It was just going to be a twenty-minute walk.

I needed some air. There was only so much wallowing I could do before I started feeling like my sadness was going to permanently weld me to the fucking mattress and I'd lay there forever, in a pool of misery.

When it started sounding that dramatic, I knew it was time to reset.

And so I crept my way downstairs, doing my best to avoid the cameras I knew about, and slipped out the front door.

I didn't want him following me. Obviously he'd figure out I left, but I couldn't even have him knowing which direction I went. I needed space. And if I told him, he wouldn't have let me go. Massimo was panicking—under the surface, of course—and that was not a man who'd let me wander the streets of his city alone and puffy-eyed from a breakdown.

But for once, Massimo needed something from me that I was not going to be able to provide.

Was that allowed?

Could I just take a fucking walk by myself without having to explain or reassure it into being okay?

I was fully aware this could be considered my quintessential dumb bitch moment. That part in a movie where the main character does something so endlessly stupid you just want to punch her in the face. But it was either this or go batshit crazy on Massimo next time I see him—and thank fuck I know my limits.

This happened occasionally—it had been a while since the last time—but when I started feeling particularly suffocated, I needed to disappear. It was probably the most annoying, dysfunctional thing about me, and we'd made it this far without Massimo seeing it in full action.

But when the world felt like it was caving in, as it sometimes did, the only way I could breathe was if I gave myself the illusion of complete freedom. No strings attaching me to anyone—not a single living thing. I would pretend to be the only person in the world. Nobody else existed. Not a soul to ask, demand, speak, or even breathe in my direction. And eventually that dark, chaotic tailspin of my thoughts would straighten out.

Do you want children, Massimo?

My children would grow up confused and hurt by my inability to truly care for them.

The disregard for your future...

I just needed twenty fucking minutes. I could be selfish for that long, right?

Wrong.

For the hundredth time in the last minute alone, my phone lights up with a call, buzzing against the dashboard of the car. I sigh as it rings and rings before going to voicemail. He immediately calls again, even though it's pointless. I'm clearly not going to pick up.

He's probably freaking the fuck out.

He definitely doesn't need this right now.

"Do you mind if I just answer that?" I pipe up, meeting the stranger's icy blue eyes in the rearview mirror. "I won't even say I'm getting kidnapped. I'll just tell him I stopped off for food somewhere. Trust me, he will not stop calling."

I wait, flexing my hands and feet to see if there's any weakness in the zip-ties. Nope. I've been tied up so tight, I can feel my extremities going numb.

The man who grabbed me off the street and shoved me into his SUV is your stereotypical unremarkable, older white man. He looks like someone's grandfather. There is nothing about him that rings a bell or gives me any clue as to what he wants from me.

He also has no idea how to silence my phone. The constant ringing seems to have him on the edge of some kind of nervous breakdown. There's a slightly manic sheen to those glacial eyes that's making me extremely wary, so I decide to stay silent for the rest of the ride.

My best chance at getting out of this was in those panic-filled moments between him grabbing me and wrestling me into his car. But he must've been tailing me for a while, waiting until I happened upon a street with nobody else around. And I struggled—flailed, screamed, hit, and kicked—but all I got for it was a black eye and several other throbbing bruises.

Grandpa can indeed pack a punch.

As dusk settles and we slip soundlessly through the city, I stare at my kidnapper. He's beginning to look slightly familiar, or maybe I'm just losing it. But I swear... I've seen him somewhere.

I have three hours to obsess over it. He drives for so long that my stomach starts rumbling, making me grimace each time as I just pray the sound doesn't send him over the edge. We left Chicago a while ago and the landscape out my window leveled out into flat cornfields and the occasional farmhouse.

And the further we get, the more I panic. There isn't a fucking soul out here. Me getting out of this hinges completely on my own ability to stay calm and channel my energy into finding any opportunity to crack this asshole over his bald head and steal his keys.

The tires crunch gravel as he turns into a driveway in front of a rickety ass house—long and low to the ground. It looks entirely unassuming. Flowers out front and wind chimes hanging over the porch.

With a grunt, he exits the car and comes around to my side, heaving the door open. It's when he lowers to face level, coming closer to lift me into his arms, that I remember exactly where I've seen this man.

"John Solos."

Those eerie frostbitten eyes meet mine, effectively taking my breath away. I remember noticing how offputting they were in several grainy newspaper pictures from years ago. 

"Head doctor of Hope Valley."

According to my research, Solos was the one who publicly took the fall for the fucked up things that happened there. It was his face plastered all over the news and papers. He served some time and once he got out, everyone had mostly moved past the Hope Valley scandal. So when he didn't publicly pop up after his release, John Solos was forgotten to worse, newer tragedies.

But not to me. In the brief time I spent scouring the internet for more information, I couldn't help noticing how strange it was. None of the reports even questioned whose orders he could've been following. It was like even the slightest question of Cora's involvement and existence had been wiped clean from the media.

Didn't take a genius to know now that was all part of her plan, but now what the fuck did he want with me?

He grunts, still not communicating past animalistic noises. I have no choice but to relax my body as he slips his arms behind my back and knees, lifting me out of the car. I start shaking, willing myself to muster up a few tears and adopt that helpless doe-eyed look.

Acting like a little bitch might be my best chance at him untying me. Currently I have no chance of even running if I managed to knee this geriatric nutcase in the balls.

He kicks open the door and deposits me on a dusty couch. I mentally cringe as I notice the layer of grime coating this entire place. My cringe intensifies as he sits in front of me and stares intently at my face.

"So it's you," his voice is rusty, lost under layers of grit. "You're the one the boy chose."

He looks the way he sounds. Gnarled, straining under the weight of secrets, corruption, and isolation. The way he's looking at me strikes genuine fear in my chest. This is a man who has absolutely nothing to lose.

"Just t-tell me what you want from me." Shaky voice, trembling lips, tears brimming in my eyes. Perfect. I'm crushing this. Hopefully he isn't irrationally angered by women crying.

"You can stop pretending," he leans forward, big body tensed to the point of trembling. "I know what you and your father did to help the boy. I've been watching you, Vivienne Lee. I've been waiting."

"What? What are you even talking abou... oh, fuck it," I snap, dropping the whole act. I don't have the fucking energy anymore.

I now have no plan. I violently curse myself for never sharing my location with Massimo, although that's not something I'd ever willingly do.

But isn't he in the mafia? He's supposed to be toxic and inject me with a tracker when I'm asleep. Or something. 

Damn him.

"I know you're the one responsible for her..." I watch in horror as he swallows painfully, tears gathering in his eyes, "for her death."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me. Really? This is about her? Don't even tell me—were you in love with her?" At his silence, I groan. "Fuck, dude. Pick another struggle. I'm sick and tired of hearing about it, honestly. She's dead, and it's about twenty years too late. What are you going to do now, kill me? Nothing you do will rob me of the joy of killing her."

He blinks, looking stunned. Half lost in his grief, half processing my words. "I-I was in love with he—"

"You were in love with her? Even after she violated a seven-year-old boy?"

"Shut up," Solos growls, lips white with the anger slowly seeping into his body.

I totally should, but there's nihilistic fury clouding my good judgment. It's been absolute hell getting myself and Massimo to this point. He's going to be dealing with the physical and mental aftermath of what she did to him for the rest of his life. Hell, it's been my full-time fucking job making sure he wasn't swallowed up by the darkness she caused.

"When she continuously victimized him in the years after that? Got off on the ways she permanently fucked with children?" I shout loud enough to rattle the shitty windows. "You were fucking in love with that? That's how you want this to go?"

With a throaty shout, he's coming at me. Those huge, hairy fists connect with my face and stomach again and again until my vision blurs and every breath feels like torture. When he's finally done, he crumples to his knees and buries his face in his hands.

I spit blood onto his couch, trying to breathe. My entire body feels like it's been slammed repeatedly by a metal pipe, but I don't regret a word I said.

"I did everything for her," he sobs, "I took the fall, I've been living like a fucking recluse for all this time... I lost everything. Everything! We were going to be together... we were so close and she promised. She's been promising all this time... I've been waiting for over twenty years! And now she's... dead."

"She manipulated and lied to you? Shocker. I thought pedophiles were known to be trustworthy."

"Shut the fuck up!" Solos explodes. Right as he turns to grab me, I kick him square in the chest with both feet. He grunts and falls backwards, momentarily stunned, but the effort took everything from me. So I can't retaliate again before he rears back and punches me so hard it sends me sideways into the coffee table. There's a piercing ring in my ears that muffles his pathetic whimpers of pain. "Just shut up, fucking shut up, shut up..."

Something wet and warm pools against the back of my head and the carpet. If I had my hands free I'd check for blood but I already know. I felt my head connect with the sharp edge of the table on the way down.

His cries are bordering on hysterical and he's rocking back and forth, lost to grief I didn't know a woman like Cora could ever evoke in a person. I try to blink the fog from my eyes and that miniscule movement makes the entire world spin.

It seems my verbal harassment is actually sending him into a weakened, dissociated state. I should've led with that. Dammit.

"I... I'm so sick of people like... like you," I manage, feeling blood drip down my chin. "Causing pain when everyone already has enough to fucking deal with." I take several ragged breaths before I'm able to speak again. "I loved watching her die, how she didn't even look human at the end of it." There's definitely something wrong with me; the pain has been replaced by aching numbness and it feels like my body is sinking into the ratty carpet. "She looked... like an animal... completely mutilated and broken... like all the evil she inflicted on everyone else ate her alive and fucking spat her back out."

The blurry lump in the corner of my vision flattens as Solos collapses completely to his hands and knees, and I figure it's not his desperate cries fading but me.

But I find myself smiling.

Fuck. Him.

He totally interrupted my walk, too. His own fault, because I was well on my way to becoming a well-adjusted, sane individual before he came along.

Hopelessly, I wonder what Massimo's up to. There's just no way he'll be able to track me all the way out here before I bleed out on this fucking carpet.

It's absolutely ridiculous, an utterly stupid way to go, but I'm so... so tired.

I oscillate between an excruciating wakefulness and blessed unconsciousness. Aware of the man still on the floor across the room, only because the presence of his pain is so sharp and striking. He's lost to it while I slowly bleed, slowly drift further and further. Wondering if I'm dying—this feels painful enough—and how long it's supposed to take.

I must pass out for a long time.

When I blink awake, the first thing I notice is that the stars brightly stud the night sky. There's a strange, tinny noise in the background; the effort to turn my head makes my entire horizon shift. I hear a cry and realize belatedly it must've been me, but distraction from the pain comes in the form of being blinded by a glowing white box.

Fuck. Everything hurts.

My eyes won't focus, but I eventually realize I'm looking at a TV. It takes several minutes before I begin to understand. It comes in pieces.

"... downtown, where the situation has escalated... full-scale crisis of unprecedented violence sweeping the city... authorities warning residents to stay indoors as several districts remain under lockdown..."

What the fuck?

"Over the last eight hours, multiple incidents of arson, shootings, and violent confrontations have erupted across the city. Witnesses report seeing armed men in unmarked vehicles making swift, coordinated moves throughout neighborhoods known for their high crime rates."

I begin to make out a grim-faced reporter, the Chicago skyline looming behind her like a battleground.

"Reports indicate that there are casualties, though police have not yet released a full count."

The screen flashes to footage of a sleek, glass skyscraper—one of those towering, multi-million dollar corporate giants.

It's on fire.

The image then cuts to a mugshot of a man with dark eyes, an angular face, and an expression of utter detachment. Even so, he manages to appear both calculated and crazed.

"Intelligence reports suggest this could be an all-out power struggle within the criminal underworld of the city. Kirill Sokolov, suspected leader of the Russian criminal network, is believed to be the primary target of these... well, 'attacks' doesn't even begin to cover it. This is a calculated, methodical dismantling of the city."

A harsh curse sounds from the corner of the room. I didn't notice Solos looming there until now, eyes glued to the screen. The reporter goes on to mention they have no leads on the identity of the culprit, but I'm done listening.

Both of us reached the same conclusion as soon as they flashed Sokolov's face.

Massimo obviously decided he wouldn't ever need to track me against my will—not when he can just burn down the entire city looking for me.

Clearly, he's lost his fucking mind. But he's coming for me.

♛

Viv: *goes missing for a few hours*
Simo: *starts a war*

DR hot take: I'm not here for the 'he nonconsensually tracks her' trope. I personally find that lazy. Give me a morally gray man who will let his entire city be his woman's playground and uproot it all to find her.

- G