The abduction
Bella's POV
The routine of the hospital was a familiar comfort, even as the numbers from the blood pressure monitor echoed a silent warning. "Your systolic pressure is 140 and your diastolic is 80, ma'am," I informed the elderly woman who had come for a check-up, her face etched with lines of worry that deepened as she processed the information.
"Is that good?" she asked, her voice tinged with hope and fear.
"Yes, it's within the normal range. Just make sure you continue with the medications you were prescribed," I reassured her, offering a smile that I hoped conveyed more confidence than I felt.
I helped her to her feet, her reliance on the tripod cane a reminder of the fragility that comes with age. "Do you mind helping me cross the road?" she asked, her voice frail yet trusting.
"Of course," I replied, my attention divided as I ensured her safety across the busy street. After she thanked me, her crooked smile a testament to her gratitude, I hurried back to the hospital, my mind already shifting to the potential emergencies that awaited me.
But I never made it back.
A vehicle, its engine roaring like a beast unleashed, careened toward the hospital, halting abruptly before me. Before I could react, a figure emerged, his arm like a vice around my waist, dragging me into the car. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat as the world outside blurred into a streak of terror.
The car's interior was a prison, the leather seats cold against my skin. I struggled, my nails clawing for freedom, but his grip was unbreakable, his silence more terrifying than any threat. The vehicle's abrupt stop jolted me from my futile attempts to escape, and I was thrust into the dim, cavernous space of a warehouse.
"Did you get a doctor?" a voice boomed, the sound reverberating off the walls, amplifying my fear.
"Yes, boss," my captor responded, his voice a dark promise of more horror to come.
"I'm not a doctor, I'm a nurse," I pleaded, my voice quivering like a child's. "Please, take me back. I can help you get any doctor you need. Please, just let me go."
"Keep shut," the man snapped, his words a slap of finality.
The man's frustration was palpable as he berated his men for their mistake. But to him, I was nothing more than a substitute, a means to an end. He dragged me to a small room, where the sight of blood and the heavy scent of iron filled the air. A man lay before me, his breaths ragged, his shoulder a mess of torn flesh and blood.
"Get to work," the man ordered, his voice leaving no room for refusal.
"I can't," I stammered, my body shaking uncontrollably, "there's no proper equipment here." But he was relentless, producing a first aid kit with a brusque motion.
"Use this. Now," he demanded, his concern for the injured man a stark contrast to the cold steel of the gun now pointed at me.
My hands trembled as I opened the kit, the tools inside foreign yet grimly familiar. The wounded man was the same suited figure from the hotel—the realization struck me like a physical blow. How had our paths crossed again under such harrowing circumstances?
"Do something now!" the boss roared, the gun's muzzle a dark eye promising death.
Tears streamed down my face as I forced myself to act, my fingers numb as I extracted the bullet, my every movement shadowed by the threat of violence. The man's groans of pain filled the room, a haunting soundtrack to my trembling efforts.
"He needs antibiotics," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper, my plea for his well-being also a silent prayer for my own.
"Stay here. Don't move," the man ordered, his voice a cruel anchor keeping me tethered to this nightmare. As he made his call, barking orders for a swift departure, I was left to contemplate the cruel twist of fate that had brought me here, to this moment of abject fear and despair.
Marino's POV
Consciousness returned to me in a room bathed in light, the comfort of my penthouse doing little to ease the throbbing pain in my head. Memories of the previous night's chaos flooded back—the police raid, the gunfire, the searing agony of the bullet tearing through my flesh.
"Arrgh," I grunted, the pain as vivid now as it had been when the bullet struck me. I attempted to rise, only to notice a figure by my bed, her body curled in an uncomfortable repose. She stretched, oblivious to my gaze, her yawn wide and unguarded.
As she turned and our eyes met, confusion clouded her features, mirroring the shock in my own voice. "And who are you?" I demanded, my mind racing to piece together the fragmented images of the night before.