chapter Eleven
720 Words
The moment Vince’s motorcycle disappeared into the night, Fiona’s legs finally gave out.
Zara caught her again, lowering her to sit on the bench.
“Okay—NO. No, no, no. Fiona, what the hell was that?! Why is some mafia scout talking about you like you’re a missing princess?”
But Fiona couldn’t even process words anymore.
Her hands clutched her stomach protectively.
Her vision wavered again.
Her pulse thundered like trapped lightning.
“He… he called Alistair,” she whispered, voice hollow. “He told him he found me.”
Zara swore loudly enough to startle a passing pedestrian.
“Of course he’s looking for you. Of course he is. Because when has your life ever been normal?”
But Fiona wasn’t hearing her anymore.
Her mind replayed the words:
**He always finds what’s his.**
A tremor ran through her entire body.
Zara knelt in front of her, gripping her shoulders. “Fiona. Hey. We’re going home. Now. Before another one of those Valerio spies pops out of a dumpster.”
Fiona nodded weakly.
Together, they hurried down the street—Zara half-carrying her as Fiona’s body fought between panic and dizziness.
But even as they moved, Fiona felt eyes on her.
A presence.
A shadow following.
The Valerios were already watching.
---
## **ALISTAIR VALERIO — POV**
### *Valerio estate, an hour later*
Alistair stood beside the long mahogany conference table, shoulders rigid as Vince stood before him—helmet under his arm, expression neutral but tense.
Alistair’s silver ring tapped the table once.
A quiet, dangerous sound.
“Tell me everything.”
Vince cleared his throat.
“I found her outside an apartment building. She looked… bad. Dizzy, overheated. She almost fainted.”
Alistair’s jaw locked so hard that muscles popped along the side of his face.
“And you *left* her like that?” he said, voice dark and low.
Vince swallowed. “She was with a friend. Zara. The same one she’s always around.”
Alistair’s eyes narrowed—not with anger at Zara, but with something darker.
More primal.
“She looked weak,” Vince continued. “Scared. Like something broke her.”
A pulse twitched near Alistair’s temple.
“She ran out of the house as if she’d seen a ghost,” Vince added, watching Alistair carefully. “Then she overheard your father’s marriage announcement from her mother.”
Silence fell.
Heavy. Electric.
Deadly.
Alistair’s fingers curled around the back of the leather chair until it creaked beneath the pressure of his grip.
“She heard about their engagement,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
“She panicked.”
The pieces fell together.
Three months of her absence.
Three months of him waking up angry, restless, haunted by the memory of her body beneath his.
Three months of silence.
And now she was back.
Terrified.
Running.
He inhaled slowly, the breath sharp enough to cut.
“And you said she almost fainted,” he repeated.
Vince nodded. “She’s not taking care of herself, boss. Or she’s dealing with something she can’t handle.”
Alistair’s gaze darkened like a storm gathering at sea.
“Find out what’s wrong with her health.”
Vince hesitated. “Should I approach her again? Or watch from afar?”
Alistair stepped forward, movements contained—but vibrating with coiled power.
“Do not approach her,” he ordered.
“Not yet.”
“Then—”
“I’ll do it myself.”
Vince bowed his head. “Yes, boss.”
Alistair turned away from him, gripping the balcony railing as the night wind hit his face.
Something about Fiona’s panic cut him deeper than it should have.
He’d told himself it was only obsession.
Or desire.
Or pride.
But now?
Now it was something else.
Something far more dangerous.
A man like him was not meant to feel.
But whatever Fiona Lewis carried inside her—whatever had made her run, shake, almost collapse—
He needed to know.
He needed to see her.
He needed her back in front of him.
**And he needed it now.**
Alistair looked over his shoulder.
“Prepare the car,” he said.
His voice was lethal.
Final.
Unquestionable.
Vince blinked. “Where are you going?”
“To get her,” Alistair said simply.
“Before someone else does.
- Writer
