No way Out: A crack in the Ice

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‎I struggled against his grip, trying to pull my hands free, but he was stronger.

‎"Fucking stay still," he snapped. His spit hit my face.

‎"Let me go."

‎I twisted sharply, forcing him to loosen his hold for a split second. I tried to slip past him, but his hand shot out and caught my wrist. The next second his palm cracked across my cheek. Pain burst white behind my eyes. My head snapped to the side and I tasted copper. Blood.

‎"I said stay still."

‎My heart was pounding so hard I couldn’t hear anything but it. My legs felt weak.

‎There has to be a way out. I shoved blindly at his forearm with my free hand, my fingernails scraping desperately against his skin, trying to gouge a grip. He barely budged.

‎Instead, he crowded closer, pinning me into the corner. I felt his hot, sour breath fan against my neck, and a wave of pure nausea turned my stomach. I pressed my spine flat against the freezing tile wall, my eyes darting frantically toward the locked door. Come on... please... just—

‎The bathroom door burst open with a bang that made us both flinch.

‎The man froze. Slowly, he turned toward the entrance.

‎Mr. Moretti stood in the doorway. Enzo was beside him.

‎The man's eyes moved between them, but there was no fear on his face. Not yet. "Who the hell are you?" he spat.

‎Mr. Moretti said nothing. His eyes stayed on me.

‎The man looked between us again, his grip tightening around my wrist. "This your friend? You really think you can just walk in here and—"

‎"Let him go."

‎Mr. Moretti's voice was calm. Too calm.

‎The man laughed. "Or what?"

‎Silence.

‎"You think I'm scared of you?" he continued. "You walk in here with your bodyguard and think you own the place?"

‎Dante finally looked at him. The coldness in his eyes made the room feel different.

‎"Enzo."

‎That was all he said.

‎The shot came a second later. The sound was deafening. My ears rang. The man cried out and dropped to one knee, clutching his leg. Silence followed, except for his ragged breathing.

‎I stood there, too stunned to move. My cheek throbbed. My hands shook. Enzo lowered the gun without a change in expression. Mr. Moretti didn't spare the man a glance. His eyes were fixed on me.

‎For the first time since I'd met him, the calm, unreadable look was gone. His face was dark enough to make the room feel colder. He walked straight toward me. His eyes moved over me once, taking in my face, my clothes, the blood on my lips, and the handprint already blooming on my cheek. His jaw tightened.

‎Without warning, he caught hold of my arm. His grip was too tight. Not to hurt me. Like if he let go I’d fall. He pulled me out of the bathroom.

‎I stumbled after him, too shocked to protest. The moment we stepped into the empty hallway, he turned and pressed me back against the wall.

‎"Where did he touch you?"

‎I stared at him. For a second, I forgot how to speak. This wasn't the calm, unreadable man I saw every day at work. There was something else in his eyes. Something I'd never seen before.

‎"Where?" he repeated, his voice lower this time. "I... he..." I swallowed. "He didn't..." The words refused to come out. "I kicked him before..."

‎Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Enzo stopped beside them. "It's taken care of, Boss."

‎The change was almost immediate. The emotion disappeared from Dante's face as though it had never been there. His usual calm expression returned.

‎"Good."

‎He let go of my arm and stepped back. "We're leaving."

‎Without another word, he turned and walked down the hallway. I rubbed my sore wrist for a moment before quietly following after him.

‎The walk back to the car was silent. Enzo stayed a step behind Mr. Moretti while I followed a short distance behind them, keeping my head down. No one spoke.

‎The guards at the entrance stepped aside the moment they saw Mr. Moretti approaching. Enzo opened the rear door. Mr. Moretti got in without a word. I hesitated for a second before walking to the front passenger seat and climbing in.

‎A few moments later, the car pulled away from the building. The silence inside was somehow heavier than before. I kept my eyes on the road ahead, occasionally glancing out the window as the city passed by. Behind me, Mr. Moretti hadn't said a single word.

‎Curiosity got the better of me. I looked up at the rearview mirror. His eyes were closed.

‎...Was he asleep?

‎The thought had barely crossed my mind when his eyes opened. Our gazes met through the mirror. I quickly looked away and fixed my attention on the road ahead, suddenly finding the passing traffic far more interesting.

‎No one said anything for the rest of the drive.

‎A short while later, the car rolled into the underground garage and came to a smooth stop. Enzo switched off the engine and stepped out first. I reached for the door handle, but Mr. Moretti was already out of the car. Without looking back, he adjusted his suit jacket and headed toward the private elevator.

‎"Enzo." Mr. Moretti's voice broke the silence, though he never turned around. "Take him home."

‎"...Understood."

‎That was all. The elevator doors slid open, and Mr. Moretti stepped inside. A second later, the doors closed behind him.

‎I stared at the closed doors for a moment before Enzo spoke. "The Boss ordered me to take you home."

‎I blinked. "...Home?" "Yes."

‎I rubbed the back of my neck with an awkward smile. "I appreciate it, but I'll just take a taxi. I'll be fine."

‎Enzo looked at me for a long second, his expression unreadable. "...Understood." He stepped aside without another word.

‎I stood there for a moment, half expecting him to say something else. He didn't. It was like talking to a wall. With an awkward nod, I turned and headed toward the garage exit. A few minutes later, I flagged down a taxi and climbed inside.

‎"Where to?" the driver asked.

‎I gave him my address. The taxi pulled away from Moretti Corporation, disappearing into the evening traffic.

‎By the time it reached my neighborhood, the sun had begun to sink below the skyline. I paid the driver and headed toward my apartment building. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, an uneasy feeling settled in my chest.

‎It was too quiet.

‎My steps slowed to a stop outside my apartment. The door was slightly open. I frowned.

‎...I distinctly remembered locking it that morning.

‎I stood there for a moment before reaching for the doorknob and slowly pushing the door open. The apartment was dark. Maybe I forgot to turn on the lights.

‎"...Hello?"

‎No answer.

‎I stepped inside and reached for the light switch. Click. The room lit up.

‎I froze.

‎There were people in my apartment. One stood by the window with his arms folded while another leaned against the kitchen counter. In the middle of the room, a bald, broad-shouldered man sat comfortably in my chair. A cigarette rested between his fingers, a thick gold chain hung around his neck, and a long scar ran across the side of his face.

‎He looked up the moment the lights came on. A dirty grin stretched across his scarred face.

‎"You're finally home."

‎My mouth went dry. "...Who are you?"

‎He ignored the question. Instead, he took a slow drag from his cigarette before crushing the ember out on my table. His eyes remained fixed on me.

‎"You're Simon's kid, aren't you?"

‎My stomach tightened. "...How do you know my father?"

‎The man's grin widened.

‎My heart sank.

‎What had Dad done this time?

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