The tension in Fabricio's safe house was palpable. Naela sat on the worn leather couch, her mind racing as the events of the night replayed like a sinister movie reel. The faint hum of Fabricio's voice, speaking in hushed tones on the phone in the next room, barely registered over the pounding of her heart. The attack outside Monroe's den had been a wake up call. Whoever was after her wasn't just playing games they were relentless, and they wanted her gone.
Fabricio returned, his expression unreadable. His tailored suit was creased from the night's chaos, but the commanding presence he exuded remained intact. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his piercing gray eyes locking onto hers.
"We need to talk," he said.
Naela nodded, her throat dry. "Whoever they are, they're not going to stop, are they?"
"No," he said simply, walking into the room. He sat across from her, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "They're after something. And until we figure out what that is, you're a target."
"But why me?" Her voice wavered, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I don't have anything. I don't know anything!"
Fabricio's gaze softened barely, but enough for her to notice. "Your father left something behind. Monroe was right about one thing Christopher Beaumont made powerful enemies. Whatever he was involved in, it's connected to you."
Naela shook her head, tears threatening to spill. "This doesn't make sense. My father wasn't… he wasn't a criminal."
"Sometimes people make choices to protect the ones they love," Fabricio said, his tone quieter now. "And sometimes those choices come back to haunt them."
His words lingered in the air, and Naela stared at him, trying to decipher the man sitting in front of her. For all his ruthlessness, there was a flicker of something else a pain he kept hidden beneath the surface.
"What about you?" she asked, surprising herself with the question. "Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?"
Fabricio leaned back, his expression hardening again. "Because I don't like loose ends. And right now, you're a loose end."
The dismissal stung, but Naela refused to let him see how much it affected her. She straightened her back, meeting his gaze with newfound resolve. "Fine. Then let's figure this out."
Fabricio smirked, though there was no humor in it. "That's the spirit." He stood, pulling a folded map from his pocket and spreading it across the coffee table.
"What's this?" Naela asked, leaning closer.
"A lead," Fabricio said. "Monroe wasn't as careful as he thought. I've been tracking his movements for weeks, and there's a warehouse on the outskirts of London that he's been using for… less than legal activities. If there are answers about your father, they might be there."
Naela frowned, her stomach twisting with unease. "And you think we'll just walk in and find what we're looking for?"
Fabricio's smirk returned, sharper this time. "No. But we're not walking in. We're breaking in."
The warehouse loomed in the darkness, its rusted exterior blending into the shadows of the industrial district. Naela crouched beside Fabricio behind a stack of abandoned crates, her pulse pounding in her ears.
"You're sure about this?" she whispered, clutching the small flashlight he'd handed her earlier.
Fabricio glanced at her, his expression calm and unbothered. "If you're scared, you can wait in the car."
"I'm not scared," she shot back, though her trembling hands betrayed her.
"Good," he said, his voice low. "Stay close to me. Don't wander off, and don't touch anything unless I tell you to."
Naela rolled her eyes but nodded, following him as he moved toward the warehouse's side entrance. The lock on the door was no match for Fabricio's expertise, and within moments, they were inside.
The air was stale, thick with the smell of oil and decay. Rows of metal shelves stretched into the darkness, stacked with crates marked in languages Naela didn't recognize.
"What exactly are we looking for?" she asked, keeping her voice low.
"Anything that connects your father to Monroe," Fabricio replied, his eyes scanning the room.
They moved silently through the space, Fabricio's footsteps confident while Naela's were hesitant. Her flashlight beam flickered over the shelves, illuminating old documents, broken machinery, and other forgotten relics.
As they reached the far corner of the warehouse, Fabricio stopped abruptly, holding up a hand. Naela froze, her breath catching as she listened for whatever had caught his attention.
Voices.
Low and indistinct, but growing louder.
Fabricio grabbed her arm, pulling her into the shadows behind a stack of crates. His hand rested on the gun holstered at his side, his body tense and ready.
The voices grew clearer as two men entered the aisle, their conversation carrying in the quiet.
"Monroe said the shipment's delayed," one of them said, irritation in his tone.
"Delayed? That's not gonna sit well with the boss," the other replied.
Naela's heart raced as the men stopped a few feet away, their backs to her and Fabricio.
"What about the girl?" one of them asked.
Fabricio's grip on her arm tightened.
"The boss isn't worried. She'll surface sooner or later. And when she does…" The man's words trailed off into a sinister laugh.
Fabricio's jaw clenched, and he pulled Naela further into the shadows, his movements silent and deliberate. Once the men were out of earshot, he leaned close to her, his voice barely audible.
"We're leaving."
"But we haven't found anything yet!" Naela protested in a whisper.
"It doesn't matter," he said firmly. "They know you're here. Staying any longer is a death wish."
Reluctantly, Naela followed him back toward the exit. Her mind raced with questions who were those men? What shipment were they talking about? And how was she tied to all of this?
As they slipped out into the night, the cold air hit her like a slap. Fabricio didn't slow his pace, leading her quickly to the car parked a block away.
Once they were inside, Naela turned to him, her frustration boiling over. "You heard them. They're watching me. How am I supposed to stop this if I don't even know what I'm dealing with?"
Fabricio started the engine, his expression unreadable. "You're not dealing with it alone."
Naela stared at him, her anger deflating. For all his coldness, Fabricio had stuck by her side, risking his own life to protect hers.
"Why?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer right away, his focus on the road as he drove. But when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than she'd ever heard it.
"Because I know what it's like to be hunted."
The weight of his words settled over her, and she leaned back in her seat, exhaustion washing over her.
The answers she sought were still out of reach, but one thing was clear the deeper she went, the more dangerous the game became. And with Fabricio by her side, she could only hope they'd survive long enough to uncover the truth.