“Not only was I not scared — I refused to submit.”
I shifted slightly against the mattress.
“It’s true he would have touched me in the wrong way,” I admitted, my voice steady. “But he made the mistake of coming in unguarded. The moment he stepped fully into the room and tried to force himself on me, I moved.”
“I slid the heavy internal bolt shut — the kind that locks from the inside only. Then I turned on him and beat him until he stopped moving.”
Renzo leaned forward a fraction, eyes fixed on me.
I paused, letting the moment settle.
“The bastard dropped instantly. Didn’t even have time to scream.”
A faint, grim satisfaction colored my voice.
“After that, it was simple. I took the cuffs they’d left on the bed for me and chained him to the radiator pipe in the corner. Tight enough he could only twitch.”
Renzo winced instinctively.
“Didn’t he have a gun?” he asked, voice turning rough.
“Disarming armed men is one of my skills,” I said flatly. “I took it from him before he knew what hit him.”
“That was how I kept my father as my hostage,” I went on, voice low. “He became my shield. No one was allowed to attack me whenever food arrived.”
“Each time the guards brought a meal, I’d drag him to the door, gun pressed tight to his temple. They understood perfectly: one step out of line, one attempt to break in...”
My lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile.
“Vasquez dies on the spot.”
Renzo let out a low whistle, but there was no humor in it—just disbelief.
“I’m trying to believe this isn’t some Hollywood scene,” Renzo murmured, voice uneasy. “The Spanish are savage... pure evil. You can’t just play them like that.”
“Normal civilians can’t do what I did,” I replied, my tone flat. “I used what the CIA taught me. It sounds like a movie script, I know — but every word is true.”
“Matteo needed my father alive too badly to risk it. He couldn’t afford to let me kill Vasquez, so he wouldn’t let his men force the door. Whatever deal the two of them had running... it was far bigger than me. I saw it in their eyes before they locked me in. Killing Vasquez would have cost Matteo everything — losing me was nothing in comparison.”
Renzo dragged a hand down his face slowly, like he was trying to process the full picture.
“You held him like that for four weeks?” he asked.
I nodded.
I kept the gun on him almost the entire time,” I continued. “I slept in short fragments, never fully asleep. Every creak, every sound — I was already standing. Any movement, and my eyes were scanning the room. He was my leverage. I couldn’t allow even one mistake.”
Renzo stared at me for a long moment, something like awe mixed with concern flickering in his expression.
“That’s...” Renzo shook his head, stunned. “That’s not just nerves. That’s pure craziness.”
“It’s called desperate instinct to survive,” I replied simply.
He exhaled sharply.
“If this is really true, then you’re bolder and braver than most of us could ever dream of being. Holding your own father hostage while you’re the kidnapped one? That’s on a completely different level.”
I smirked triumphantly and adjusted my position on the bed.
