ABIGAIL - WHEN WOMEN BEND RULES

7、Blood on the Board

The photograph slipped from my fingers and landed on the desk.

Sophia. Bound. Gagged. A gun pressed to her forehead.

The red scrawl at the bottom taunted me: Choose.

For a brief moment, I couldn’t breathe. Sophia wasn’t just my lawyer. She was my childhood friend, the one who taught me to tie my shoes, the one who held my hand at my father’s funeral when the men around me treated grief like weakness. The one who motivated me to keep moving.

And now she was in Vincenzo’s grip.

Lucky barged into the study, his voice was sharp. “What happened?”

I shoved the photo into his chest. He scanned it, his jaw tightening, eyes dark. “Shit.”

Raphael’s voice slid from the doorway. “It seems Vincenzo is giving you your first real test.”

I shot a stare at him. “You knew.”

His lips curved. “Of course I knew. Vincenzo doesn’t breathe without me feeling the wind.”

My stomach turned. “Then why didn’t you stop it?”

“Because, Abigail,” Raphael said softly, stepping closer, “power isn’t about preventing fire. It’s about deciding who burns.”

I wanted to slap him, scream at him—but fear held me back. Because part of me wondered if he was right.

Lucky broke the silence. “We don’t have time for games. We find Sophia, we get her out, and then we put Vincenzo in the ground.”

My hand trembled as I picked up the crucifix around my neck. My father’s cross, it felt heavy in my hands with meaning. What would you have done, Papa? Saved her—or sacrificed her for the family?

I swallowed hard. “We saved her. Alive.”

Raphael’s smirk faded. He studied me for a long moment, then gave a faint nod. “Very well. But saving her will cost you more than blood.”

By dawn, we had a lead.

Lucia—the capo’s wife—slipped me a note from her husband’s pocket. A warehouse by the docks. A place Vincenzo used to store smuggled shipments.

Lucky assembled a small crew. Not guards—men could draw too much attention. Instead, I brought women. Queens.

Maria disguised herself as a cleaning woman. Camille knew the guards’ patterns from Raphael’s meetings. Even Lucia, though she was still scared, pressed a pistol into her purse.

For the first time, I wasn’t alone. I felt alive.

As the car rolled toward the docks, I stared out at the water. My desires whispered to me: Save Sophia. Prove you’re not weak. Show Raphael you’re not his pawn.

But my fears hissed louder: What if you fail? What if Sophia dies because of you? What if the queens break and betray you?

I pressed the crucifix against my lips and whispered, “I won’t fail.”

The warehouse reeked of oil and paint.

From the shadows, we watched the guards. Four men at the front, smoking, laughing, careless. Inside, more voices echoed.

Lucky leaned close. “We go in quiet. And take them down fast.”

I shook my head. “No. It's too risky.” My eyes flicked to Camille. “You said Raphael told you Vincenzo keeps his men drunk during night shifts, yes?”

She nodded.

“Then let’s give them a reason to drink.”

Minutes later, Maria strolled up the side door with a crate of bottles. “Delivery from Raphael,” she told the guards, her accent thick.

The men grinned, letting her through. Like moths to flame, they followed her toward the back.

That was our opening, our only chance.

We slipped inside, shadows among shadows.

The sound of dripping water echoed through the warehouse. Rusted chains dangled from the rafters. And in the center, tied to a chair, gagged—Sophia.

Her eyes widened when she saw me. Relief.Weakness. Terror. Blood trailed down from her lips to her neck.

But before we could make another move, a voice boomed from above.

“Well, well.”

I froze.

Vincenzo stepped from the shadows of the catwalk, flanked by armed men. His silver hair glistened under the dim light, and his smile was sharp and calculated.

“I wondered when the little princess would come crawling.”

Lucky swore under his breath, raising his gun. But Vincenzo held up a hand. “Shoot, and Sophia dies.”

My heart hammered. Vincenzo had planned this. He wanted me here.

“Let her go,” I demanded, forcing steel into my voice. “This is between you and me. She has nothing to do with this.”

Vincenzo chuckled dryly. “Oh, Abigail. It’s always been between us. Your father was weak. Too sentimental. I did him a favor when I cut him off the seat.”

The words hit me like bullets. My father was betrayed. By him.

“You killed him,” I whispered, feeling cold shivers run down my spine.

Vincenzo’s smile widened. “Of course I did. And soon, I’ll kill his daughter, too. What a great achievement."

The world circled round me, rage blinding me. My father’s blood, my family’s shame—all of it led back to this man.

Lucky’s voice cut through the haze. “Abigail. Orders?”

My hand trembled around the crucifix. My father would’ve chosen caution. Raphael would’ve chosen blood. But I—

I chose fire. Yes, fire.

“Queens,” I yelled.

Lucia pulled a gun from her purse. Camille threw a bottle that shattered into flames. Maria screamed a warning as the guards scrambled.

Chaos exploded.

Lucky tackled one man. I cut Sophia free, pulling her to her feet. Vincenzo cursed above us, bullets raining from the catwalk.

“Go!” I screamed. “Get her out!”

But Sophia clutched my hand, eyes wide. “Abby—it’s not just me. They took Matteo’s sister. She’s here too.”

My blood ran cold.

Matteo’s sister. Another pawn in this bloody game.

“Where?” I shouted.

She pointed to the far end of the warehouse. A locked door.

Lucky shot down two guards, clearing a path. I sprinted, kicking the door until it cracked. Inside—a girl, barely fifteen, chained to the wall. Matteo’s sister. She was tied to a fat wood, but wasn't gagged.

Her eyes widened. “Please—help me!” she muttered out weakly.

I snapped the chain, dragging her out.

But just as we reached the exit—

A gun pressed against my temple.

Vincenzo.

He’d descended from the catwalk, his hand steady, his eyes wild, blood red with rage.

“Clever girl,” he growled. “But this ends now.”

Time slowed. I could hear Sophia sobbing, Lucky shouting, flames crackling.

And then—another voice. Cold. Smooth.

“Drop the gun, Vincenzo.”

Raphael.

He stepped from the smoke, his pistol aimed at Vincenzo’s head.

My breath caught. “Raphael… you followed us?”

His eyes flicked to me. “I told you, Abigail. Every queen can be sacrificed. But not you.” His lips curved into a dry smile.

For a second, Vittorio hesitated. Then he laughed. “So this was your plan, Raphael? Send the girl into my trap and swoop in to play savior?”

My stomach twisted. Was that true? Did Raphael let this happen?

“Shut up,” Raphael snarled.

But Vincenzo’s grin only widened. “She’ll never trust you now. You've failed yourself Raphael.”

And he was right. Because even as Raphael’s gun pressed harder into Vincenzo’s skull, I couldn’t shake the fear clawing at me:

What if Raphael wasn’t saving me? What if he was using me?

The shot rang out.

Vincenzo crumpled, blood staining the floor.

A sudden silence erupted.

Raphael lowered his gun slowly, his eyes meeting mine.

“You’re welcome,” he said softly and bowed.

But my heart was torn. What was Raphael's intention of shooting Don Vincenzo?

And above it all—the terrifying thought that maybe Raphael hadn’t just saved me. Maybe he had just crowned himself king. Lingered in my mind as I stared at Vincenzo's body.