Blood and Silence:The Don's Discarded Wife

My car had barely slipped off the main road outside the old estate when an unfamiliar van materialized in the rearview mirror.

At first, I paid it no mind. Just another set of headlights cutting through the dark. But then the vehicle surged forward without warning, its engine roaring like something feral unchained, and swerved hard toward my driver's side.

A sharp screech of rubber tore through the night, shredding the silence like a blade across silk.

The next moment, my car door was wrenched open from the outside.

I didn't even have a second to react. Hands seized me, rough and practiced, dragging me out of the seat with the efficiency of men who had done this before. The world spun. The back of my skull cracked against something hard, and before I could draw enough breath to scream, a calloused palm clamped over my mouth. My body was shoved into the van like cargo.

The door slammed shut with a sound that echoed through my bones.

In the suffocating darkness, I heard the engine turn over again. The van lurched forward.

Fear flooded through me, cold and absolute.

On instinct, my arms wrapped around my belly. My fingers trembled so violently they barely obeyed me as I fumbled through my bag, searching for my phone. The screen lit up, painting the interior of the van in pale blue light, and I dialed Zeno's number almost without thinking.

No answer.

I refused to stop. I called again.

A third time.

A fourth time.

The phone vibrated again and again in my grip, the unanswered rings drilling into my skull like a funeral bell, but he never picked up.

I switched to voice messages, pressing my lips close to the microphone, my tone forced low but fracturing at every syllable.

"Zeno… something happened to me."

"Pick up the call, alright?"

"Just answer the phone. I'm begging you…"

Each message went out like a stone dropped into a bottomless well. Not even an echo returned.

I stared at the screen, the glow reflected in my wide eyes, and felt the warmth drain from my hands inch by inch. The silence on the other end was louder than any gunshot.

The man sitting across from me in the dark let out a low, ugly laugh.

"Stop calling. It won't work."

The van's overhead light was dim, barely a dying ember. His face stayed swallowed by shadow, but his voice carried clear mockery, the kind that came from a man who enjoyed watching something small and cornered.

"The Don's wife, right?"

He let the words hang. Then, softer, almost amused: "You look really sad right now."

He spoke in a lazy drawl, the cadence of someone who had all the time in the world and knew I had none. "Can't even get your own man to answer. Really makes me wonder why you're still loyal to a family that doesn't answer when you bleed."

I forced myself to settle. My throat felt like it was wrapped in wire, each breath a negotiation, but I still pushed the words out. "Why did you take me?"

"Because you're standing in my sister's way."

His tone shifted. The amusement curdled into something flat and final.

"If someone stands in the way, then she has to be removed."

My heart plummeted, dropping through my chest like a stone through black water.

"Your sister…" The words scraped past my lips. "Is she Maeva?"