Chapter 170 Code Name Black Bear
Charles shook his head.
Zoey jumped in before Matilda could spiral. "Charles had someone check every major hospital in the system. Not a single admission record for Wentworth anywhere."
"And Europe's got the Schengen Agreement," she continued. "One visa gets you into 26 countries, no questions asked. The borders are basically invisible over there. For all we know, Amelia could've moved him three times by now."
Charles added grimly, "She's using her European accounts. There's no way to track her spending through the banks."
Matilda's gaze drifted toward the horizon, unfocused.
"Hey." Zoey touched her arm gently. "Listen, Amelia taking Wentworth herself means one thing—he's safe. She wouldn't play games with her own son's life. Once he's recovered enough, he'll find his way back to you."
"Zoey's right," Charles said quietly. "Wentworth will be fine. And you know him. He's loyal to his core. He'll come back for you."
The only reason he hasn't is because he must be badly hurt, Charles thought, guilt twisting in his chest. He'd handed the European operations entirely to his mother, and now that decision had him backed into a corner.
---
Kindle Rehabilitation Center sat perched at the base of a mountain, overlooking endless blue ocean. Trees cast dappled shade over meticulously tended flower beds. The kind of place where the peace and quiet came with a six-figure price tag.
The doctor Amelia had flown in finished his examination of Wentworth with a satisfied nod.
"There's definite improvement," he announced. "The optic nerve compression has reduced significantly. We can remove the bandages."
Wentworth's blindness had been caused by swelling pressing against his optic nerves. Weeks of specialized treatment meant the gauze could finally come off.
They did it in a darkened room, giving his eyes time to adjust gradually. Though he still couldn't hear anything, Wentworth sensed faint light filtering through his eyelids.
The doctor guided him outside next. Sea breeze hit his face, making his eyes water and itch. A gentle hand dabbed at the tears. He reached out, grasping those familiar fingers, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased.
Then he looked toward the light.
Shapes moved in his field of vision, blurred and indistinct. Like shadows underwater, rippling past him without definition.
Amelia waved her hand directly in front of his face. His eyes didn't track the movement.
She turned to the physician sharply. "How is he? What does this mean?"
"His condition is improving, Mrs. Rodriguez, but vision restoration takes time. It's a gradual process. You'll need patience."
Since Wentworth couldn't hear her speak, there was no way to ask him what he could see. They could only wait.
Juliana moved to help him back inside, but Wentworth resisted, turning his face toward the ocean breeze. Even with his compromised vision, he wanted to stay here, breathing in the salt air.
She brought him a chair instead.
Once he was settled, Juliana's expression clouded with worry.
"Mom," she murmured to Amelia. "He can't see clearly yet."
"The doctor said it's a process." Amelia's voice held a knowing edge. "While that process unfolds, you should... make the most of the opportunity."
Amelia had already figured out what was happening. Juliana had fallen for Wentworth.
But Juliana's anxiety only deepened. The moment his vision sharpened, he'd realize she wasn't Matilda.
---
Wentworth stayed by the water, letting the breeze wash over him. His body was still weak—walking exhausted him, and apparently so did sitting. But the ocean air felt incredible. He imagined holding Matilda's hand right now, sharing this moment. The salty tang mixed with the perfume of tropical flowers on the wind.
He turned his head.
Two blurry figures stood nearby. One wore white, the other yellow. He blinked hard, trying to focus. The white one seemed to be his mother. And the yellow one... was that Matty?
They appeared to be standing close together, almost intimate.
Since when had they gotten along so well?
Unease prickled at the back of his mind.
---
Hidden among banana groves and palm trees in Southeast Asia, a fortified compound sprawled across acres of poppy fields. Men who looked like farmers worked the land, but every one of them carried rifles slung across their backs.
The Golden Triangle. Where decades of political chaos had created a lawless zone perfect for cultivating crime. Drugs, trafficking, fraud—it all festered here, and fresh victims arrived daily.
In the compound's innermost building, several injured mercenaries gathered around an older man dressed in black. Heavy gold chains glinted at his throat. A cigar smoldered between his yellowed teeth.
He exhaled a plume of smoke. "We've got intel on Black Bear."
The mercenaries' wounds were still healing. One had lost his hand, another his leg. A third had half his face blown off, exposed teeth giving him a nightmare quality.
At the mention of Black Bear, every man's expression turned murderous.
"I thought that bastard died in the explosion."
"He killed dozens of our brothers. We're settling this debt."
"Where is he?"
The old man tapped ash from his cigar. "They scrubbed his records, buried his real name. But we've got someone on the inside. He's not dead—just badly wounded. They've been moving him between hospitals. Yesterday our guy tracked him to a facility, but he'd already been transferred. Latest intel says Europe, but we don't know which hospital yet."
One mercenary straightened. "Europe's my old territory. I'll find him."
"Go," the old man said. "But stay under the radar. If they catch wind you're coming, they'll surround him with protection, and you'll never get close."
The mercenaries mobilized immediately, hungry for revenge.
---
The villa Charles had rented overlooked the Mediterranean, all white stone and climbing bougainvillea. He and Nason spent every waking hour chasing leads on Wentworth's location.
They came up empty every single time.
Amelia had hidden her son too well.
Matilda's days blurred together in a haze of anxiety. At first, she'd desperately hoped to see Wentworth around every corner. Now, she just prayed he was safe. Even if they never ended up together, as long as he was alive and healing, she could live with that.
Zoey hadn't left her side since they'd arrived.
The villa's private chef prepared beautiful meals that went largely untouched. Nason ate like nothing was wrong. Everyone else just pushed food around their plates. Matilda couldn't eat from worry. Charles couldn't eat from guilt over his brother.
And Zoey looked increasingly terrible—no appetite, barely any energy.
When Matilda noticed how pale she'd gotten, instinct kicked in. She reached over to check Zoey's pulse.