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And oh, how she came alive in the sanctity of our temporary haven. Her cravings were not just for the peculiar combinations of food. They extended to an insatiable appetite that brought both pleasure and closeness to our silent nights. The books I had secretly read talked of heightened senses, of hormones that painted every touch in a more vivid hue, yet nothing prepared me for the fervor with which she desired and was desired in return. Nights were a fever dream of caresses and whispered yearnings, and I was lost in the reverence of her needs.
It was a different kind of happiness. One that I had not known, branded with laughter and soft sighs instead of strategies and guarded conversations. In those fleeting days, bathed in the afterglow of a sunset or entwined in the sanctuary of our sheets, I began to believe in the potential of ‘we’ and ‘us.’ In a shared future that might just be crafted from the same fabric as those naive dreams I had once discarded. It was only a couple of days because that was all I could spare, but I vowed to take her anywhere she wanted to go if she kept smiling like that.
The sudden sound of a door slamming echoes through the silence, jolting me back to the present. Back to the life that runs on a parallel track to the one I just walked with Isabella.
Victor walks over. "Are you going to sit there all night?" he mocks. I can feel his gaze on me, impatient and expectant. "Or are we going to beat the shit out of Daniel?" he proposes, with a tone that suggests excitement rather than concern.
It pulls me out from the soft cocoon of reminiscence into the harsh reality of now. I sigh as my memories fold away like a storybook closing. Daniel, whom I left at the mercy of time and guarded space, had a week to reflect on his circumstances. Seven days that I hope have loosened his tongue. I turn the wedding band on my finger once more before letting my hand drop to my side. It's time for the other side of me to take over. The side that deals in shadows and hard choices. I step out of the car, closing the door behind me with a sense of purpose.
"Let's see if Daniel is ready to talk," I say, my voice steady, as I prepare myself for the night's necessary cruelties.
We push open the door to the abandoned building, and its hinges groan from disuse. The dim interior is lit by the sickly yellow glow of a single dangling bulb, and there, in the pooling shadows, is Daniel. His once sharp features are now gaunt, with skin pulled taut over high cheekbones. His hair, once meticulously styled, is now a matted tangle that clings to his sweat-slicked forehead.
The smell hits me next. A pungent mix of unwashed body, stale water, and a faint metallic tang that speaks of rusted chains and old blood. His eyes, rimmed with the red of strain and sleeplessness, flicker to me with a defiance that's dulled but not extinguished. The paleness of his skin makes the dark bruises marring his body stand out all the more. My nostrils flare at the stench, and a part of me recoils, yet there's an acknowledgment that this, too, is a necessary part of the dance we're locked in.
"You’re going to answer my questions, Daniel. Who attacked my wife?" My voice is steady and measured, betraying none of the storm that brews within me.
Still, Daniel's response is wrapped in confusion as his swollen, cracked lips part with effort. "Who?"
"Isabella," I clarify.
A laugh, scratchy and weak, emerges from his throat. His words drip with venom. "Oh, the whore's married again? To you, no less! Man, she really gets around."
Rage flares up like wildfire. An inferno that blazes in my chest and roars in my ears. With restraint abandoned, my fist collides with his stomach. A physical rebuke of his disrespect. He doubles over with a gasp, and before I can check the fury that rides me, another blow crashes against his jaw, silencing the laughter and staining my knuckles with proof of his insolence.
“I’ll ask again,” I growl. “Who attacked my wife.”
I stare down at Daniel, and my patience frays with every beat of silence. His bloody lips twist into a sneer.
"I'm not telling you shit," he hisses through bloodied teeth. "When my father hears about this... about you kidnapping me, there'll be hell to pay."
I can't help it. I chuckle, relishing the irony. "You think I'm afraid of your father?" My voice is chilled, hollow with mirth. "Listen carefully because I'll only say this once. She's mine. Every breath, every tear, every smile. Cross me or make her shed a single tear, and I'll make you beg for death long before I allow you the mercy of it."
Just as tension coils tighter in the room, the door creaks open. Victor and I spin around with our guns raised, ready to neutralize any threat, but it's not necessary.
"No need to shoot, gentlemen," a familiar voice drawls from the doorway. Julian. I can feel the slightest shift in the atmosphere.
A mingling of resentment and curiosity. I lower my weapon, resigning to the twist of fate. "What are you doing here, Julian? How did you know we were here?"
His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I keep my ear close to the ground. I know everything that happens in these streets."
I scrutinize Julian, taking in the poise with which he leans against the door frame. My grip on my gun loosens, but my senses remain alert. Julian isn't someone to be underestimated.
We watch as Julian's gaze slides to Daniel, who's trying to gather what's left of his defiance. "Hello, brother. I'd say it's nice to see you, but I'm not here for pleasantries."
Daniel responds with a glob of spit in his direction. "We're not brothers, you bastard," he snarls, his voice shredding on the effort.
Julian nods as if conceding a point. "That's true. Which is why I won't feel an ounce of remorse for what comes next."
He turns to face me with demand in his eyes. "I want in on this little... interrogation.”
Victor's confusion is almost palpable. "Why get involved?" he asks bluntly.
“Daniel's connected to the scum who attacked Seraphina," Julian reveals with a hint of steel underlying his tone. "No one messes with my baby sister."
The room echoes with the dull thud of flesh against flesh. My face is a cold mask, my every nerve ending screaming in silent rage as I demand over and over. "Who attacked Isabella? Why do they want her?"
Victor, just as consumed by the need for answers, takes his turn, his blows measured and calculated. Daniel, that stubborn fucker, just grins through the blood like a gory Cheshire cat in this twisted wonderland and tells us nothing.
