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28 | Clara Saint

"𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥..."

𝐬𝐢𝐚

Vincent sighs, surrounded by his team, laptops cluttering the table with stacks of files and papers. I reached for a file on the desk, flipping through its contents.

"It starts at six am. We're attempting to secure entry into the bid, but they keep rejecting our requests," Roman responded.

"Perhaps because they're only allowing a select few," Vincent suggested.

"Who are these people?" I interjected.

"The bidders. Mr. Kovak's enemies," one of his workers replied. I tossed the file back onto the table, running my fingers through my hair as I scanned the room. These people were utterly repulsive. Bidding on a child? Was this the depths to which the Mafia stooped?

"And what if they win the bid? What happens to my son?" I pressed.

"We're not certain. Our best guess is they'll use him against Mr Kovak," came the ominous response.

Vincent's gaze met mine as I rested my hand on his shoulder, suggesting a risky plan. "So why don't we find someone who's already secured on the bid, threaten them, and ensure they win?" I whispered urgently.

"That could work," Vincent replied, his tone reflecting both apprehension and determination. The room fell into a contemplative silence as we weighed the potential consequences of our proposed course of action. But in the face of such dire circumstances, it seemed like our only viable option.

"We'll need to act swiftly and discreetly," Roman interjected, his voice low and serious. "Finding the right person and executing the plan without raising suspicion will be crucial. Give us a couple of hours."

"Hours? Do you think we have hours?" My voice raises.

"Clara." Vincent voices.

"My son is out there! They could kill him within a couple of hours." Roman folds his arms against his chest, and everyone looks away from me. Vincent stands up from his seat, and takes my arm gently. "What are you doing?"

"Clara. You should get some rest."

"Rest? What the fuck is wrong with you people? Do you think Christian is getting any rest? My son needs me! He needs me, he needs his mum, don't you fucking get it?" I shake my head at him, ripping my arm out of his grasp. "If you don't find a bidder to threaten in one hour, I'll take things into my own hands."

"And what will you do?" Roman interjects, my eyebrows furrow.

"I will do the job you aren't doing."

I didn't even waste a second, I left the room feeling my heart pounding against my chest.

Has he eaten?

Have they hurt him?

Have they scared him?

He is probably crying, and here I am crying!

"Clara," his voice broke through the heaviness of the moment. I turned around, meeting his gaze, tears still staining my cheeks. He reached out, his touch gentle as he brushed away the tears with the back of his hand.

"What if she's hurting him? What if she doesn't feed him?" I whispered, my voice trembling with fear and anguish.

"Clara," Vincent began, his voice filled with resolve, "I vowed to bring him back to us. Do you understand that?" His words were a solemn reminder of his unwavering commitment to our son and to our family.