Blood tracked down her face from flying glass. Eyes wild with maternal fury and desperate fear—the primal need to protect her child overriding every survival instinct.
She grabbed my arm, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. "Valentina, we have to—"
A contractor materialized behind her through the gray haze. Raised his weapon with mechanical precision.
Time slowed. Stretched. Each heartbeat lasted an eternity.
I saw the exact moment his finger tightened on the trigger. Saw the minute shift in his stance as he adjusted for recoil. Saw death coming with perfect, photographic clarity.
"No! Mom!"
She saw my expression. Understood immediately.
Threw herself between the gunman and me without hesitation.
Don't—please don't. I'm not worth it…
The shot cracked through the chaos.
Sofia jerked. Red bloomed across her white shirt, spreading fast, too fast, the wet stain growing with each heartbeat.
She went down hard.
The sound—wet, final—punched through the ringing in my ears. I saw the exact angle of her fall, the way her head bounced once against tile, and the pattern of blood spatter across the cream-colored grout.
Details I'd never unsee. Never escape.
"Mom!"
I was moving before conscious thought, dropping beside her, hands hovering over the wound. Afraid to touch. Afraid not to.
She threw herself in front of a bullet meant for me.
"No, no, no—" My hands pressed against the wound.
Blood pulsed hot between my fingers. Slick. Too much. Each surge matched her heartbeat—ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump—painting my palms deeper crimson.
Her eyes found mine. Already glazing. Pupils blown wide with shock.
"Run," she whispered. "Please run, baby."
Baby.
She hadn't called me that since I was eight years old. Since before she left. Since before everything broke.
The endearment cracked something in my chest I didn't know could still break.
"I can't leave you—"
Hands grabbed my hair, yanking me backward with vicious force. Pain exploded across my scalp.
I fought, kicking wildly and connecting with something solid. I screamed until I tasted copper, until my throat went raw and my voice cracked.
But they moved with brutal efficiency. One held my thrashing legs while another zip-tied my hands behind my back, plastic biting into my wrists hard enough to cut off circulation.
I put everything into breaking free—every ounce of strength, every desperate surge of adrenaline, every bit of will I possessed.
Useless against their overwhelming force.
