Daniel's breath fogged the cold glass as he stared out into the mist-covered forest behind the manor. His fingers drummed against the windowsill — erratic, impatient.
He wasn't just running from Leon.
He was running from everyone.
Cartels from Eastern Europe, the remnants of a West African syndicate he'd double-crossed, even rogue arms dealers who once considered him "brother." It was only a matter of time before they caught up to him — unless he made a deal. A big one.
His phone buzzed. A burner line. No names.
"They'll take the girl," the voice said. "They want payment for Istanbul."
"She's worth more than a trade," Daniel replied smoothly. "She's a message. She has Moretti's scent all over her."
Silence.
Then: "Delivery within forty-eight hours. Clean. No bruises."
Daniel smirked. "Of course."
⸻
Ayla
Something was wrong.
Daniel hadn't screamed at her in two days. No threats. No thrown cups. He was too quiet — like a storm brewing behind a painted sky.
He'd even given her new clothes.
Ayla sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the pristine white blouse folded across her lap. It felt like a uniform, like something a prisoner wears to appear "presentable."
The guard outside her door had changed too — taller, less familiar, not from Daniel's usual men. He didn't speak a word.
She leaned toward the door, whispered, "Where is Daniel?"
Silence.
Then a knock.
She jumped back.
The door creaked open — and Daniel stepped in with a soft, mocking smile.
"Pack your things, Ayla. We're going on a trip."
⸻
Leon
Leon jolted awake in the car, heart pounding.
A nightmare?
No — worse.
His gut burned with the certainty that something had shifted. He didn't know what, but every instinct screamed: She's being moved.
He turned to Nico.
"We hit tonight."
Nico blinked. "No scouting?"
Leon's knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. "No more waiting. He's going to disappear with her if we don't act now."