Bloodlines and Bullets

twenty-nine

- Luciano's POV -

"Who the hell made you a part of this?" I growl, my grip tightening. "Who told you to go to that bar? Who put you in that dress? Answer me!"

Her sobs turn into desperate gasps for air, her body shaking uncontrollably. "No one!" she cries out, her voice hoarse. "I don't know! I don't know!" Her breaths come in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as she tries to speak through the terror. "I- I just went to the bar with some friends..."

Her words are a mess, broken by her fear and confusion. Her eyes are wild, darting around the room as if searching for some escape, but there's nowhere for her to go. My men surround us, their expressions hard and unreadable, their irritation palpable. They're as tense as I am, waiting for something, anything, that will make this whole fucked-up situation make sense.

"I don't remember," she whispers, her voice cracking. "There was a man... waiting outside... I-" She falters, fresh tears spilling over as she struggles to piece together the shattered fragments of her memory. "I don't know his name. He... he called me something... An- Annabella, maybe?" Her words are barely coherent now, each one forced out with effort. "He hurt me... I don't remember... please, I just want to go home."

I release her chin, letting her slump against the men holding her up. The room is silent except for her broken pleas. I can feel the tension radiating from my men, their impatience simmering just beneath the surface. They want answers as badly as I do, but all we're getting is a confused, terrified mess of a woman who seems to know nothing.

"Isabella?" Oliver asks, the name slicing through the quiet like a knife.

Her head snaps up, her eyes wide and panicked. "Y-yes, yes," she stammers, latching onto the name like a lifeline. "Isabella... he called me Isabella."

My blood runs cold at the name, though I keep my expression stony. Thalia's undercover name. It can't be a coincidence. The gears in my mind start turning faster, piecing together fragments of a puzzle that doesn't yet make sense. My fists clench at my sides, my knuckles turning white. Arrio fucking Martinez. What happened between them? The rage simmering beneath my skin threatens to boil over.

"Who called you Isabella?" I ask, my voice low, but carrying enough weight to make her flinch.

She swallows hard, her throat working against the dryness brought on by fear. "I... I don't remember his name. I just... I went outside for some air, and he was there. He grabbed me, said I was going to pay for... for something, I don't know what. Then he called me Isabella. He said... that I was a dead woman walking."

My men exchange looks, unease flickering in their eyes. They know this is bad. I know it's bad. What the fuck went so horribly wrong that the Spanish mafia wants Thalia dead? And where the fuck is she! I'm trying to keep a lid on, trying to stay focused, but the rage is clawing its way out. Every second that ticks by without answers is another second too long.

Then, Renea's breath hitches, a sharp intake of air that echoes in the silence. Her eyes widen, pure terror flooding her features as she stares into some unseen horror. Her hands start to tremble uncontrollably, her fingers twitching like she's trying to grasp at something that's slipping away.

"Arrio..." she whispers, the name slipping from her lips like a curse. The colour drains from her face, leaving her ghostly pale. She starts to shake her head, slow at first, then more frantically as if trying to deny what's clawing at her mind. "Oh God, oh God... What have I done? Why me? Why the fuck did this happen to me?"

Her eyes snap to mine, wide and wild, pleading for something I can't give her. "Arrio is the one who did this to me," she says, her voice breaking, barely above a whisper.