Laurel P.O.V
The moment Acadia went up the stairs, the air in the living room shifted.
Two men's hands seized my arms.
Not rough,but controlled and professional like I was an object already labelled and filed.
"Move" One of the men said.
They dragged me down the hallway before I could protest. As we passed a half-closed door, I heard Acadia's voice in low, sharp and dangerously cutting through the house like a blade.
She was on the phone.
"…Why does Richardo want to keep that lady alive?" Acadia asked.
My heart stopped.
I slowed without meaning to. The men tightened their grip.
Abigail's voice came through the speaker, calm and lethal.
"Richardo has made a weakness. Weaknesses must be eliminated tonight"
Acadia exhaled sharply.
"He made her breathe. She knows too much of our secrets"
"The Dons are coming tonight" Abigail replied. "I won't let Richardo's little weakness destroy him"
Acadia's voice hardened.
"She can't live without being touched. Her presence breathes death"
The door to the room slammed open and before I could process the words Dons or tonight, I was shoved inside.
The lock clicked.
Final.
The room was immaculate. Too clean. No handles on the windows,just thick sealed glass that reflected my own pale face back at me. No escape. No cracks. No mercy.
Hours passed.
Hunger clawed at me until my hands shook. My thoughts spiraled—
Richardo, the FBI ambush, Acadia's house, the statue that wasn't just a statue, the words weakness and eliminated echoing over and over in my head.
Then the door opened.
Richardo walked in.
The room seemed to bend around him.
Two men followed, carrying a tray piled with food—
Italian dishes I'd only seen in glossy magazines. Warm bread. Pasta glazed with oil and herbs. Fries crisp and golden.
I didn't wait for permission.
I ate like I hadn't seen food in days because I hadn't.
Richardo didn't look at me.
He walked straight to the window, hands clasped behind his back, his presence filling the room without effort. The city lights reflected faintly across his broad shoulders, his tailored shirt stretching over a body built for command.
Even standing still, he radiated control.
"You're leaving tonight" He said.
I didn't stop eating.
Why would I? Leaving meant survival.
I rushed, swallowed too fast and suddenly I was choking.
I reached for water, coughing,my eyes burning.
Richardo didn't turn.
I drank until the panic eased.
"You shouldn't stay" He added quietly.
I looked at him then.
Not as the man who could order my death,but as the man who had pulled me out of gunfire, who had shielded me without hesitation.
He stood like a ruler carved from steel. His shirt clung to his torso, revealing the discipline beneath,muscle earned, not displayed. Power held back, not shown off. The kind of strength that didn't need violence to be feared.
"Why did you save me back there?" I asked.
He turned.
In two strides he was in front of me.
He grabbed my arm,already hurting me, but he pulled me to my feet. His voice dropped, close to my ear.
"I decide your death.You have no right to die"
The words hit harder than any threat.
I tried to pull back. His grip tightened—so cruel and unyielding. His body blocked mine completely, a wall between me and everything else.
"Finish eating" He said. "Then you leave"
"Why?" I demanded.
He leaned closer until I had no space left.For the first time, I wasn't afraid.
I felt…protected.
"You stay" He whispered, ruthless and final.
"You die"
Then he let go.
Just like that.
He turned and walked out as if he hadn't just shattered something inside me. His men collected the tray, leaving the scent of food and danger behind.
The door closed.
I sat back down slowly, my heart racing, hands trembling.
Why was I always standing on the edge of death?
And why did the man who could end me…keep pushing me away from it?
The room went silent after Richardo left.
Not peaceful.
Not safe.
Silent like a coffin that hadn't been buried yet.
I stood there for a long time, staring at the door he'd closed behind him,replaying his words over and over.
You stay. You die.
I didn't need him to explain further.
The house already had.
The walls weren't just walls. They listened. The air wasn't just air—it watched.
Everything in Acadia's house felt layered with secrets like the truth had been folded and buried beneath polished marble and expensive silence.
The Dons were coming.
That word alone made my stomach twist.
I'd heard about the Dons before,in safe places, in trembling voices. The Dons weren't men you met. They were men who makes the final decisions. Whenever they arrive, they don't negotiate. They erase.
And somehow…I was the problem.
I moved quietly.
Too quietly for someone who didn't belong in a house like this.
The sealed glass window confirmed what I already knew—no jumping, no breaking out. The door was locked from the outside. Cameras were hidden, not obvious, but I could feel them. Whoever built this place had planned for prisoners who still breathed.
That meant escape wasn't expected.
Which made it necessary.
I remembered the statue.
The way Acadia had corrected it too quickly.
The way her hand had lingered there a second longer than needed.
The faint line in the wall I'd dismissed as decorative.
Nothing in this house was decorative.
I waited.
Time passed slow and sharp. My heartbeat counted seconds. Footsteps moved outside my door—guards changing positions. Patterns formed. I memorized them the way you memorize exits when you know a building will burn.
When the house finally settled into night, I acted.
I pulled the chair beneath the handle—not to break it, but to listen. The vibrations through the wood told me when the hallway was empty. When the cameras rotated. When the house exhaled.
The lock wasn't digital.
It clicked.
Once.
Twice.
I froze.
Nothing happened.
I slipped out like I was stealing my own life back.
The living room was darker now, lit only by the city bleeding through tall windows. The statue stood exactly where Acadia had left it—too perfect. Too centered.
I touched it again.
This time, I felt it.
The wall shifted.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
A hidden door opened behind the statue, revealing a narrow passage with metal steps descending into darkness.
My breath caught.
So this was it.
This was what the Dons wanted.
Not me.
What I knew.
What I had heard.
What I had seen and didn't even understand yet.
Voices echoed from below.
Low. Male. Controlled.
They weren't arguing. They were confirming.
"…the girl stays alive until the transfer"
"…Richardo doesn't get a vote"
"…once she's handed over, his weakness is gone"
Weakness.
That was me.
Not because I was fragile,but because I existed.
Because I had seen too much.
Because I had survived twice.
Because mercy in their world was treason.
I backed away slowly,my heart slamming and that was when I understood the truth:
Richardo hadn't saved me because he wanted to own me.
He'd saved me because killing me would've been easy.
Letting me live was rebellion.
A quiet, dangerous one.
I ran.
Not loudly.
Not blindly.
I took the long route, slipped through the service corridor, avoided the cameras I now recognised. A door opened. Another lock. A third gave way.
I burst into the night just as headlights cut across the driveway.
Black cars.
No plates.
The Dons had arrived.
I didn't look back.
Because I knew deep down that if I did, I wouldn't see mercy.
Only the moment the world decided whether I was worth keeping alive.
And somewhere behind me, in a house full of secrets and men who ruled shadows, Richardo would have to choose:
Lose me…or burn everything to keep me breathing.