" I'm sor-"
"DON'T, JUST DON'T SAY IT. YOU DO NOT EVEN DESERVE TO SAY IT AFTER WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME! I BEGGED YOU, SCREAMED AND PLEAD, BUT YOU DIDN'T HEED MY WORDS. THEN WHY SHOULD I!"
I yelled with tears streaming down my face when witnessing m...
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The evening buzzed softly, the air sharp with the scent of wet cobblestones and distant rain. From my shadowed perch across the street, I studied the restaurant with unrelenting focus. Patrons drifted in and out, their laughter and chatter a thin veil over the tension coiled in my chest. My men were everywhere, woven into the scene with surgical precision: waiters pouring wine with practiced ease, managers issuing clipped orders, ice cream vendors exchanging pleasantries, and pedestrians strolling with calculated indifference. Every gesture was deliberate, every glance a silent command. Tonight, there would be no errors.
This chase had stretched too long, a labyrinth of deception and near misses. I was done with the pursuit. Tonight, I would claim my prey.
"All of you, position yourselves well," I murmured into the encrypted comms, my voice low and edged with steel. "I want that bastard pinned. If he slips away, you'll face consequences you won't forget."
"Yes, Master," came the unified reply, sharp and resolute.
"Georgia, you too. Your performance must be flawless. Fail me, and you'll regret it."
"Yes, Master," she answered, her tone steady despite the weight of my warning.
Preparation had been meticulous. One of my guards, chosen for her uncanny resemblance to Amaira, stood ready as our decoy. Her hair was styled to mirror Amaira's flowing waves, and a master makeup artist had sculpted a face mask so lifelike it could deceive even the sharpest observer. Every detail was perfect. The trap was primed.
We waited.
Minutes bled into hours. The restaurant's warm glow spilled onto the street, but no unfamiliar figure crossed my sightline. No hurried steps, no furtive glances, no hint of our target. My jaw tightened, frustration gnawing at my resolve. Had he sensed the ambush? Was he watching from some hidden vantage, mocking our efforts?
I leaned back in the driver's seat, exhaling sharply. My eyes drifted shut for a moment, the endless chase pressing against my temples like a vise. When would this game of predator and prey end?
My gaze wandered left, drawn to the playground where children laughed under their mothers' watchful eyes. Their joy pierced the night, bright and unburdened. A raw ache twisted in my chest, unearthing memories I'd long buried: a mother's gentle scolding, a child's giggle, a warmth I hadn't known in years. I forced my eyes away, locking the pain back into its vault.
That's when I saw it.
A silver van, sleek and gleaming, tucked behind a gnarled oak tree. Its tinted windshield caught the streetlights' faint glow. In Austria, such modifications were forbidden, a mark of those who operated beyond the law's reach. The van's position, discreet yet brazenly close to the restaurant, sent a surge of certainty through me.
Got you.
"Change of plans," I snapped into the comms. "Georgia, exit the restaurant. Walk to the tree by the playground. Keep it natural, but ensure the van's occupants see you. Everyone else, when they take her, follow that vehicle. Do not lose it."
