SARAHI woke up that morning with a strange sense of calm. It had been days since the whole ordeal with Isabella, and I had been hiding, practically invisible, ever since. I guess I needed that time to process everything. The accusations, the betrayal, the chaos. But I couldn’t stay locked away in my room forever. At some point, I had to face the house, the people, and most importantly, myself.I stared at the ceiling for a moment, taking in the quiet of the room. It had been peaceful. Too peaceful. While that peace was welcome at first, it was starting to feel like a cage. I needed to move, to be useful again. I sighed and sat up, pushing the covers off me. Today was the day. I was going to step out of my self-imposed exile and get some work done.“Okay, Sarah,” I muttered to myself, “no more hiding. You can’t be bedridden all day.”I swung my legs off the bed and stood, stretching my stiff muscles. I walked over to the wardrobe and grabbed a few clothes that needed washing. I wasn’t
MARCO The engine hummed steadily beneath me, but my blood was boiling. My hands tightened around the wheel, jaw clenched as we drove toward the docks. The night outside the window felt too quiet, too still for what had just happened. They stole from me. Again. And this time, they took more than goods. They took a good man’s life. Tony sat beside me, his face illuminated by his phone’s screen, fingers swiping as he tried to make sense of the reports coming in. He was calm—too calm for my liking. How could he be so composed when another one of our shipments had been stolen? And now… someone was dead. A man who had been loyal for years, taken out like he was nothing. It made my blood boil. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Tony, how the hell did this happen?” My voice was low but filled with a fury I couldn’t contain. “Again? First, the shipments, and now they have the guts to kill one of our men?” Tony sighed, his phone lowering to his lap as he glanced at me. “Marco, you need t
MARCOThe night was heavy with tension as I turned slowly, the sound of my full name echoing in the cold air. The moment I faced her, I saw an elderly woman, frail and trembling, her tear-streaked face illuminated by the dim streetlights. She was dressed in black, a scarf tied tightly around her head, and her hands were wringing together in front of her as if she was holding back all her grief in those hands.“Chi sei?” I asked, my voice gruff, though I could feel the weight of her sorrow before she even spoke.Tony immediately stepped forward, putting himself between us. “Marco, I’ll handle this.”I raised my hand, motioning for him to step aside. Something about the woman pulled me in. Maybe it was the tears in her eyes, or maybe it was the way she stood there, unshaken by Tony’s intimidating stance. “Lasciala parlare, Tony,” I said quietly.The woman sniffed, stepping closer. “Sono… la madre,” she said, her voice breaking. “Mio figlio… il mio Paolo… mio figlio è morto!” Her words w
MARCODanzo leaned back in my chair, that smug grin still plastered across his face. I tried to tell myself he was just messing with me. Hell, maybe it was some twisted joke, his idea of humor after everything that had gone down tonight. But even I didn’t believe that. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice calm. “Danzo, get your ass up. Now.”He didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. Just stared at me with that infuriating look like he was daring me to do something about it. The tension in the room was thick, my patience thinning with every passing second.I gritted my teeth. “I’m giving you till the count of three to get the fuck out of my seat.” My tone was flat, but the threat was clear.“One…”Still nothing. He just blinked at me, like I wasn’t even worth the effort of a response.“Two…”I felt my hand twitch, the desire to drag him out of that chair growing stronger with each breath. My day had already been shot to hell. First, the lost shipment. Then, one of my best men, Paol
MARCOMy fists pounded against the heavy bag, each strike landing with a dull thud that echoed through the gym. Sweat dripped down my forehead, my muscles burning, but I didn’t stop. The anger that churned in my chest had to go somewhere, and this was the best way I knew how to deal with it. I thought about all the people I’d lost lately. Good men. Honest men. And for what? Some power play, some twisted game of control. My knuckles ached, but the pain felt good. It reminded me that I was still here, still fighting. “Marco,” Tony’s voice cut through the sound of my fists against the bag. I glanced over at him, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.“What is it?” I asked, not really in the mood for whatever news he was about to bring me.Tony held up my phone, a serious look on his face. “It’s a call. From the Red Table.”I paused, letting the bag sway in front of me as I processed his words. The Red Table. A group of the most powerful men in the city, the heads of th
MARCOThe engine went silent as the car came to a halt, and I stepped out, taking in the sight of the venue. It was a wide, open space, not the kind of place you’d expect for a secretive meeting of the city’s top mob bosses. But that was the thing with the Red Table—they always knew how to play things close to the vest. No obvious signs of anything shady going on. Just an innocent-looking building that could have been a high-end restaurant for all anyone outside would know.I glanced over at Tony as he stepped out of the car behind me. His expression was calm, but I knew him well enough to catch the slight tension in his movements. I asked, “Petrov got eyes on the place?”Tony nodded, checking his phone. “Yeah, he’s got the perimeter covered. We’ve got men positioned in case things go sideways.”“Good.” I took a moment to scan the area again, making sure there wasn’t anything out of place. Couldn’t be too careful. These types of meetings, you never knew who was playing what angle.We
SARAHI sat there on the couch, watching the TV screen flicker with the latest episode of a show I’d started binging. Honestly, this series had become one of the few things keeping me entertained lately. With all the craziness going on outside, it was nice to escape into someone else’s drama for a change, even if it was fictional. The lead character was right in the middle of a heated argument, her face scrunched up in anger, and I couldn’t help but smirk at how intense it all was. At least her problems could be solved by the end of an episode.Mine? Not so much.I sighed, sinking deeper into the cushions, taking comfort in the familiar chaos of the show. It was weird, you know? I used to have a lot more going on. Parties, dinners, trips. But now? I might as well just enjoy this little slice of distraction. The maids had already left for the night, and the guards, well… they’d been patrolling the house like hawks for days now. I couldn’t really ignore how tense everything had become.
SARAHI hesitated at the door to Marco’s office, my hand resting on the cold brass handle. My heart raced with uncertainty. What could have possibly made him yell my name like that? It was so unlike him. I thought of all the possible scenarios, but none of them felt right.I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.There he was, standing by the window, his back to me. The tension in the room was thick, almost suffocating. Marco didn’t say anything, didn’t turn around. He just stood there in silence, his posture stiff, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.I stepped into the room, my feet barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. “Marco?” My voice came out softer than I intended, shaky even. “Why did you call me?”He didn’t answer.I waited a moment, then asked again, a little firmer this time. “Marco, what’s going on?”He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at me over his shoulder. His face was hard, unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something dark
SARAHIt’s been a week.I blinked up at the ceiling, still half-asleep. My body felt heavy, like I’d just come out of a long swim. My limbs ached a little, the kind of ache that didn’t scare me anymore. Just the reminder that I was healing. Still here.I turned my head slowly and saw Marco beside me, sleeping. His breathing was soft, steady. One hand rested over his chest, the other draped halfway off the bed. His face looked calm—less tense than usual. Less burdened. I smiled, dragging the tip of my finger across his jaw, down to his lips. He didn’t flinch.I leaned closer and kissed his forehead, careful not to wake him. He deserved rest. God knows he hadn’t had much of it lately.Slipping out of bed, I moved slowly. My legs weren’t what they used to be. My body still felt like it was figuring itself out again. But I was up, and I was moving, and that was enough.I looked around the room. It was the same space, the same walls, same scent—but it hit different now. After everything. A
MARCOThe office was a mess.Stacks of paper all over the place. Unread letters. Open files. Phone numbers scribbled on napkins and matchbooks. My desk looked like it hadn’t been touched in weeks, because it hadn’t. Everything after the warehouse, after Sarah, after the hospital, none of this mattered until now.I sat behind the desk and just stared at the mess for a minute. Sighed. Pulled the closest pile toward me.Shipment logs, missing crates, unsigned wire transfers, lists of guys needing greenlights for pickups, some bullshit about territory numbers. We’d let it all pile up while I was at war with the Rossis. And then when Aisha pulled out, it just made it worse. Like the whole left side of our operation stopped breathing.I leaned back in the chair, ran a hand over my face, then started digging in.One paper at a time.I signed off a few delayed shipments first—some in Queens, some in Jersey. Then went over the list of crews still active. Tony kept them moving while I was out,
MARCOI woke up as the nurse came in quiet that morning, like she didn’t wanna wake the dead.She had a soft look on her face, not the usual kind you see on shift changes. She stood by the door for a second, then said, “Doctor’s signing the discharge. You’re going home today.”Sarah didn’t speak. She just gave a small nod, slow, like her neck hurt to move. Her hands were curled in the blanket, pale and still. I looked at her for a beat, then nodded back to the nurse. She gave a faint smile, the kind that tries to mean well, then left us alone again.I helped Sarah sit up. She winced, but didn’t complain. My arm was behind her back, firm but careful. She felt small, light—like the hospital bed had drained whatever weight she had left.“You okay?” I asked.She didn’t answer right away. Just sat there, breathing shallow. Then she nodded, not looking at me.I walked over to the sink and ran some water. Got her toothbrush ready. She moved slow, like each motion was a decision. I held her u
SARAHThe first thing I heard was the soft beep of machines. Slow, steady. My head felt heavy, like I was coming out of a long tunnel. My throat burned, and my body ached in places I couldn’t name.I opened my eyes, just a little. White ceiling. Bright lights. Hospital.I blinked slowly and turned my head. The room was quiet. No voices. No Marco.My chest tightened.I looked toward the chair beside the bed. Empty.Where is he?I tried to sit up, but pain shot through my side. I stopped, breathing through it. My hand reached for the blanket. My fingers were weak, shaky.The door creaked open, and a nurse walked in. She had soft eyes, a calm face. Her steps were quiet. She glanced at the machines, then at me.“Oh, you’re awake,” she said, walking over. Her voice was gentle. “Take it slow, okay?”I nodded faintly. My lips moved, but no sound came out. I had to swallow twice before I could speak.“Where’s Marco?” I whispered.She smiled a little. “Your husband hasn’t left the hospital. He
MARCOThe doctor looked at me and paused. His face was calm, too calm. My heart dropped right there.Then he said it.“We lost the baby.. It was a boy...”I didn’t move. I didn’t blink. I just stood there, stuck in that moment.“What?”My voice came out hoarse. I wasn’t sure I said it right.The doctor sighed, slow.“There was too much trauma. Too much blood loss. We had to make a split-second decision, Mr Marco. It was either Sarah… or the baby.”I stepped forward, shaking my head. “No, no—don’t say that. Don’t fuckin’ say that to me.”He raised his hands a bit, like he was trying to calm me. “I’m sorry. I truly am. But we had to act fast. There was no time to—”“You could’ve saved both!” I barked. My voice cracked. “You didn’t try hard enough!”“There wasn’t enough time,” he repeated. “Her pulse dropped. She flatlined for a moment. We brought her back. If we hesitated, you’d have lost them both.”“No,” I muttered. I couldn’t breathe right. “No, you’re supposed to be the fuckin’ expe
BANG.BANG.BANG.I heard the shots before I even realized what was happening. And then I saw her fall.“Sarah!”Everything froze.Her body hit the floor like something snapped in me. Blood poured out too fast. Too red. My heart dropped straight out of my chest.I didn’t even look at Marcel. I knew Petrov and Tony had hit him. I saw him slump to the ground in my peripheral. But all I could focus on was her. Sarah. My wife. My everything. Lying there in a puddle of blood, her stomach bleeding out.“No… no, no, no…”I dropped to my knees, my hands trembling as I reached for her.Her blood was everywhere. It soaked into her shirt, into the carpet, onto my hands.“Sarah—hey, baby. Hey.”Her eyes blinked, slow and weak. She looked like she was slipping. She reached out and grabbed my jacket with what little strength she had left.“I’m here,” I said, holding her hand. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”Shots rang out behind me again—Petrov and Tony going after Isabella as she r
MARCOI knew I had a second, maybe two. That was all it would take. I just needed the right opening. If I could shift my hand just a little, maybe fake like I was dropping the gun but catch Marcel off-guard—put a bullet right through him before he pulled the trigger on Sarah. That was the plan in my head. Fast. Clean. Over.I looked at him. Then at the gun pressed to her skull. My hand twitched.His eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”Sarah screamed as he pushed the gun harder into her.“Try to act smart again,” he said, voice calm, but not in a good way. “Try anything and I swear, her brains paint this floor.”My plan died right there.I bent down and set the gun on the ground. Real slow. Real careful. No sudden moves.He smiled. Sick bastard looked like he just won.I tried to glance to the side. Give Tony or Petrov some kind of signal. A nod. A blink. Anything.But Marcel caught it. Of course he did.He laughed. “You still think you’re running the show, huh?”He raised his voice. “Tony. Petrov
MARCOBullets flew the second that door blew open.I didn’t even have time to think. My ears rang, the lights flickered, and glass shattered somewhere behind me. I ducked low, pressing my back against the chair, as my heart pounded like a drum in my chest. I couldn’t tell who the hell was shooting, all I knew was it wasn’t Marcel’s crew. That was enough.Just then Marcel screamed something, I couldn’t hear it over the gunfire. He grabbed Isabella and yanked her down behind the bar cabinet near the side wall. Coward. Took cover with a bottle of scotch while the world burned.I’d been wriggling the damn cable tie on my wrist ever since his speech started. Flexing, turning, rubbing it against the sharp edge under the armrest. My skin was raw and burning, but I didn’t stop. Not once. And now it finally paid off.One last twist — the tie snapped. I yanked my left arm free, then the right, pain tearing through my shoulder as I moved. I didn’t waste a breath. Dropped low, rolled to the side,
MARCOThey dragged me in like a dog. Wrists tied behind the chair, ribs throbbing from the last round of hits. Two of Marcel’s boys kept my arms tight while another threw a punch right into my stomach. I grunted, leaned forward, and caught a second one across my jaw.I didn’t scream or beg.I just looked straight ahead at him.Marcel.Sitting in his chair like some king, legs crossed, drink in his hand. There was a sick grin across his face like he was watching a comedy show.The guards landed another hit. One to my shoulder. One to my gut again. My body was wrecked, but my mind stayed sharp. I kept staring at him. Letting him know I wasn’t broken.When they were done, I coughed and spit a mouthful of blood to the side, then looked right back at him.“You done?” I muttered.He laughed. “You still got that mouth on you.”I didn’t reply. I just kept staring. Waiting. Hoping. Begging for anything — an opening, a mistake. I wasn’t dying in this chair. I’d kill him. Somehow, some way. He w