Chapter 7 - The Hostage in the Hills
The quiet didn't last.
Three weeks after the estate raid, the tension in the city reached a boiling point. Josiah was engaged in an all-out economic and physical war to dismantle the Moretti syndicate once and for all. He barely slept, spending days at a time coordinating moves with his lieutenants.
Willow stayed at the estate, acting as both Mia’s anchor and the shadow manager of the household. The bond between her and Josiah had grown into a quiet, intense flame—stolen moments in the middle of the night, whispered promises in the hallway, gentle hands holding onto each other in the dark.
Then, the trap sprung.
It didn't happen at the estate. It happened during a routine medical appointment for Mia at a high-security private clinic in the city.
Despite six armed guards and an armored convoy, a disguised garbage truck rammed the lead escort vehicle at a downtown intersection, creating a massive pileup. In the chaos that followed, smoke grenades filled the street.
When the smoke cleared, the rear door of Willow’s vehicle had been breached.
Willow woke up with a pounding headache, her hands tied securely behind her back with thick zip-ties. The smell of damp earth, old iron, and pine needles filled her nose.
She was sitting on a cold dirt floor inside an abandoned mountain cabin.
Beside her, Mia was sobbing silently, her small wrist bound to Willow’s belt loop.
"Willow... Willow, I'm scared," Mia whimpered.
"I know, baby. I know," Willow whispered, maneuvering her hands behind her back, trying to feel the edges of the plastic tie. "Listen to me, Mia. Look at me."
Mia looked up through teardrops.
"Your father is coming," Willow said with absolute certainty. "He is going to tear this city apart until he finds us. We just need to buy him time. Do you understand?"
"Well, well, isn't that sweet."
A man stepped into the dim cabin light. He was older, wearing a dark leather jacket, his face marred by a deep scar running across his nose—Marco Moretti, the head of the rival family.
"The mob boss’s nanny," Marco sneered, walking around them like a vulture. "I expected Josiah to hire heavy security, but he leaves his precious daughter with a former waitress. How poetic."
"If you touch her, Josiah will skin you alive," Willow said, her voice hard as steel, showing zero terror.
Marco laughed, a grating, ugly sound. "Josiah is currently running around the city like a headless chicken. In two hours, he will arrive at the docks alone, where my men are waiting to put a bullet in his brain. And once he's dead, I inherit his empire... and I dispose of the loose ends."
Marco pulled a heavy silver pistol from his belt and racked the slide, letting the sound echo in the small cabin.
Mia gasped, hiding her face against Willow’s side.
Willow didn't flinch. She locked eyes with Marco, her brain racing, feeling the jagged edge of an old rusty nail sticking out of the floorboard right behind her back.
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"He won't fall for your trap, Marco," Willow said, subtly rubbing the plastic zip-tie against the sharp nail behind her. "He's smarter than you. He's always been smarter than you."
"We'll see about that, little girl," Marco spat, stepping toward the door. "Watch them," he ordered the two armed guards standing by the doorway. "If either of them moves, break a leg."
