I thrashed against their hold, desperate to escape, but it was no use. The baby inside me stirred, a painful reminder that I had to survive this. For them. For my child. The last thing I saw before they shoved me into a van was the life I had known reduced to ashes.
As the van doors slammed shut and the engine roared to life, I made a silent vow. Whoever these people were, whoever they thought they were, Antonio and Serena Russo, they had taken everything from me. My mother. My best friend. My home. But I wasn’t done.
I clutched my stomach protectively, my tears drying as anger hardened my resolve. They would regret this. They all would.
When I woke up, the world was dark and suffocating. My wrists and ankles burned from the rough rope binding them, and my face felt raw where the tape stretched across my mouth. The van jolted over uneven roads, each bump sending pain shooting through my aching body. I wanted to cry, to scream, but exhaustion pulled at me, the weight of everything that had happened crashing down. My mother. Jenny. Gone. My home, my life—reduced to nothing but smoke and blood.