Chapter 25: Black
Bianca
The match finished on a high a crazy, last-second goal that sent Max's whole family leaping up, cheering their heads off. The air was buzzing, totally contagious. For those few minutes, I was just plain, pure happy.
Max's mom gave me a truly warm hug goodbye.
"You come back whenever, dear. You're family as far as we're concerned. Lovevyou"
Family. That word settled in my chest, a weird mix of warm and prickly. I had a family one that had literally sold me off in a business deal. But here, I was building something real, connections that felt authentic in a way blood never had.
"Thank you," I said, and I meant it. "For tonight. For everything."
Max walked me out toward the main crowd. "You seriously don't want a ride? I can drop you off on my way."
"I'm good, really. I called for a car." I gave him a heartfelt smile. "But thank you. For being a friend when I needed one the most."
He looked at me for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Whatever is happening with you and DeSanti and I know something is just remember this: you get to decide who you become. Don't let anyone, even someone you love, make you feel smaller than you are."
His words hit me harder than he probably realized. I just nodded, my voice catching in my throat, and started walking toward the exit.
The crowds were massive, everyone spilling out in a celebratory, loud mess. My phone vibrated the car was still ten minutes out, totally stuck in the after-game traffic. The thought of waiting there, pressed up against all those people, all that noise, made my skin crawl.
I needed air. I needed quiet. I needed to really think about what Max had said, what Alessandro had said, and that dizzying little skip my heart did when he'd looked at me with that incredible respect.
I ducked down a side street, figuring it would loop around to a calmer spot for pickup. The sound of the party started to fade behind me, and the night air felt cool and soothing on my flushed cheeks. Better. This was much better.
That’s when I heard them.
Footsteps. Too rhythmic. Too deliberate. Not the happy, stumbling walk of drunk fans or the quick click of someone rushing home.
They sounded like a threat.
I sped up, my heart starting to pound like a drum. The street was way too silent. Too empty. Why was it so dead here?
"Ms. Morena."
The voice froze me solid. Flat. Like a machine. Absolutely terrifying because of how little feeling was in it.
I turned around slowly. Two men were standing there, huge and imposing like brick walls. They'd emerged from the shadows between buildings as if they'd been waiting, perfectly positioned for this moment.
This wasn't random. This was a plan. They knew my name.
"I don't " My voice came out thin and shaky. "I don't know what you want."
"You're what he wants," the second man said, and the way he said it so casual, almost bored made my stomach knot up with terror. "That makes you an asset. Or it makes you a message. Depends on whether you cooperate."
My phone. I had to get my phone. My fingers fumbled at my bag, shaking so hard I couldn't open the zipper. The world felt like it was shrinking, focusing down to nothing but the awful distance between us.
"Stay back," I warned, stumbling backward. "I'll scream. People will hear—"
"No one's coming." The first man took another step, and I finally saw it—the glint of metal tucked into his jacket. A gun. He had a gun. "Stadium just emptied. Everyone's heading the other way, celebrating. You picked the quietest street possible."
A wave of sick dread washed over me. I had done this to myself. I had wanted silence, wanted to be alone, and now—
"Now, you're going to walk with us calmly to that car right there," he pointed to a dark sedan idling around the corner, "and no one gets hurt. Mr. DeSanti will pay top dollar for your safe return. It's just business."
Just business. The phrase Alessandro's entire world was built on. The excuse for everything. Now, it was a weapon pointed at me.
"Lorenzo Vitale sends his best," the second man added, sounding completely conversational. "Says to tell DeSanti that touching his things has consequences."
I barely registered the name through the panic fogging my brain. I backed away faster, my heel catching on the broken sidewalk. My phone finally slipped out of my bag, but my hands were trembling too violently to catch it. It hit the pavement with a brittle crack, like ice breaking.
"Don't make this hard," the second man warned, his hand moving inside his jacket.
My back hit cold brick. A wall. Trapped.
This was real. This was actually happening. Immediate, terrifying violence, all because I was stupid enough to think I could live in Alessandro's world without getting caught in the crossfire.
The first man lunged forward, reaching for my arm
I tried to twist away, tried to bolt, but there was nowhere to go. My head slammed against the brick wall behind me with a sickening thud. A blinding, explosive pain bloomed on my temple. Stars burst across my vision. The world pitched sideways.
"Careful, you idiot!" The second man's voice sounded miles away. "She's useless if she's dead!"
"She moved. "
Their voices became muffled, swimming, like I was sinking underwater. My legs gave out. The concrete rushed up to meet me, and I felt the brutal impact against my shoulder and hip. Pain shot through my body, but it felt distant, disconnected.
Darkness crept in around the edges of my sight, soft and scary and weirdly comforting.
Through the haze, I felt hands grab me. Rough. Impersonal. Lifting me like I weighed nothing. My head flopped back, and I tried to scream, tried to fight, but my body wouldn't obey. Only a pathetic, weak gasp came out.
Alessandro, my mind whispered uselessly. Tiago. Max. Someone. Anyone.
But there was no one. Just the blackness closing in, the throbbing pain where my head had hit, and the terrifying feeling of being carried away from the light, away from safety, away from everything.
The last thing I heard was the sound of a car door opening, metal groaning like a giant mouth yawning wide to swallow me whole.
Then nothing.
Just black.