🔥 Chapter 16 - "Blind Spots"
1223 Words
The gunshot tore through the estate.
Shouts exploded across the grounds. Boots hit stone. Weapons were drawn before the echo even died.
The first shot shattered glass.
The second slammed into the wall above her head.
She dropped instinctively, hands over her skull, breath locked in her chest as the alarms screamed to life. Men shouted. The house—his fortress—became chaos in seconds.
She didn’t scream.
She never did.
Another shot rang out, closer now. Too close.
Marco was already there.
He slammed into her room.
Gun raised. Eyes sharp. Blood already streaking his sleeve—someone else’s. He moved fast, precise, deadly calm.
Two shots.
One body fell out of frame. Silence followed, heavy and ringing.
“Protect the house!” he roared, running to her.
His blood went cold.
She was there.
Standing near the wall, frozen, eyes wide—but alive.
Marco crossed the space in seconds. He caught her shoulders, turned her slightly, his hands already searching.
“Are you hit?” he demanded.
She shook her head.
He checked anyway.
Her arms. Her sides. His fingers moved fast, controlled, almost frantic.
No blood.
No glass cuts.
No shaking wounds.
Only her heartbeat—wild under his palm.
He exhaled sharply, forehead lowering for a brief second, relief slicing through him before he masked it.
“Stay here,” he said, voice hard again. “Don’t move.”
—he locked the door himself, turned and was gone.
Outside, the courtyard was chaos.
Bodies lay where they’d fallen.
Seven men. Maybe eight.
All dead.
Clean shots.
Professional.
Marco stood among his guards, fury rolling off him.
“Who were they?” he demanded.
No answer.
“Who let them in?”
Silence.
“They crossed my territory,” he said slowly, dangerously. “They knew where the blind spots were. They knew when to move. They knew where I would be.”
His men lowered their eyes.
“That means someone studied us,” Marco continued. “Someone planned this.”
He clenched his jaw.
“And they failed.”
He paced once, sharp, restless.
“Double the guards. Change the routes. Nothing moves without my permission.”
Then he turned—
And saw her.
She stood at the window upstairs, pale against the broken glass, watching the aftermath.
Watching him.
Something twisted in his chest.
He went back inside.
As he climbed the stairs, his body remembered before his mind allowed it to.
The way he had grabbed her.
Her wrists—warm, alive—caught between his hands as he’d turned her, checking for blood. The sharp intake of her breath when his palm had brushed her side.
Her scent lingered on his skin—something clean, raw, unmistakably her. Not perfume. Not soap. Something deeper.
Still burned into him.
Oh God.
He slowed his steps.
For a moment, the urge was violent.
To reach her. To pull her close again. To make sure she was real.
Wait, he told himself. Don’t rush. Don’t break this.
He had waited years for power. Months for control. He could wait for her.
She had to come to him. Not fear. Not survival.
Choice.
He stopped outside her door, breathing once, steadying himself—locking everything dangerous behind discipline.
Then he entered.
---
He found her staring out the window as if nothing had happened.
“Let me go.” she whispered without looking at him.
The words landed harder than the gunshot.
“What?” He took a step closer.
“I don’t want to be here,” she said, finally turning, anger blazing through the calm she usually wore like armor. “Why won’t you let me go?”
Her voice rose now, sharp, breaking.
“What do you want from me?” she demanded. “You want to use me? Own me? Or is it my body you like so much?”
She laughed once—bitter, shaking.
“Which is it, Marco?”
He stayed where he was.
Too calm. Too still.
“Where would you go?” he asked quietly.
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is,” he replied. “Because you have nowhere to go.”
Her jaw clenched.
“No home,” he continued. “No family. No one waiting for you.”
She stepped closer now, fury barely contained.
“So I’m supposed to stay because I’m alone?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “Because alone gets people killed.”
Her eyes burned.
“You don’t get to decide my life.”
“I already did,” he said, then softened it just enough to matter.
She looked away for a second.
“I swear,” Marco said, voice low, controlled, but something underneath it strained, “I won’t hurt you. Not now. Not ever.”
She laughed then—but there was no humor in it.
A sharp, wounded sound.
“You hurt me before,” she said, voice trembling only because she refused to let it break. “What’s stopping you from doing it again?”
She lifted her chin, eyes blazing, daring him to deny it.
“I don’t believe you.”
The words landed like a slap.
“You think promises mean something to men like you?” she went on, “You think soft words erase what you are?”
She stepped closer, close enough that he could see the fury shaking beneath her skin.
“You want me afraid of you,” she said. “That’s what this is. Control dressed up as mercy.”
Her hands curled into fists.
“But listen to me,” she hissed. “I am not afraid of you. Not of you. Not of anyone.”
Marco’s jaw tightened, his breath slow but uneven.
“And I don’t survive by trusting monsters. I survive by standing in front of them.”she said.
Silence fell hard between them.
Her chest rose and fell fast, eyes shining with unshed tears she refused to give him.
“And if you ever try to break me again,” she finished softly, “you...
He cut her suddenly.
“I don’t own you,” he said quietly.
“But while you’re here, you’re under my protection.”
He paused, eyes dark.
“Just stay. No one will ever hurt you again. I swear.”
He stepped back and voice hardened.
“But I can’t let you go. Don’t say it again.”
She searched his face, looking for the lie.
He looked at her then—really looked.
Other women had smiled at him. Touched him. Wanted him.
None of them had looked at him like this. Like leaving him was even possible.
That thought cut deeper than he expected.
She said nothing.
“This place is big enough,” he went on. “You don’t have to stay inside. You can walk. The garden. The grounds. You’ll be free here.”
“I don’t want your freedom.” she said loudly.
“Think before you say no,” he replied quietly.
She turned then, eyes sharp.
“I’ve already thought. I don't want to be here.”
He turned away before she could see what this did to him.
Because for the first time in years—
The idea of her leaving terrified him.
- Writer
