Semua Bab THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA : Bab 111 - Bab 120

NATALIEI step into the huge mansion, my worn sneakers scuffing lightly on polished marble, and my breath catches. I scan the entire house, taking in the beauty of this masterpiece. Sunlight streams through tall, arched windows, illuminating dust motes dancing like tiny, indifferent spirits in the air. A grand staircase, wide enough for a parade, curves elegantly upwards, its banister a dark, gleaming wood that looks impossibly ancient and impossibly cared for. Expensive art lines the walls, abstract splashes of color and emotion in frames that probably cost more than my entire apartment. The air itself feels different here, probably what money can do.“Are you quite finished admiring the house, Natalie?”Luca’s voice cuts through the quiet house. I jump, startled, my daydream dissolving into a prickle of heat on my cheeks. He stands at the end of the hall, leaning against a wall, his arms crossed over a tailored black suit that looks like a second skin. “Come.” The single word is a

AARONI finally signed the last deal for Lombardi Co. It’s been hectic all week working on a particular client and now, it’s over with. I finally have the time to focus on Ash business. Before that, I have to find my Kitten.I haven't had a moment to breathe with her, not truly, since we arrived. I tried to conclude everything and focus on her but work is a lot.Our penthouse is quiet as I step inside, the city’s distant hum barely audible from this height. I chose one of the best hotels just so we can get our privacy and hopefully Mia can get some rest before we travel back. I enter the living room and see Mia sitting on the sofa, her knees drawn up, a hand resting on one. Her gaze is distant, fixed on the curtains but I’m sure she’s not looking at them. On her other hand, she holds a small, beaded bracelet, turning it over and over, the colorful beads catching the last rays of light. It's a bracelet I've never seen on her before.“Mia?” My voice is soft, an attempt not to startle h

MIAThe sound of Aaron’s voice rips through the penthouse. I head out of the kitchen to see what the problem is. “You know what? You'd better handle it. You better make sure every single trace, every thread connecting Randall to Ash, vanishes into thin air. Because if you don’t,” my voice drops, becoming dangerously quiet, a stark contrast to my earlier fury, “then I’m washing my hands of all of it. I’m handing Ash back to you. Since you clearly don’t want to retire anymore, you can have your empire back. See how well you run it with federal agents breathing down your neck. You’ve done it before, you can do it again, can’t you? This isn’t a threat, Grandfather. It’s a promise.”I almost gasp when he mentions his grandfather. Who would’ve thought that the one Lombardi family member that Aaron has a bit of fear for is the one receiving the lashing? He throws his phone against the sofa and takes deep breaths. I’m about to ask if everything is okay when he gets another call and I bite my

NATALIEI finally arrived at the pawn shop.” Cody had told us that this was a frequent place for Liam Conall. Liam Conall. The name tasted like ash on my tongue, a bitter reminder of Luca’s simmering fury and the impossible deadline hanging over my head like a weight.The bell above the door jangled, a sharp sound that did little to disturb the teenage girl perched on a high stool behind the counter. Her attention was wholly consumed by her left hand, which she was meticulously painting a garish shade of glittery purple. Her right hand, equally adorned, held a small, almost empty bottle of nail polish, swirled with a tiny brush. A bubblegum bubble expanded from her mouth with an audible pop, then retreated, only to expand again. She looked maybe sixteen, tops, wearing an oversized hoodie and ripped jeans, utterly out of place amidst the tarnished silver and dusty electronics.I walked further into the cluttered space, my combat boots crunching faintly on something gritty. Every surfac

DREWThe world spins for a moment, then settles. My head throbs, a dull, insistent rhythm against my temples. I blink, and the unfamiliar ceiling of a hotel room comes into focus. The sheets are soft, silk even, tangled around my legs.A groan escapes me as I roll onto my back, hands pressing against my eyes. What in the hell? Pieces of last night flash, fragmented and disorienting. The club. The pulsing beat. The lights, so bright they burned. Downing shots of alcohol and leaving the club. And then… her. The Prime Minister’s daughter. All I can remember is mumbling to her driver and taking the keys from him. Then, the car, her hand in mine, pulling me along, her scent of expensive perfume and something sweet, like champagne and reckless abandon.Right. Her hotel.I push myself up, a wave of nausea washing over me, quickly suppressed. My clothes are strewn across the polished wooden floor – a black shirt, dark jeans, still smelling faintly of smoke and the club’s recycled air. I swin