POV: Bucky

"Where are they? Where are my wife and my son?"

The man I'm holding by the collar panics and stutters more and more as I get angrier. I swear he'd better talk than try my patience.

It didn't take me long to track them down. It was actually too easy. Whoever is behind this masquerade can't seriously believe I'm stupid enough to fall into their trap. Yet they wanted me to find them. Now I can only hope my family is still here. Maybe this poor excuse for a man is going to give me some information before he passes out from too much emotion.

"You seem to be in quite a hurry, my friend."

I turn my head towards the source of the voice. A guy with a thick mustache enters, followed by a group of armed men. He can't seriously be their boss? I've learned to distrust frail geniuses, but this one doesn't look like a brainy type.

I let go of the poor guy dangling at the end of my arm and walk towards the newcomer, ignoring the guns pointed at me. The man subtly flinches. Body language doesn't lie: he's afraid of me. And he hasn't seen anything yet.

"I warn you, if you've done-"

"Easy, they're fine. Now that you're here, we can discuss business."

"And you're expecting me to take your word for it? I want to see them."

"Are you going to insult me by making me remind you that you're in no position to negotiate?"

"You want to talk about the position you've put yourself in?" I raise my voice, stepping forward aggressively.

The distinctive sound of safety catches being released before weapons are fired echoes around the room. This time, the guy didn't flinch. He holds my gaze, fully aware of his current superiority. Only his sweat betrays that he's intimidated by me. I choose to calm things down and take a step back.

"Let me see them, and I'll listen to what you want me to do."

"Let's do it the other way. You listen to me, and then I'll consider letting you see them. I'm not a monster, you'll need motivation to complete the mission that awaits you."

"Mission?"

"You see, there's a small bunch of 4 annoying people who systematically thwart my business plans. I'd like you to take care of them."

I clench my teeth. "You know I don't do that sort of thing anymore."

"Something tells me that with the right words, you'd go back to your old ways without flinching. They're not the kind you forget, are they?"

"You can't control me anymore." My nails dig deeper into my palm through my glove, which does nothing to soothe my itchy knuckles.

"Not like you used to be, that's true. I'm aware the magic formula is no longer working. We just had to adapt and find another way. Don't forget, you're the Winter Soldier. You never had control and you never will."

Who the hell is 'we'?

"Why do you ask me to kill these people? Don't you have guys to handle it?"

"I'm sorry, you're in no better position to ask questions than you are to negotiate."

"Let me see them."

I stare at him without blinking once. A satisfied smile raises the edges of his ugly mustache.

I wonder who that man is. Nobody knows better than me that appearances can be deceiving. And yet I have to rely on them to try to figure this guy out. He doesn't seem to have the stature to provoke me like this, let alone to be the leader of these men. Then why does he have such a relaxed, self-assured attitude? He's too confident for the position he's put himself in. I don't trust him. As if committing murder was enough to get my family back. Does he really expect nothing more from me?

I take another step towards the blackmailer with a look that won't take no for an answer. He finally gestures to his men to lower their weapons.

"You're going to see them. But try one move, and it'll be the last time you ever lay eyes on them. Alive, at least."

He orders two of his men to bring them. I let the others take my knives and search the bag I've hastily packed. They'll find nothing but baby diapers, a pack of cookies, and a harmless toy.

Leaving them to their digging, I study every possible way to get my family out of here. I can't leave without them. Neither am I willing to risk her being hurt, any more than I am to risk my child's life. Whatever I do will have to be carefully thought out. There's no room for improvisation.

"Daddy!"

A wave of relief spreads through my chest, tempering for a moment the anger boiling in my veins. They're finally here, both of them, in front of me.

All the men around us point their guns at them. They know what they're doing. This way, they make it impossible for me to do anything.

I hold them close. My son's little arms cling around my neck as I cup my wife's cheek between my gloved hands. Even now, with her messy hair and worried look, I can't help but find her beautiful.

Our son passes from her arms to mine, and I take his favorite toy out of the bag. "Hey buddy. Look what I brought you."

He takes the toy in his hands and rests his head against my chest. Her lips move silently, letting me read a quiet 'thank you'.

"They didn't hurt you, did they? Are you alright? Is he okay?"

"We're fine, don't worry." She says with a smile probably meant to be reassuring. "I knew you'd come."

"I'm gonna get you out of here."

"What do they want from you?"

Our little guy is playing with the military tags hanging around my neck as he always does, babbling absent-mindedly. I'd rather have his attention focused on those dented old pieces of metal than on the guns pointing at us.

"They want me to do them a favor I'm not sure I'm willing to do. But if it's the only way to get you home..."

"I trust you." She squeezes my hand between her fingers and looks deeply into my eyes. "Don't give in to them. Buy us some time and we'll find a way out of here."

"You're so brave. I'm so sorry..."

"Remember, my love. We're a team."

"What a touching family reunion!" The man with the mustache, who until then had surprisingly allowed us some privacy, interrupts. "I assume you've made up your mind now."

"Release them and I'll do whatever you want me to do."

He chuckles before his smirk goes back to his lips. "You see, I don't work that way. I only give the reward once the mission's been accomplished."

The squeeze of my wife's hand in mine helps me contain my rage. She takes our son, who's having a hard time letting go of me. His cries make my heart ache even more.

"I... I accept. But you'd better not do them any harm."

"Don't worry about that." He replies, ruffling my son's hair and putting his hand on my wife's shoulder. "I'll personally make sure they're properly taken care of."

"Take your filthy hands off her!" I snap, grabbing him by the collar and clenching my jaw. "Don't ever touch them again."

"Then you know what you have to do."

I let him fall to the ground and kiss one last time the two people I care about more than anything else in the world. I stand helplessly, watching them being taken away to who knows where. I have just enough time to take off my dog tags and slip them around my wife's neck.

"I love you." She whispers after one last kiss. "Be safe."

"You be safe. I love you too."

I reluctantly let them go back into that lion's den, promising to get them out as soon as possible. My mind is already racing to find a plan.

Snatches of Russian reach my ears and I turn my head to see two men chatting in a corner. That's strange. Their leader doesn't look the least bit Eastern European. When I think of the number of terrorist organizations based at one time or another in the former Soviet Union, their involvement doesn't bode well.

Of all the stuff they've taken from me, all they give me back is my phone before the blackmailer gives me his instructions. He places four pictures on a table, pointing to each in turn.

"Daredevil—a ninja in a red devil costume from Hell's Kitchen. Jessica Jones—an alcoholic private investigator with one hell of a grip. Luke Cage—a thick-skinned mutant who comes straight from Harlem and prison. And finally Danny Rand—a somewhat mystical guy whose right hook is best avoided. Once those four are out of the way, you get your girl and kid back."

Without any reply, I take the photos and walk away. I've got to get them out of this mess. I just need to come up with a plan, hopefully one that doesn't involve fighting those renowned NYC vigilantes.

Reaching for my phone, I dial the first few digits of a number I know by heart and press the contact on the screen. It only takes one ring before he picks up.

"Didn't know you missed me already, Buck. How's my godson?"

"Sam, I've got a problem. A very serious problem."