All Chapters of His Arranged Protection: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

~~LENA~~ The continuous vibration against my thigh felt like an electric current. In the dead silence of the burning office, the persistent buzz, buzz, buzz of the phone was deafening. Costa’s eyes didn't drift to my pocket. They remained fixed on Niccolò, but his jaw tightened. He knew the rules of this game, and an unscheduled variable in the middle of a execution zone meant the perimeter was no longer secure. "Answer it," Niccolò said. He didn't look at me. His focus was an unwavering line extending from the sight of his pistol straight to the bridge of Costa’s nose. "Put it on speaker." My fingers were trembling as I balanced the heavy stack of external drives against the steel ledger box under my left arm. With my right hand, I fished the anonymous device from my coat pocket. The screen didn't show a number. It displayed a single, pulsing word: UNKNOWN. I swiped the glass and hit the speaker icon. "Move two steps to yo

Lena’s POV The descent was a violent, gravity-driven nightmare of slick iron and rusted rivets. The cold metal of the chute tore at my coat as I slid downward at a terrifying speed, completely blind in the absolute blackness. I kept my head tucked low, my forearms locked in a vice-grip around the ledger box, bracing for the impact. An instant later, I shot out of the mouth of the chute and plunged directly into the freezing, murky water of the drainage canal. The shock of the sub-zero temperature was a physical blow, knocking the remaining air straight out of my lungs. The weight of the steel box pulled me under immediately, the black, oily water closing over my head. My winter layers turned to lead, anchoring me to the muddy bottom of the canal. Panic surged, a cold, sharp spike of adrenaline, but I refused to let go of the handles. I kicked furiously, my sneakers slipping on the riverbed muck, until my head finally broke the surface. I gasp

Lena's POV The cold air ripped through my lungs as I sprinted across the open gravel, the heavy weight of the pistol in my hand the only thing keeping me grounded. The interior of the mill swallowed me instantly, a cavernous maze of rusted machinery, towering timber columns, and the thick, suffocating smell of sawdust and dried blood. "Niccolò!" I cried out, my voice bouncing off the high corrugated iron ceilings. "Lena, get down!" The warning shout came from my left, followed immediately by the sharp, deafening crack of a handgun. I threw myself behind a massive pile of rotting wooden planks, my heart hammering violently against my ribs as wood splinters showered over my head. Through a gap in the timber, I saw him. Niccolò was crouched behind a rusted steel conveyor belt, his semi-automatic raised, his face twisted in a look of sheer, lethal concentration. Blood was trickling down the side of his neck from a graze on his

Lena's POV "I do not have it." My voice was barely a whisper, but in the tight silence of the kitchen, it sounded like a glass shattering on concrete. I backed up until my hips hit the edge of the wooden counter. Niccolò did not stop. He took another step forward, closing the distance between us until he completely blocked the exit. His chest was rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths. The dim light from the main room caught the hard, rigid line of his jaw. "Do not lie to me, Lena," he said. His voice was not loud, but it possessed a terrifying, quiet intensity that made me want to shrink into the wall. "My father has spent fifteen years destroying anyone who even heard rumors of that ledger. If you have had it this entire time, you have been sitting on a death warrant." "I am telling you the truth!" I said, my chest heaving as I looked up at him. I had to keep my voice low so Isabella wouldn't hear, but the desperation was

Lena’s POV "Get in," the driver said, his voice flat as he held the rear door open. He was a broad-shouldered man with a sharp hairline and a scar slicing through his left eyebrow. His hand stayed clamped over the suppressed pistol in his coat pocket. I slid across the cold leather of the back seat first, pulling my wet coat tight around my body. Every time my left heel touched the floor mat, the hard metal platter from the hard drive pressed into my foot. It was uncomfortable, but the physical discomfort was a grounding reminder that we still held the real power. Niccolò climbed in beside me, his long legs cramped in the footwell, while Marco took the front passenger seat. Marco pulled his knees up carefully, a sharp hiss escaping his teeth as he tried to protect his injured hip from bumping against the center console. Victoria Vance sat in the captain’s chair opposite us, the heavy leather interior smelling of clean rain and expensive tobacco. She placed the stack of black exte