, familiar with Sandro's brutal punishments. He had no desire to become a scapegoat.

"Yes, Signore," Giuseppe stammered before turning to leave the room.

"Wait," Sandro's commanding voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Bring the woman to me alive. I intend to punish her myself."

"Understood, Signore," Giuseppe responded, quickly exiting the room to carry out his assigned task.

"Finally, Arabella, you have nowhere left to hide," a smirk formed on Sandro's chiseled face, a wicked gleam dancing in his green eyes. He briefly contemplated going to meet her himself, despite his confidence in his agents. He wanted to apprehend her personally.

"How about we continue what we were doing?"

Sandro's head snapped toward the doorway leading to the bathroom, where the whore Lizzo had appeared.

"Yes," he responded, flashing her a toothy grin. However, it wasn't due to his happiness about her actions, but rather because of her presence.

Arabella... He yearned to wrap his hands around her tiny neck and snap it. The anticipation of meting out the punishments he had swirling in his head toward her consumed him. Ultimately, he eagerly anticipated their meeting.