- Freckles

Alessandro

☩══♛══☩

This wasn’t just a hit on our assets—it was a direct challenge to me and my reputation. Whoever pulled this off thought they could outsmart me, play me for a fool. They were about to learn just how wrong they were.

Even if it’s the FBI, I’ll find them and drag them right to my doorstep. They’ll regret ever thinking they could take me on. This shit is personal now, and trust me, nobody wants to go toe-to-toe with me.

I continued to sift through the data, and then I saw the patterns and a realization hit me. This wasn’t just a random attack. This was someone who knew my name, someone who fucked with my ID. Someone with my full name, address, date of birth, and social security number. Some who had the guts to change my work number, how did they even pull that off and why didn't the company contact me?

The answer sent a chill down my spine—the only ones with this kind of reach and capability were the FBI.

My thoughts turned to recent dealings, enemies, anyone with the motive and the skill to pull this off.

Names and faces flashed through my mind, each one a potential traitor. But who had the means and the access to pull this off?

Suddenly it felt as if it wasn't the FBI because if it were them, they’d already be at our doorstep, slapping handcuffs on everyone for the mess we’ve made.

This stank of an inside job.

Could it be Frankie?

Taking a deep breath, a slow, sinister smile spread across my face. The thought of Frankie being behind this was almost satisfying. If he was the rat, he’d soon wish he’d stayed out of my way. I’d make sure of that.

I turned back to the laptop, my fingers flying over the keyboard. First, I needed to retrace their steps, follow the digital breadcrumbs they had left behind. Every hacker, no matter how skilled, left a trace. It was only a matter of time before I found it.

I accessed the security logs, scanning through the entries. There it was—a series of logins from unfamiliar IP addresses, masked through various VPNs and proxies. Amateurs. I had designed my systems to detect even the slightest anomalies.

I noted the IP addresses and began cross-referencing them with known VPN services and previous attacks. Patterns began to emerge, and I could feel the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

Next, I searched the transaction history. Each account had been drained in rapid succession, the money funneled through a maze of other accounts. But I recognized a few of the routes. They had used techniques I was intimately familiar with—techniques I had developed myself. This was someone who knew my methods.

Frankie was my protegé, only he'd know of my tricks but being my protegé he wouldn't leave a trail for me to find. He knew how important it was for us to cover our tracks. This person had made a fatal mistake. They had left behind traces, echoes of their movements that I could follow.

It wasn’t Frankie—he’d never be sloppy enough to leave a trail. And it wasn’t the FBI; if it were, we’d all be in cuffs by now, and my systems would be locked down. No, this was someone else. Someone stupid enough to think that they could beat me at my own game. It was almost admirable. Almost.

I smiled, the thrill of the hunt coursed through me, a heady mix of anger and excitement.

I’m going to find you, and when I do, I’ll make sure you suffer, you little thief.

I needed a network sniffer, and it was on the flash drive stashed in my wallet. I tossed my laptop onto the bed and stormed into the living room, tearing through the place in a frenzy. I finally spotted my jacket behind the couch. Snatching it up, I fumbled through the inner pocket—empty.

My eyes went wide as the full impact of the situation sank in. My wallet was gone. I scrambled through my house in a frenzy, flipping over furniture and yanking open drawers. I tore through every corner, my frustration mounting with each second.

The more I looked, the more I felt the panic clawing at me. This wasn’t just a minor screw-up—it was a fucking catastrophe.

I raked a hand through my hair as I looked around the place. The girls from last night couldn’t have taken it. They were with me the entire time. The timing of the transactions would have made it impossible for them to execute such a precise theft. If not them, then who?

As I tore through the house, a cold realization hit me—what if the thief had my wallet?

Is that how they got ahold my credentials?

But how the hell would someone swipe my wallet from inside my jacket?

Then it hit me. I recalled that brief moment from the nightclub, just before I left. The girl who brushed past me, bumping into me as she made her way through the crowd. The thought made my blood run cold.

Freckles...

I headed straight to my bedroom and booted up the nightclub’s security footage. I had left the club around 3 a.m., and Freckles had bumped into me just seconds before. I dialed in the timestamp and started sifting through the footage.

I focused intently on the video as it played. Freckles approached casually, but I zoomed in on the moment our bodies connected. Her chest brushed against mine, and I zoomed in further. There it was—her hand slipping subtly between us. It was a slight touch, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

I replayed the footage, analyzing her movements. Her hand brushed against my side where my wallet had been. The touch was practiced, deliberate. It probably wasn't the first time she had done it.

Freckles—whoever the fuck she was—was a seasoned thief.

A grim smile formed on my face. “Fuck me running... we have our little thief.”

A woman, no less…

It all clicked into place. That casual brush against me, the way she seemed to innocently bump into me—it wasn’t random. She’d used that moment of contact to snatch my wallet. The precision, the timing—it screamed professionalism.

I took a sharp breath, trying to steady myself. Freckles had managed to exploit a fleeting, unsuspecting second to pull off a heist that was as smooth as it was humiliating.

A woman had outwitted me with nothing more than a calculated touch. The realization stung—she’d made a fool out of me with a move I should have seen coming.

Now it was my turn to strike back.

But first, I had to track her down.

I reviewed the security footage from last night again, focusing intently on Freckles. I needed a better view of her face, something more definitive. As the footage played, I zoomed in on her features, as she sat on the barstool, sipping on her drink.

In that frame, I paused the video. Her face was partially obscured, but I could make out enough details—her hairstyle, distinctive features. I took a series of screenshots.

With the images saved, I used specialized software to enhance the screenshots, increasing the resolution and clarity. The clearer images allowed me to start a reverse search. I used facial recognition software to compare her features against publicly available databases and social media profiles.

Within minutes, I had narrowed down potential matches. I cross-referenced her image with local social media accounts and public records. Her unique appearance and the specific details from the footage helped me identify accurately.

Minutes later, I had a hit.

The name was Viviane Kane. And the image of her stared back at me, mascara running down her cheek, she had a slight smirk on her face, her red hair was a mess and she was holding a placard with her name on it. She held it almost casually, as if the arrest were just another notch on her belt.

It was a mugshot...

Fuck, interesting...

I dug deeper, pulling up her profile and background. Viviane Kane wasn’t just a random pickpocket; she had a history. Arrest records showed two previous arrests for theft. Each charge was linked to elaborate heists.

There were articles detailing her heists, including a high-profile gala where she had stolen a valuable necklace, impressively.

She was known for slipping through security systems that stumped even the best. As I read more details I realized that each of her thefts were planned with precision.

I smiled, a cold, calculated smile stretching across my face. "Got you, little thief…"

This wasn’t just about a stolen wallet anymore. It was personal. Viviane Kane had the audacity to target someone like me, and that meant she needed to be dealt with.

Next, I dug into her personal life. She was holed up in a rundown part of Brooklyn, living in a cramped apartment that was crawling with lowlifes thieves just like her.

I gave Frankie the directive to shut down the search and handle the situation myself. No need for anyone else to get their hands dirty, after all, it was just a girl.

Suddenly, the tension lifted off my shoulders. I felt like I had all the time in the world. I freshened up, took a shower, had breakfast with Magnus—a British shorthair cat.

He reclined in his velvet bed as I served him his premium organic kibble, the kind that cost more than most people’s monthly rent. He was the most important thing in my life, the only creature in my world that truly understood the value of finer things.

I selected a tailored suit from my closet. It crafted from the finest Italian wool, fit me like a second skin. I fastened the sleeve garters. My leather gloves, made from the softest lambskin, slid on effortlessly. I wasn’t one for leaving fingerprints, especially when it came to handling delicate matters—like murder.

"Be a good boy," I told Magnus as I stepped out, locking the door behind me.

I preferred solitude. No staff, no guards or drivers. My home was a fortress built on layers of custom security protocols that would make even the slickest hacker sweat.

A cleaning lady comes by every couple of days to clean up, but otherwise, I handled my own. I even cooked my own meals.

The moment I approached the garage, the sensors kicked in with a low buzz and the door slid open. Inside, eight cars shined under the lights. I spared a glance at the Lamborghini Sián Roadster, the newest addition, thanks to Niko. Its sleek design tempting me for a split second. But rolling through Brooklyn in that beast would be like throwing a flare into the night sky.

I opted for a BMW instead. It was the perfect choice—under the radar. It would keep me low-profile as I tracked down Viviane Kane.

- Little Thief

Viviane

☩═✦═☩

I have always been a little fucked up...

Well, not a little but a lot...

From a really young age, I felt it. There was this gnawing sense that something wasn't right with me.

While other kids were dreaming about fairy tales and superheroes, my mind would wander into darker, more forbidden territories. It was unsettling, but it was my reality.

I didn't understand why, and I certainly couldn't talk to anyone about it. So, I kept it buried deep inside, letting it fester and grow.

As I got older, those feelings didn't fade. If anything, they intensified. I tried to ignore them, push them down, and pretend they weren't there. But they always resurfaced, stronger and more insistent.

In everyday life, I come across as assertive, independent, a total spitfire. I don't let any man tell me what to do—I run my own show. If you see me, you'd never guess the darkness lurking beneath my surface. I wear confidence like armor, and people buy the act without question.

But that darkness is always there and it wasn't for the lack of trying.

I tried to push it away, convinced myself it was sick, twisted, wrong. I told myself I shouldn't think about it, that I needed to be normal. But the harder I fought it, the stronger it seemed to get.

Whenever I was with a guy, it was like a cruel joke. I'd go through the motions, play the part, but most of the time, I just couldn't come. It was like my body was rebelling, refusing to give in to the act.

The worst part? I became a master at faking it. I'd arch my back, moan at all the right moments, and they'd never know the difference. It was so frustrating, knowing how good I was at pretending.

I've wrestled with my demons for so long, trying to reconcile this part of myself with the person I show to the world.

It's a constant struggle, a battle that leaves me exhausted and hollow. But slowly I've come to accept that this is who I am—flawed, broken, and deeply, irrevocably fucked up.

And maybe, just maybe, that's okay.

I've come to terms with the fact that everyone has their own sexual fantasies—no matter how weird, twisted, or even downright absurd they might be. I've heard stories of people going to extremes just to get off—eating crap and all that. I might judge a little, but hey, who am I to say what's too far?

Mine didn’t seem that outrageous in comparison.

Except it was. It was deeply shameful and seriously messed up.

But as long as it would have stayed in my head and got me off, there wouldn't have been a problem.

The real danger is when those fantasies start leaking into reality.

And, bit by bit, they did.

I could see it happening, but I was powerless to stop it. It was like a primal urge, something I craved with the same intensity as the next breath. It wasn’t even a choice anymore—it was just automatic, like my body knew what it wanted and didn’t care about the consequences.

That’s why, at two in the morning, I found myself in front of my computer. I was on Erotic Nexus, a subscription-only site buried deep in the dark web. I'd pay for access myself with the money I stole.

Last night, I was flat broke and had to go on a fake date just to get a free meal. Now, thanks to my skills, I was rolling in money.

I scrolled through the website, casually exploring my options. Erotic Nexus was the dark web’s playground for fantasies—absolutely limitless. With a single click, I could arrange for someone to hunt me down in the streets, drag me into his car, and use me like a plaything, treating me like nothing more than an object.

It was all disturbingly simple.

The site had built-in safety measures: safe words and a detailed contract that both parties had to sign before settling on the specifics. You could remain anonymous or choose to reveal your identity. There were profiles for every type of person you might want—each with detailed descriptions and ratings.

You could handpick your ideal “partner,” from the look of the person to the exact way they’d fulfill your desires. It was all laid out in an almost clinical manner: preferences, boundaries, and roles, all neatly cataloged.

I could see ratings and reviews from others who’d acted out their fantasies through this site, their feedback ranging from glowing praise to warnings.

Everything was perfectly crafted to make your darkest desires a reality, all controlled by the click of a button.

"Viviane?" The small, trembling voice made me shut down my computer immediately.

I turned to see Felicity standing in the doorway of my bedroom, shifting from one foot to another. She was anxious and scared, her body language screamed that she needed comfort.

"Hey, Fliss, you had another nightmare?" I asked, softening my voice.

She nodded, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. I got up from my chair and walked over to her, gently guiding her back to her room. Once we reached her bed, I helped her sit down and poured a glass of water from the nightstand.

"Here, drink this," I said, handing her the glass. She took it with a shaky hand and drank deeply.

"Was it the same one?" I asked, sitting beside her.

She nodded again, her eyes wide and scared.

"Hey, it's okay," I said, pulling her into a hug. "It's just a bad dream. It can't hurt you. I'm right here."

Felicity clung to me, her small body trembling. "It felt so real," she whispered, "Like it was happening all over again."

"I know, sweetie. Nightmares can be really scary, but remember, they’re just in your head. They don’t have any power over you in real life," I assured her, stroking her hair.

"But what if it happens again?" she asked, her voice small and frightened.

"Even if it does, you'll wake up and I'll be right here to help you through it," I promised. "You're not alone, Fliss. Not ever."

She looked up at me, her eyes still filled with fear but also a flicker of hope. I tucked her into bed, pulling the blankets up around her.

“What if someone comes for you?” she asked, her eyes wide with fear.

I leaned in, my voice cold but soft just for her, “If they do, they’d better pray for a miracle. They won’t just leave with a few bruises—they’ll be lucky to leave at all.”

Her fear melted into a hesitant smile, and I could see she felt a little safer.

“Are you doing bad jobs again?” she asked, and I shut my eyes, trying to hold it together. “I don’t want you risking yourself for me. If I die, I die. It’s okay. You’ll be free of the burden, and I’ll finally be with Mom and Dad. It’s a win-win.”

I locked eyes with her and gently cupped her face. “I’d take on every bad job in the world if it meant keeping you with me. Do you hear me? You’re not a burden; you’re my best friend and a piece of my sister—the one I miss every damn day. I won’t let you slip away like I did with her. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, Fliss.”

She shook her head, her hand trembling. She was so weak now, with both kidneys failing. If I didn’t act quickly, I’d lose her for good.

Last year, my sister and her husband were murdered in a brutal home invasion, leaving Felicity all alone. My sister had always made it clear that if anything ever happened, she wanted me to take care of her. She knew I'd step up and treat Felicity as if she were my own.

Our parents were always wrapped up in their careers, so my sister practically raised me. Now, it's my turn to return the favor and be there for her daughter. There's no way in hell I'm letting anything happen to Felicity.

Felicity saw her parents getting shot, and ever since, she’s been plagued by these awful nightmares. I wanted to get her therapy, but with the transplant for her kidney, there was never any money left over.

But now, with the money we had, we finally have enough for both the transplant and the therapy. She deserves this chance to heal, and I’m not letting anything stop me from giving it to her.

"Try to think of something nice," I suggested. "Like that beach trip we’re planning. Imagine the sound of the waves and the warmth of the sun."

She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Okay," she whispered.

I stayed with her until her breathing evened out and I was sure she had fallen back to sleep. Before leaving, I kissed her forehead and whispered, "Sweet dreams, Fliss."

I quietly left her room, closing the door softly behind me. I lingered for a moment, listening to the silence, making sure she was truly asleep.

I turned toward my bedroom, but a loud thud from the living room made me stop dead in my tracks. My senses went into overdrive as I zeroed in on every tiny sound in the apartment.

Felicity and I were holed up in a two-bedroom place in Brooklyn—nothing fancy, just a cramped living room, a tiny kitchen, and a whole lot of windows. It wasn’t exactly fortified, which meant it was a perfect target for anyone looking to break in.

I stepped into my room and yanked open a drawer, grabbing my SIG Sauer P365. Its cold metal was a reassuring weight in my hand. From the corner of the room, I grabbed a baseball bat and made my way out, shutting the door with a firm click behind me.

I slid the SIG into the waistband of my pants, the grip tucked against my lower back, then gripped the bat tightly and headed for the living room. The space was little, no place for an intruder to slip through unnoticed.

My eyes scanned the shadows, every sense on high alert. If someone was here, they’d better start praying, because they were about to find out that stepping into my home was a one-way ticket to meeting their maker.

When I stepped into the living room, time seemed to freeze. A man lounged casually in my armchair by the window. Our eyes locked in the dim light, and he slowly flicked on the lamp beside him. The soft glow made me swallow hard.

“Hello, little thief,” he drawled, his voice dripping with a dangerous charm.

It was him—the rich bastard whose wallet I’d lifted. Alessandro Fucking Costello, according to his ID.

At first, my plan was to drain his credit and move on, but he turned out to be an even bigger target than I’d thought. All that money was too tempting, and I couldn’t resist taking everything.

I decided to play it cool, lowering the bat and tilting my head with a feigned innocence. “Thief? What exactly did I steal?”

His smile stretched slowly, almost serpentine, darkening as it grew, “My money,” he said, his voice a dark, velvety whisper.

I could feel the heat of his gaze as he let his eyes roam over me. I tilted my chin upwards, staring right back at him.

“Ten million fucking dollars?” he stated, his voice a dangerous whisper.

He leaned forward slightly, the light casting shadows that danced across his face, accentuating the predatory glint in his eyes.

I tightened my grip on the bat, “I didn’t think you’d notice. You’re rich enough.”

His smile morphed into something darker, almost sadistic, “Oh, I noticed. And while my wealth might be vast, I don’t let anyone think they can cross me and walk away unscathed. I have a reputation for a reason.”

I clenched my jaw, “How did you find me?”

He stood up, and in an instant, he was towering over me. God, the bastard was tall.

“You don’t get to play games with someone who thrives on them..." he answered, “We can do this the easy way. You transfer every penny you stole back into my accounts, and I’ll let you walk away with just a few broken bones. Or we can do it the hard way,” his eyes roamed over me with a mix of utter disgust and dark amusement. “You don’t look like you can handle the hard way.”

I let a smile curve my lips, my gaze meeting his with a challenging glint. He had no fucking idea just how much I could handle.

I tightened my grip on the bat, a confident smile spreading across my face. “Or we can do it my way, where you get nothing back and end up bleeding to death in my living room.”

With that, I swung the bat at his face. He barely had time to react, jerking back as the bat whooshed past, missing by a hair.

- Inner Hoe

Viviane

☩═✦═☩

I have always been fearless...

Not much scares me. Honestly, I haven't found myself in a situation that could yet. Maybe I'm just too stubborn to let fear get to me, or maybe I've just seen too much to be fazed. Either way, it takes a lot more than the average threat to rattle me.

Take this situation, for instance: staring down a guy who looks like he could shatter a man's jaw with one punch? Doesn't even make me blink.

All I can think is, "Meh, I've faced worse." Which is probably a dumb thing to think, considering Alessandro Costello probably eats girls like me for breakfast.

Then again, I'd probably give him a stomach bug if he tried.

I tightened my grip on the bat, a confident smile spreading across my face. “Or we can do it my way, where you get nothing back and end up bleeding to death in my living room.”

With that, I swung the bat at his face. Alessandro reacted quickly, jerking back as the bat whooshed past, missing by a hair.

His eyes darkened, and he lunged forward, trying to grab my arm. I twisted away, bringing the bat around for another swing. This time, he caught it mid-swing, the force of the impact sending a shockwave up my arms. He yanked it from my grasp and tossed it aside like it was nothing.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he said, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips as he stepped closer.

I didn’t back down, instead, I lashed out with a swift kick to his knee. He staggered but recovered quickly, grabbing my wrist and pulling me close.

Our faces were inches apart, breaths mingling. I glared into his eyes, and for a moment, I found myself appreciating his piercing blue irises.

“You really think you can take me on?” he sneered, his grip tightening painfully.

I smiled, my free hand reaching for the SIG tucked at my back. “Try me.”

He moved to disarm me, but I was faster, pulling the gun out and shoving it against his chest. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t back off. Instead, he grinned, the kind of grin that sent shivers down my spine.

He grabbed my wrist, twisting it just enough to make me gasp in pain, but I held onto the gun. I used my free hand to punch him in the jaw, the impact making his head snap back.

He retaliated by slamming me against the wall, knocking the wind out of me. I didn’t let go of the gun, though. I brought my knee up sharply, aiming for his groin, but he predicted the move, blocking it with his thigh.

His hand found my throat, squeezing just enough to make me see stars, but I managed to twist out of his grip, bringing my elbow up to connect with his ribs. He grunted, the sound satisfying, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he pushed me down, forcing me to the ground.

I rolled, trying to get out from under him, but he was on top of me in a heartbeat, his weight pinning me down. I could feel his breath on my face, his eyes boring into mine with a mix of fury and something darker. I fought against him, trying to wriggle free, but he was stronger, his grip like iron.

“Give it up,” he said, his voice barely breathless and low, “You’re not getting away.”

“Not a chance,” I spat back, using all my strength to bring my knee up, managing to connect with his side. He hissed in pain, his grip loosening just enough for me to reach for the SIG again.

I pointed the gun at his head, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “Get off me.”

He didn’t move, his eyes locking onto mine. Then, with a fluid motion, he reached behind him and pulled out his own gun, pressing it against my temple.

The room was filled with the sound of our heavy breathing, the cold metal of the guns the only thing keeping us apart. His eyes burned into mine, a challenge in them that made my blood boil.

I swung the butt of my SIG at his head, making contact with his temple. He grunted, his grip on his gun wavering. I used the moment to push him off and scramble to my feet.

Alessandro wasn’t down for long. He was up in an instant, his eyes burning with anger. He lunged at me, and our bodies collided harshly.

He tried to pin my arms, but I twisted free, landing a punch to his gut. He doubled over, but only for a second.

His arm connected with my side, sending me stumbling back. I ignored the pain, charging at him again. I slammed my knee into his side again, and he retaliated with a sharp elbow to my ribs.

He grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me against the wall. The impact rattled my bones, but I didn’t back down. I lashed out with a roundhouse kick, catching him in the chest and knocking him back a few steps.

I managed to disarm him, sending his gun skittering across the floor. But before I could draw a breath, he tackled me, and we crashed to the ground...again. Alessandro was on top of me...again. His weight pinned me down...again.

Our faces were inches apart, our breaths, heavy and ragged onto each other's lips. I could feel his heartbeat against my chest, his body radiating heat.

I brought my SIG to his side, pressing it against his ribs, feeling the hardness of his body. In a heartbeat, Alessandro matched my move, drawing another gun from his waistband and pressing it against the side of my neck, the cold metal biting into my skin. The bastard had another gun on him.

“Looks like we’re at a stalemate,” I said, my voice low despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

His lips curled into a dangerous smile, “For now.”

“For now..." I repeated his words as my heart hammered in my chest.

His breath tasted like the sharpness of spearmint, the burn of whiskey, and the bitter edge of dark coffee.

“Tell me,” he said, his tone almost conversational, “why did you think you could get away with stealing from me?”

“I needed the money,” I replied, my grip on the SIG tightening. “And you looked like you could afford to lose it.”

A dark chuckle escaped his lips, “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But guts alone won’t keep you alive in this game.”

“I’ve survived this long,” I shot back, my eyes never leaving his.

His smile widened, “Barely.”

I rolled my eyes at him and put on my best-bored face.

He pressed the barrel of his gun harder against my neck, “Here’s the thing, Freckles. I don’t take kindly to being crossed. And I certainly don’t let thieves walk away unscathed.”

“Funny,” I replied, a sardonic smile playing on my lips. “I don’t plan on walking away. I plan on running.”

He laughed, a low, throaty sound that I felt in my stomach, “You think you can outrun me?”

“I’ve outrun worse,” I said, my voice a whisper.

His eyes gleamed with something sinister, but the twisted amusement was clear—he was enjoying this way too much. The way he laughed made it obvious he wasn’t taking me seriously, and that infuriated me, “I doubt that," he said smugly.

Before I could react, he shifted his weight, trying to gain the upper hand. I countered, using my legs to push against him, but he was relentless. We rolled, the fight turning into a desperate struggle for control. His hand gripped both of my wrists above my head but I held onto my gun. He tried to twist the gun from my grasp as I fought back to his strength.

I managed to free one of my arms, bringing the SIG up again, pointing it at his neck. And at the same time, Alessandro's gun now aimed at my heart.

We froze.

Two guns.

Two lives hanging in the balance.

“What now?” I asked, my eyes locked on his.

“Now,” he said, “we see who blinks first.”

His grip on the gun tightened, his gaze never left mine. My finger hovered over the trigger, every muscle in my body coiled and ready.

His eyes narrowed as he studied every detail of my face. I could see the gears turning in his head, the strategies and counter-strategies playing out behind his eyes. He was trying to gauge my resolve, searching for any sign of hesitation, any weakness he could exploit.

Just as he seemed to reach some internal decision, a soft, scared voice pierced the air. “Viviane?”

Both of our heads snapped toward the hallway. There stood Felicity, looking like she had just seen a ghost. Her wide eyes darted between us, taking in the guns, and the danger.

My heart sank. For her, this must have seemed like her worst nightmare coming to life. I could see the fear etched on her face, the confusion and terror swirling in her young eyes.

“Felicity, it’s okay,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, to project calmness even as my heart raced. “Go back to your room.”

“Viviane, who is he?” she asked, her voice trembling. Her small frame was taut with fear, and it broke my heart to see her like that.

Alessandro’s gaze flicked back to me, “A kid?” he murmured, almost to himself, but loud enough for me to hear.

“Get out of here, Felicity,” I repeated, more forcefully this time.

But she didn’t move. She stood frozen, her eyes locked on Alessandro. “Is he going to hurt you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Alessandro’s lips curled into a dark, twisted smile as he seized the opportunity my distraction had given him. In an instant, he grabbed my wrist and slammed my hand onto the ground with brutal force, sending a jolt of pain through my arm. The SIG slipped from my fingers, clattering away across the floor.

He then shifted his weight, pressing me down hard as he twisted my body around. I found myself face-down on the floor, my arms pinned behind my back. His strength was overpowering, and I struggled futilely against his grip.

Felicity’s scream cut through the air, and I snapped my head around to see her still standing in the hallway, eyes wide with terror.

“Fliss, go to your room and lock the door!” I shouted as he adjusted his hold, making sure my arms were securely restrained. The pressure on my shoulders and wrists was harsh, and I could feel the sharp edges of pain shooting through my limbs.

“No, Fliss,” Alessandro’s voice was smooth but laced with mockery as he uttered her nickname, almost as if everything was too damn funny for him, “You’re not going anywhere.” He paused, and then added, “If you don’t want Freckles to get hurt, you’ll stay put.”

His words were like ice, and I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. The bastard was relishing every second of this, enjoying the power he had over both of us. I could almost see a smile forming on that smug stupid face of his.

She took a hesitant step back, but her eyes never left Alessandro. “Please don’t hurt her,” she pleaded, “She's my aunt. She’s all I have.”

The raw fear and desperation in her voice hit me like a punch to the gut. I couldn’t let her see this, couldn’t let her be part of this.

Fuck Brandon for never being a decent uncle, not even once in his entire fucking life.

“Felicity, go to your room,” I ordered, trying to inject as much authority into my voice as possible. “Lock the door and don’t come out until I say it’s safe.”

“Felicity, sweetheart, why don’t you fetch me something to help tie up your aunt?” Alessandro said, his tone condescending as if he were talking to a baby.

Her voice trembled as she asked, “You won’t hurt her?”

“Only if you don’t listen to me,” he replied, his weight pressing down on my lower back, forcing my hands into an excruciating angle. The pain made me clench my teeth, fighting back a grimace.

Felicity bolted into her room to get something, and I slammed my forehead against the wooden floor, pounding it repeatedly in frustration.

I could hear her footsteps echoing as she moved around, the clatter of objects as she searched for what Alessandro had asked for. My mind raced, trying to come up with a plan, any plan, to turn this around. But with Alessandro's weight pinning me down and his grip on my arms holding me immobile, every attempt to wriggle free only made the pain worse.

Alessandro’s voice, calm and measured, floated over me. “Don’t worry. I’ll be thorough.”

I ground my teeth, refusing to let him see how much he was getting to me. “You think this is going to stop me?” I spat back.

He breathed out a scoffing laugh, “Oh, I don’t think it’ll stop you. I just need to make sure you think twice before crossing me again.”

"Fuck you, you're not getting a cent out of me!"

"I have my ways," he answered smugly.

Felicity returned, breathing heavily. My lips pressed into a thin line out of anger. She held a length of rope in her hands, eyes darting nervously between Alessandro and me. “I got it,” she said softly.

“Good girl,” Alessandro said, taking the rope from her, “Now, let’s get this done.”

I could hear the faint tremor in Felicity’s breath, and I hated that she had to be part of this nightmare. My blood burned with the need to protect her, but right now, I was powerless. With her failing kidneys, I was terrified of the toll this would take on her health.

Alessandro positioned the rope, it bit into my skin as he tied it around my wrists. He tightened the final knot with a satisfied tug, making sure the rope was securely bound around my wrists.

Once he was finished with my arms, he shifted his weight off my back. I seized the opportunity and quickly rolled onto my back, hoping to catch him off guard. My legs swung up, aiming to land a kick on him. But Alessandro was quick. He dodged the kick and seized my ankles, his grip like iron.

He reached for more rope. I thrashed my legs, trying to free myself, but he managed to wrap the rope around my ankles, pulling it tight until I could barely move.

He cinched the final knot and sat back, admiring his work with a twisted satisfaction. The ropes dug into my wrists and ankles, and as Alessandro adjusted himself and leveled a dark, dangerous look at me, my mind wandered to places it shouldn’t. My dirty thoughts were taking over, imagining how this situation could turn into something far kinkier than I ever intended. I shook my head, snapping myself out of it.

This was not the time for my inner hoe to take center stage.