The air was thick with heat and tension. Inside the apartment, Kelvin leaned on his cane, trying to memorize every corner of the room by feel alone. Hope cooked silently in the kitchen while Ella rested—her pregnancy now beginning to show.
Across the street, *DonVico* watched through tinted glass.
"He has a daughter now," his driver muttered.
"And a maid who carries his future," Vico replied. "Perfect targets."
---
That night, as the city dimmed and sirens sang far off in the distance, Hope stepped out to buy bread. She waved off Ella's warning, "I'll be quick."
She didn't come back.
An hour passed.
Then two.
Ella rushed to the window. "She's not back yet."
Kelvin's hands gripped the couch. "Something's wrong."
Suddenly, a phone buzzed. An unknown number. Ella answered.
"She's with us," a gruff voice said. "If you ever want to see your daughter again, Mr. Hart… come alone."
The line went dead.
---
In a cold warehouse on the edge of the city, Hope sat tied to a chair, bruised but unbroken.
Don Vico circled her like a vulture. "You look like your mother."
Hope spat. "You don't scare me."
"Oh, I don't need to. Your father will be terrified enough for both of you."
---
Back at home, Kelvin stood up slowly, shaking.
"You can't go," Ella said, crying. "They'll kill you."
"I left death at too many doors," he replied. "If it wants me now, I won't run."
He turned toward her, reaching out, and placed a hand gently on her stomach.
"Protect our child. That's your war. Mine… is tonight."
---