FIVE
The panic attack hits like a freight train—fast, ruthless, overwhelming. I clutch myself, arms wrapped tightly around my body, as though I can hold myself together through sheer will.
It doesn't help. My fingers fumble for Mom’s old book. Usually, it grounds me. Not today.
I wish she were still here. Dad only started drinking like this after we lost her to cancer. It's like the glue that held our family together died with her.
We’ve been drifting apart ever since, each of us spiraling in our own private pain. Tess started those midnight walks, trying to outrun her grief—until the night she was attacked. And not just attacked.
Some Russian scumbag, Mikhail Baranov tried to force her into a car, planning to sell her to some brothel.
The only reason she got away was pure luck. A patrol car turned the corner as he was shoving her inside.
He got off. Walked free. Probably bribed the court. No justice for Tess. And now she can't even leave the apartment. Meanwhile, my OCD got worse and worse, and I let Dad’s drinking get out of control. I stopped watching, stopped trying. And now, because I couldn’t help Tess face the world again, I might’ve doomed us both.
I just wanted to keep this family together. But everything is crumbling. No income. No future. An eviction notice on the door. And now this. I’ve failed. Failed them all. Pamela once told me, You can’t control everything.
Turns out, I can’t control anything.
I’m useless.
The panic takes full control. My breathing shatters into shallow, desperate gasps. My chest feels like it’s caving in, like my heart’s going to explode through my ribs. The walls shrink, the air thins, the terror claws at my throat. I’m drowning.
"It’s too much," I choke out, the words barely forming between ragged breaths. “I’m sorry, Mom. I let everyone down.”
Suddenly, my phone rings—sharp, slicing through the fog of panic. I struggle to catch my breath before answering, the unknown number making my anxiety spike even higher. "H-Hello?" I whisper, breathless.
“Sophia?” The voice is deep and calm, sending a jolt down my spine. Luca Morretti. “Did the therapist call? I made it a priority.”
I try to sound steady. “How did you get my number?”
He doesn’t answer. “I saw your father run. My men are watching your building.” A chill spreads through me. “Did you think of going with him? Trying to run? Or are you waiting to find out what I’ll do to you when he fails?”
He sounds like he’s enjoying this.
A dry, humorless laugh escapes me. “My sister can’t leave. I’m not abandoning her. I’m not scared of you.” It’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
“You should be,” he says softly. “I don’t forgive failure. Still... your loyalty is impressive. Noble. Stupid. Tomorrow, you become mine.”
“Why?” My voice cracks under the weight of it. “What could you possibly want with me?” A part of me—a twisted, broken part, longs for the safety he pretends to offer. The protection I crave even though I know it’s a lie. It terrifies me, this fragile hope in someone like him.
“You survive. I admire that. You’re broken, but I can fix you.”
“Broken?” The word slices through me. I know it’s true, but hearing it aloud still hurts.
He ticks off my flaws like a checklist. “Panic attack just now. OCD. Anxiety. Am I missing anything?”
“Yeah. I’m furious at men who think they know everything about me.”
“I don’t know everything. That photo on your fridge—your mom in the park?”
“What about it?”
“If your father hadn’t screwed up, I’d own that land now. I would’ve rebuilt it for you.”
A loud bang jolts me, and the apartment door crashes open. My heart lurches with fleeting hope. Maybe Dad came back.
“Hold on,” I tell Luca and step into the hallway—only to freeze.
Two men are standing there. Armed.
The first is built like a tank, his thick neck nearly merging with his head. His scalp is shaved, and he looks more beast than man despite his expensive suit. “What the hell are you doing?” I demand as he grabs me.
He growls, a Russian accent coating his breath. “Quiet.”
His partner is taller, leaner. Slick ponytail, sharp suit. He watches with clinical detachment, only speaking once.
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “Where’s your father?”
I go cold. “You’re here to kill him.”
“Smart girl. Where is he?”
A flicker of fire ignites in me. “You’re making a mistake. Luca Morretti’s a friend of mine. You hurt me, and he’ll end you.”
“Bullshit. You don’t know Don Morretti.”
“He’s on this call right now. Ask him.”
The thin one rips the phone from my hand. “Who is this?” he barks into it. He pauses, face paling. “Don Morretti?”
He listens, face draining of color. “Briarwood has her.” Another pause. Then his expression tightens into panic. “He’s coming.”
“What’d he say?” the bulldog growls.
“He’s coming. For us.”
“Use her as leverage,” the thin one suggests. “Maybe we can negotiate.”
“Negotiate with Morretti? Are you insane? Let’s dump her and run.”
“No. She means something to him. I heard it. We might trade her for our lives.” His eyes narrow at me. “What are you to him? Are you related?”
I stare him down. “Take me, and you’re dead men.”
“What about Flesh?” the bulldog mutters.
The thin one nods. “Briarwood’s territory. He’ll hide her there. We hold her, make a deal. Let’s go.”
I catch sight of Tess at the edge of my vision, standing frozen in her doorway, her face a portrait of fear.
Our eyes lock. I shake my head frantically, silently begging her to stay back, to disappear. She gets the message instantly, retreating into the shadows without a word.
"This way," the thinner man orders, his gun aimed steadily at me. "Let’s switch up the view."