In another part of town, within the dim, smoke-hazed interior of a private lounge in a suburban part of town, Adele was half-naked, snuggled against the chest of a man with a full beard and a body overly covered in tattoos. Nico Marcello, one of the most notorious crime lords in the city. His rough, calloused hands roamed over her skin, groping her possessively, and she was making all the breathy, compliant sounds she knew he wished to hear. "Nico," she purred, a note of anxiety threading through her voice as she traced his bare chest with her fingers, "can Old Roger really do the job?" She was growing impatient; it had been three hours since the old man had left to infiltrate Pine Valley, and there was still no word.
"You should trust me and stop worrying about that," Nico replied, his voice a low, gruff rumble. He suddenly pinched the soft flesh of her waist, hard enough to make her gasp, and she forced a sensual moan, burying her grimace in his neck.
"Yeah, that's better," he whispered, leaning his face close to her ear. His beer-filled breath filled her nostrils, making her stomach churn.
At that moment, the door to the lounge was suddenly shoved open, and Adele immediately scrambled away from Nico, grabbing a nearby coat and wrapping it tightly around herself. Nico frowned in deep irritation. It was the old gardener from the valley, Old Roger, panting heavily and clutching his dangling, useless arm. He was accompanied by another man, Taryn, who wore a furious expression; he had been the driver.
"What happened?" Nico demanded, noticing the situation.
"Old Roger met Devion's wife, sir," Taryn explained, his head bowed slightly in respect. "But she broke his arm."
"Are you joking with me right now?" Nico asked, his eyes narrowing to slits.
Old Roger spoke up, his voice filled with pain and tears. "No, sir! My shoulder... it's completely broken! It's completely broken!" he cried.
Nico's burning gaze swung back to Taryn. "Didn't you say you investigated her?"
"I did, sir," Taryn affirmed, "but I didn't get much. The file says she's a very simple tomboy from the lower class with no history of violence."
Nico's expression turned stormy. He clenched his fist so tightly the knuckles turned white and threatened to pop. "She's really so daring," he hissed and looked at Taryn. "Get some boys with you and hunt her down for me. Bring her here. I would like to teach the bitch a serious lesson myself."
Taryn nodded in understanding and swiftly walked out.
Nico then faced the sobbing Old Roger. "Go get yourself treated and stop crying in here," he said with utter irritation. Old Roger hurried out immediately, clutching his arm and weeping so hard.
Adele, who had heard everything, was profoundly surprised by the sudden turn of events. Old Roger was only supposed to intimidate Devion's new wife into leaving him and disappearing. How had it escalated to the woman breaking his arm? How strong was she, exactly? The picture she had seen showed a girl who didn't look threatening at all. But despite her confusion, a thrill of excitement ran through her. No matter how strong the girl was, she had angered Nico, and Nico was going to make her pay for it so severely she wouldn't even remember Devion's name.
Suddenly, Nico turned his predatory gaze back to her, and she trembled, recognizing the look. He was going to take his fury out on her. "Nico..." she began, trying to calm him down, but he wasn't listening. In one swift movement, he picked her up and threw her onto the nearby bed, tearing off his clothes completely.
---
Miller, on the other hand, had no idea that her confrontation in the valley had offended a crime lord. The incident felt like a bizarre, isolated event, and she had pushed it to the back of her mind. Today, she was out at a bustling thrift stall with Stephanie, who had just secured a new job and needed a new wardrobe.
"So, how's married life?" Stephanie asked in a lightly teasing tone as she held up a simple white gown to her shoulders, examining her reflection in a smudged, full-length mirror.
"Nothing," Miller muttered in a bored, dismissive tone, sifting through a rack of jeans without much interest.
Stephanie chuckled as she placed the gown back on the rack. "Would the marriage remain a secret for the whole six months though?" She probed further.
"It probably would," Miller replied with a shrug. "It would be more peaceful that way."
Stephanie sighed, her playful mood shifting into a hopeful one. "I really wish I could be as daring as you are. I would get a boyfriend and get married without thinking of what my mom would say or what she would do to me." She forced a bright smile, but Miller could see the genuine longing behind it.
Stephanie picked up a vintage leather jacket and moved closer to Miller, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "How about we run away? The both of us. To somewhere where we would be free, and we wouldn't be bound by my mum's crazy rules."
Miller stopped her searching and looked directly at her friend, her expression turning serious. "What would then happen to the chip she put in you?"
A sharp flash of pain crossed Stephanie's face, extinguishing the brief spark of hope. Yeah, there was a chip. A sophisticated tracking and compliance device implanted in her, one that her mother had threatened would detonate if she ever dared to leave the country without permission.
"I was just joking," Stephanie said quickly, the words hollow.
Seeing her friend's devastation, Miller pulled her into a tight, reassuring hug. "It will get better, Steph. And I promise, we will be fine," she said, her voice firm with a conviction she desperately wanted to feel herself.
With unshed tears glistening in her eyes, Stephanie managed to smile, the brightest, most forced smile she could muster. "Yes, it would be. It would be," she repeated, as if trying to speak the reality into existence.
So absorbed were they in their shared moment of despair and fragile hope that they failed to notice the brown-haired man watching them intently from a distance, partially concealed by a rack of coats. He lifted his wrist to his mouth, speaking softly into his watch. "Target locked. The head is real."
---
Somewhere across the ocean, in a high-tech command center, every monitor simultaneously flickered and turned a solid, luminescent green. Immediately, a squad of heavily armed figures, clad in tactical gear, trooped into a vast, sophisticated hall. They assembled before a man seated on a throne-like chair, a devastatingly handsome man with a sharp jawline and red hair, a cruel yet playful smile playing on his lips, and a distinctive white scar cutting through his brow. He was casually twirling a blade between his fingers.
He scanned the assembled group, his smile widening into a predatory grin as he stood up, his voice echoing with command and dark excitement. "Let's go bring back the head! Let's go bring back my bride!"
A unified, roaring cheer erupted from the armed men, shaking the very foundations of the hall. The hunt had officially begun.