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"Just outside the city," Viktor responds, his tone grim. "That's her brother, Gerald Mendoza, and the fiancé."
The revelation sends a wave of icy fury through me. These men are the architects of Pia's scars and her potential executioners.
"Do we have Águilas near her father's compound?" My demand for information is clipped and urgent.
Viktor's nod brings a fraction of hope. "Yes, we're well-positioned in the area. Señor." He turns to me, conviction in his eyes. "We will get her."
As Viktor's assurance hangs in the air, the live footage captivates us all, a silent testament to the unfolding drama. Suddenly, a flurry of movement explodes—the decisive moment we've been waiting for. Pia appears, her figure momentarily visible before she's forcefully guided into an SUV, a shadowy figure following suit. "Is that Jon Marc?" My voice is low, a mix of recognition and disdain.
Viktor's nod confirms my suspicions without diverting his focus. His fingers dance across the pad, manipulating the images until the screen splits, displaying the SUV's journey in real-time beside the broader map. "They're headed towards Batangas," he announces, his tone laced with urgency and calculation. "That's Pia's hometown."
My immediate concern narrows to logistics. "How far from here?"
"Roughly two and a half hours, assuming the traffic's in our favor."
"All right." My response is curt, my gaze welded to the unfolding scenario on the screen. "Mobilize the Águilas immediately. We cannot afford delays."
Turning to face my men, the mantle of command settles over me. "I intend to be there the moment we rescue Pia. Prepare to move out." My voice leaves no room for question; it's a directive fueled by a volatile blend of fear, anticipation, and an unwavering resolve to reclaim what's been taken from us both.
As the team springs into action, the room is a hive of controlled chaos, each member understanding the stakes. My eyes, however, remain fixed on Pia's last known location, as if my will alone could ensure her safety until we arrive.
As we gear up to depart, Viktor's phone interrupts, a harbinger of further complications. Instinctively, I pause, an ominous churn of anticipation and dread knotting in my stomach. Viktor's gaze meets mine, a silent storm brewing in his eyes. "There's a complication. An assassination attempt on the president is scheduled for today in Pangasinan," he says, the words hanging between us like a guillotine. "It's the exact opposite direction from Batangas."
Closing my eyes, I seek refuge in the memory of Pia's lips pressed against mine, a fleeting sanctuary from the storm. When I open them, reality fractures into a dichotomy of heart versus duty. The screen blurs, Pia vanishes from sight, and a chilling realization dawns on me.
As the pieces fall into place, suspicion snakes its way into my thoughts. How did they know? Was Melchor's niece Cypress, the unwitting informant? Without hesitation, I confront Tito Melchor over the phone, my voice a blade of ice. "How did the Mendozas learn about Pia?" My accusation is met with protestations of ignorance and reminders of Cypress's loyalty.
Yet, an insidious thought takes root: our every move has been shadowed, Pia's abduction a meticulously orchestrated diversion. They knew of my love for her and sought to unbalance me through it. The silence that follows my deduction is a void, a breath held in suspense.
As I hang up, I wrestle with the decision. This isn't just about personal loss or heartache; it's about preventing a catastrophe that could ripple through the nation, destabilizing everything we know. I force myself to step back, to view the dilemma not through the lens of my desires but through the responsibility I bear.
The decision crystallizes, born of necessity rather than desire. "We'll leave a surveillance team on the Mendoza compound and redeploy our forces to thwart the assassination." The words taste like ash, a bitter acknowledgment of the sacrifices duty demands.
I face my team, the anguish of my choice etched deep within me. To save Pia or to prevent a political upheaval with potentially devastating consequences—the scales of justice are cruel in their balance. "Preventing the assassination is paramount. Its success could plunge this country into anarchy, ignite wars, and shatter any semblance of peace. We cannot allow the fabric of this nation to be torn asunder."
Turning away, I gaze out at the bay, the weight of leadership heavier than ever. In this moment, I'm not just a man torn between love and duty; I'm a guardian of stability, making the unbearable choice to protect the many over the one. The decision to prioritize the president's safety over rushing to Pia's side is a decision made from the highest form of love—one that understands the greater good and the cost of sacrifice.
Yet, the resolve does little to ease the storm within. The thought of Pia in harm's way, of not being there to shield her from the darkness, is a torment I must bear. In the quiet solitude, I steel myself for what's to come, the battle ahead not just for Pia's safety but for the soul of this nation.
I pivot with a renewed sense of urgency, signaling for my closest advisors to gather around the glass conference table. The atmosphere is electric, charged with anticipation and the potential of decisions not yet made. "Viktor," I start, my voice firm, the directive clear. "We need to recover the bodies of our fallen. We leave no one behind." Mid-sentence, I notice the flicker of communication in Viktor's earpiece. My question is immediate and sharp: "What is it?"
Viktor's response, marked by an unexpected grin, cuts through the stress like a ray of sunlight through storm clouds. "The men," he murmurs, relieved, "are alive."
This news acts as a catalyst, soothing the raw edges of our frayed nerves. "Their condition?" I press, eager for more details.
"Unscathed," Viktor explains, his relief palpable. "It appears they were sedated with the same substance used on Pia—enough to incapacitate, not harm. Their haste worked in our favor; there was no time for finesse. They dumped them near the café's dumpster, out of the driver's sight." He pauses, allowing the information to sink in. "And Pia's friend was found as well. It seems Don Melchor spoke the truth. The girl was oblivious and is now distraught. They've taken her to the safe house for protection."
I nod, processing the cascade of updates. "Here's our course of action," I declare, outlining the plan to coordinate with Don Melchor's forces to ensure Cypress's safety. The importance of her well-being cannot be understated—not just for her sake but also for Pia's. Forgiveness would be unattainable if any harm befell Cypress under my watch.
Furthermore, I emphasize the necessity of reassigning the men. Though not entirely their fault, their failure revealed a vulnerability we cannot afford. "They will not resume their duties for Pia," I assert, the decision non-negotiable. "Gabriel will contact the agency for replacements—only the best will suffice for her protection."
This moment, this choice, it's more than a strategic maneuver; it's a promise—a vow to safeguard not just the physical well-being of those under my care, but also the trust and the hearts intertwined with mine. The stakes have never been higher, and in this game of shadows and light, I find myself navigating not just the murky waters of loyalty and duty but the very essence of love itself.
Chapter Thirteen
Pia
With each breath I draw, a sense of doom heavier than iron chains fills the air as the caravan of vehicles crosses the threshold of my gilded prison. The iron gates, once symbols of security, feel like Superman's kryptonite closing in on me. My heart races, anticipation and fear mingling in a toxic brew as I brace myself for the inevitable confrontation with my family. But before my mind can wander further into the dark corridors of what awaits, Jon Marc's chilling voice cuts through the silence, dictating my immediate future with a cold precision that leaves no room for argument.
