Someone took her from me, made the world believe she was dead, kept her prisoner for four years.
I'll find them. I'll make them beg for death long before I grant it.
She pauses, her head turning slightly as if sensing me watching.
I duck lower, not ready to reveal myself until I understand what's happening.
Until I know who I need to kill.
That's when I see it.
Her arms aren't empty.
She's carrying a small child who rests her head against Eva's shoulder, tiny fingers holding on for dear life.
I don’t know much about kids.
This one is smaller than my nephew Enzo who is seven, but bigger than Matteo and Alessia who are less than one.
All of them are my siblings' kids.
Before I can process what it means that Eva appears to be on the run with a child, I spot movement.
Not random pedestrians, but purposeful shadows following her.
Three men.
Bratva.
I recognize their hulking silhouettes, the way they communicate with subtle nods.
The same Russian scum who've been causing problems for my family since before my father died.
They're converging on Eva from different directions, boxing her in.
Her body language shifts instantly.
She spots them too and her pace quickens despite her limp.
She pulls the little girl closer to her, murmuring something.
The fear radiating off her is palpable even from this distance.
Without conscious thought, I'm out of my car, the Glock I carry already in hand.
I don't give a fuck who sees me.
Don't care about witnesses or consequences.
Nothing matters but getting to them.
Eva backs toward an alley.
Fuck no, not there.
She must not realize it’s a dead end.
The Bratva close in, one speaking into a phone, the other two with hands inside their jackets.
