5

Giselle

His gaze flicked past me, and I followed it—straight to the sight that ripped my soul in half.

Mom’s body. Still. Silent. A blade of grief carved through my chest so violently I nearly collapsed beside her.

“They stormed in without warning,” my father rasped, his voice fractured, broken. “They spoke Italian… and your mother—” He stopped, shuddering, eyes swimming with pain. “She looked at them like she knew them. Like she’d seen their faces before.”

My hands fumbled at the ropes binding his wrists. “Dad, I need to get you out of here. Now.”

“No—stop, baby. Stop!” His urgent plea froze me, my breath catching.

I sank back onto my heels, shaking, meeting his feverish stare. “But I can’t just leave you tied here!”

His chest heaved, blood staining the corner of his mouth. “Listen to me. Find Malik. He’ll keep you safe.”

My tears blurred the room. “Uncle Malik? He knows about this? About them?”

“There isn’t time,” he gasped. “They may still be in the house.”

“Who, Dad? Who are they?”

“Baby.” His tone snapped sharp, a father’s command laced with desperation. “You need to go. Now!”

“No!” I shook my head violently, refusing. “I’m not leaving you. Not again. I can save you—”

His voice broke. “Giselle , these men will kill you without blinking. Please, baby girl. For me—stay alive.”

Torn in two, I could barely breathe. Stay and die with him, or leave him to die alone. My heart splintered in both directions.

Then his eyes widened. Terror flooded them.

“Behind you…” he croaked.

I turned—and the air froze.

A man leaned casually against the wall, tall, sleek in a black suit that looked more like armor. His smile was cruel, sharp as a knife. “Well, well. Look who’s grown up.”

Adrenaline surged. I shot to my feet, stepping in front of my father like a shield. “Who the hell are you? What do you want?”

Dark brown eyes bored into me, unreadable and ice-cold. His smile widened. “Brave. Just like him.” His chin tilted toward my father. “I wonder what he’d say if he knew you weren’t really his.”

The words knocked the breath from my chest. I glanced at Dad, his blue eyes swimming with regret, his silence louder than any confession.

The man’s laugh was low, poisonous. “Not his blood. Not his legacy. Your mother thought she could hide you. But secrets rot. And when they rot, someone like me comes knocking.”

“You’re lying,” I snapped, though my body trembled. “You don’t know anything.”

He stepped closer, his presence suffocating the air. His gaze slid down to my mother’s lifeless form. “She almost got away with it. Almost. Betrayed her family, ran across borders, married him—” He sneered at my father. “But a bastard can’t stay hidden forever.”

I whipped back to Dad, my voice breaking. “Tell me it’s not true. Tell me he’s lying!”

Tears streaked his battered face as he whispered, “I always knew. But it never mattered. You are my daughter, Giselle . My blood or not—you are mine.”

My chest cracked open. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” His voice trembled, but his words were steady. “Always.”

I turned on the intruder, fury burning away my fear. “Let him go. Take me instead. Please—I’ll do anything.”

For a heartbeat, his expression flickered. Almost soft. Then his lips curved into that cruel smile again. “Fine.”

“No!” Dad roared, his broken voice filled with rage.

The man’s eyes gleamed. “I got what I came for.” His hand dipped into his jacket, and with one smooth motion, a gun appeared—aimed straight at my father’s chest.

“NO!” My scream shattered the air.

The gunshot exploded, muffled yet deafening. The smell of gunpowder filled my lungs. Warmth sprayed across my skin. I staggered back, looking down to see crimson soaking my clothes. My father’s blood.

The world tilted. My scream tore itself raw from my throat as I spun, ready to lunge at the monster—

But then his eyes widened. He choked, a guttural gurgle breaking from his throat. His hands clawed at his neck as blood gushed between his fingers. The gun clattered from his grip.

His body crumpled.

And behind him, like a phantom, stood Uncle Malik—his knife dripping red, his face carved into stone.

I froze, mind splintering. My uncle’s lips moved, but the roar in my ears drowned him out. All I could see was the glint of steel as he wiped the blade clean and slid it away.

Then his hands gripped my shoulders, shaking me, dragging me back into reality. “Giselle ! Snap out of it! We need to move. Now.”

Sirens wailed outside. Doors slammed. Shouted voices carried through the walls.

Panic surged, and before I could react, Malik hauled me onto his shoulder like a sack and sprinted toward the back exit.

He stopped short, muttering a vicious curse. Male voices barked from the yard, closing in fast.

Trapped.

Without hesitation, he dragged me into the hidden closet—our childhood hideout, once a game, now our only lifeline. My heart thundered as we crouched behind the false wall, breaths shallow, the air choking with dust and dread.

The footsteps came closer. Heavy. Hunting.

“I told you we should’ve gone in with him,” one man growled.

“How the fuck did he get himself killed?” another spat. “Think it was the mother?”

“No,” the first said grimly. “Somebody else is here.”

Malik’s hand clamped over my mouth. I froze, trembling as the closet door creaked.

Through the two-way mirror, I saw him. Another one. Larger, scarred, tattoos crawling over his skin like living things. A dragon coiled up his throat, its head glaring from his jaw. His eyes swept the room, cold and precise.

He shoved hangers aside, sniffing danger in the air, and his gaze lingered on the mirror—staring straight at us, though he couldn’t see through.

Relief was fleeting.

“Boss,” a man’s voice called. “Cops are here.”

The tattooed leader snarled. “Hide. Let the police come in. We’ll deal with them our way.”

A door slammed.

Then the front door burst open, boots thundering. “Police! Freeze! Hands where I can see them!”

“Drop it now!” a female officer barked.