Chasing Sandro: A Dangerous Obsession

Chapter 24: Taken

Sandro stepped out of the quiet restaurant, the cool night air offering a brief respite from the heated political discussions inside. It had been a long day of meetings, and though his public life was on an upswing, he felt exhausted. His career as a congressman had been demanding, pulling him into a world of power plays and alliances that often left him drained. But tonight, something felt different. There was an unease in the air that he couldn't quite place, like the city was holding its breath.

As he walked toward his car, his security team followed at a distance. It was a routine he'd become accustomed to—one he barely noticed anymore. But as he approached the vehicle, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He paused, glancing at the screen. A text from an unknown number: *Watch your back.*

Before he had time to react, the world around him shifted in an instant.

A black SUV screeched to a stop in front of him, and in the blink of an eye, three men in dark clothing rushed him. Sandro's security detail shouted, but they were too far away to intervene in time. Strong hands grabbed him, pulling him off his feet and shoving him into the back of the SUV. The door slammed shut, cutting off his cries for help.

Sandro's heart raced as the car sped away from the restaurant. He tried to struggle, to fight back, but his wrists were quickly bound, and a cloth was pressed over his mouth. Panic surged through him as he inhaled the strong scent of chloroform, his vision swimming as the world around him grew hazy. His last conscious thought was of the cryptic text message. Had someone known this was going to happen?

As the darkness swallowed him whole, Sandro felt the terrifying realization that his life was no longer in his control.

When Sandro woke, the world felt disorienting. His head pounded, and his mouth was dry. He tried to move, but his hands were still tied, and a blindfold covered his eyes. He could hear the low rumble of a car engine, and the faint voices of his captors, speaking in hushed tones. His heart raced with fear.

"Where are you taking me?" he demanded, his voice hoarse and shaky. He fought to keep his composure, to maintain some semblance of control, but the panic was starting to creep in.

One of the men laughed, the sound cold and dismissive. "Don't worry, Congressman. We're just taking you somewhere... quiet."

Sandro clenched his teeth, fury bubbling beneath his fear. He was a public figure, a congressman with powerful allies. Whoever these people were, they had made a mistake. Someone would come looking for him. Someone had to.

But as the minutes ticked by, with no sign of rescue and no explanation from his captors, the reality of his situation began to sink in. He wasn't just another politician caught in a petty power play—this was something far darker. His mind raced, trying to piece together who could be behind this. He had made enemies in the political world, of course, but none who seemed capable of this. There had been no threats, no warnings... at least none that he'd taken seriously.

The car came to a sudden stop, jerking him out of his thoughts. Sandro's breath caught in his throat as he heard the car doors open. Rough hands grabbed him, pulling him out of the vehicle. His feet hit the ground hard, and he stumbled, his legs weak from being bound for so long. He struggled to stand upright as they dragged him forward.

"Let me go!" Sandro shouted, his voice tinged with desperation. "Do you know who I am? You're making a mistake!"

The men ignored him, their grip firm as they forced him inside a building. The air around him grew cooler, and the smell of damp concrete and mustiness filled his senses. He heard the heavy clank of a metal door, and then he was thrown into a chair, his hands still tied behind his back. The blindfold was yanked off, and the harsh fluorescent light overhead made him squint as his eyes adjusted.

Sandro blinked, looking around. The room was bare—concrete walls, no windows, just a single metal chair in the middle of the room where he sat. His captors stood in the shadows, their faces obscured by ski masks. He tried to memorize every detail, every sound, hoping it would help him later when he got out of this mess.

"Why are you doing this?" Sandro demanded again, trying to keep his voice steady, though his fear was becoming harder to control. "What do you want?"

One of the men stepped forward, his voice low and menacing. "This isn't about what *we* want, Congressman. It's about what *someone* else wants."

Sandro's mind whirled. Who could have orchestrated this? His political enemies? A rival trying to send him a message? The possibilities seemed endless, but none of them fit. His thoughts kept circling back to the message he'd received right before he was taken. It hadn't been a demand for money, or a threat to his life—it had been a warning.

But who had warned him? And why?

Before he could process it further, the men turned and left the room, leaving Sandro alone in the cold, empty space. The door clanged shut behind them, the sound echoing off the walls, and Sandro was plunged into a silence that felt suffocating.

He struggled against the ropes binding his wrists, wincing as they bit into his skin. There had to be a way out. He couldn't just sit here, helpless, waiting for whatever twisted game his captors had planned. But the more he fought, the tighter the knots seemed to become.

For the first time in his life, Sandro felt powerless.

The hours dragged on, each second stretching into an eternity. Sandro's thoughts raced, alternating between fear and anger. Who had the power to do this? Who had the resources? And more importantly, who had a motive?

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there when the door finally opened again. One of the masked men stepped inside, carrying a small device. He placed it on the table in front of Sandro, pressing a button before stepping back.

A crackling sound filled the room, and then a distorted voice came through the speaker.

"Sandro."

Sandro stiffened, the voice vaguely familiar, though he couldn't place it. His mind raced, trying to identify the person on the other end of the line.

"You're probably wondering why this is happening," the voice continued, cold and detached. "You've made a lot of powerful enemies, Congressman. And some of them... well, they want to teach you a lesson."

Sandro's jaw clenched. "What kind of lesson?"

The voice chuckled softly, sending a chill down his spine. "That power isn't always in your hands. That sometimes, even men like you can be brought to their knees."

Sandro's heart pounded in his chest. He had thought he was untouchable, that his status and influence could protect him from anything. But now, as he sat tied to this chair in a dark, unfamiliar room, he realized just how wrong he had been.

Power had shifted. And for the first time in his life, Sandro was at someone else's mercy.