Celia's legs burned as she pushed herself to keep running. The streets blurred by as her breath came in ragged gasps, her mind clouded with panic and confusion. Every corner she turned, every dark alley she passed seemed to hold the shadows of her past—ghosts of a life she could never fully escape.
Why had Ezra saved her again? Why was he still protecting her when they weren't even together anymore? The questions swirled in her mind, heavy and suffocating. But what terrified her more was the realization that she was beginning to feel something dangerous—something she had buried long ago.
She slowed to a stop as her feet hit the edge of an empty park, the silence around her only amplifying the chaos in her mind. Her hands shook, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, but the fear didn't subside. It never did. She was always looking over her shoulder, always waiting for the next attack.
Ezra had done this to her. Ezra had taken her from one prison—her father's debts—to another. Even if he had once saved her, the cost had been her freedom. And now, the Ferraras were back, circling like vultures, waiting for their chance to claim what they believed was theirs.
She sat down on a nearby bench, her hands still trembling. What was she supposed to do? She had no one left. No family, no friends. Leila had been the final betrayal, the person she thought she could trust, only to realize that she had been working against her all along.
Her mind wandered back to the night her parents had died. The night everything had changed.
---
The crackle of gunfire echoed through the walls of the house, shattering the quiet. Celia had been in her room, studying for her final exams, when she heard the first shot. At first, she thought it was something from outside—an accident, or fireworks. But then came the screams.
Her mother's voice had been shrill, terrified. "Nathaniel! Please, don't—"
Celia froze, her heart slamming in her chest as she heard the thud of something heavy hitting the floor. Panic surged through her, but her feet wouldn't move. She was rooted to the spot, fear holding her in place.
She heard the front door crash open, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots storming into the house. Men, shouting orders. Threats. Demands. And then her father's voice, desperate, pleading.
"Please, I can get the money! I just need more time—"
More shots rang out. The sound was deafening, each one like a hammer striking her soul. Celia's hands flew to her ears, trying to block out the horror unfolding downstairs. Her parents' voices were drowned out by the gunfire, and then—silence.
For a brief moment, the world seemed to stop. And then, footsteps. Heavy, deliberate footsteps climbing the stairs.
Her heart raced, her breath caught in her throat. She grabbed her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed 911. But before she could press the call button, her bedroom door flew open.
Dominic Ferrara stood there, his eyes cold and calculating as they settled on her. Behind him were two of his men, guns still in hand, their expressions unreadable.
"This is the one," Ferrara said, his voice calm despite the violence that had just unfolded downstairs. "She'll do."
Celia's heart stopped. She'll do? She didn't understand what was happening, but the fear in her chest told her that whatever it was, it was something terrible. She backed away, her mind racing for a way out, but the room felt too small, the air too thick.
Ferrara took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "You see, your father made a deal. And he couldn't pay up. So now, we collect."
She couldn't breathe. She wanted to scream, to fight, but all she could do was stare at him in horror as his men advanced toward her.
But then, another sound cut through the air—a new voice, deep and commanding.
"That's far enough, Ferrara."
Ezra Valenti stepped into the room, his dark eyes focused solely on Ferrara. He looked younger then, sharper, and just as dangerous. His men stood behind him, guns drawn, ready for a fight.
Ferrara's smile faded, replaced by a cold, calculating look. "Valenti. This isn't your business."
Ezra's expression didn't change. "It is now."
And just like that, chaos erupted.
Gunfire once again filled the house as Valenti's men clashed with Ferrara's. The room exploded into violence, but Ezra moved with deadly precision. Celia couldn't take her eyes off him as he fought his way toward her, his movements fluid, practiced—like this was second nature to him.
One of Ferrara's men grabbed her, yanking her toward the door, but Ezra was there in an instant. His hand shot out, pulling her back and slamming the man to the floor with brutal efficiency.
He turned to her, his voice low but steady. "Stay behind me."
For the rest of the fight, that's exactly what she did. She stayed close to him, her body trembling with fear, as Ezra's men overpowered Ferrara's. When the last shot was fired, and the smoke cleared, Ferrara was gone, retreating into the night, but the damage was done.
Her parents were dead. And her life would never be the same.
---
Celia shook herself from the memory, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She hadn't thought about that night in so long. It was too painful, too raw. But now, it felt like everything was coming full circle. Ferrara had never stopped hunting her, and Ezra—he had never let her go.
A shadow fell over her, and she looked up, startled. Ezra stood there, his dark eyes locked onto hers. How had he found her so quickly?
"Celia," he said softly, his voice cutting through the silence. "Are you okay?"
She swallowed, her throat tight. "Why are you here?"
Ezra didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, his gaze intense, searching. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "You know why. They won't stop, Celia. Ferrara won't stop until he has you."
She stood, her legs still shaky, but her voice steadied as she spoke. "Then why didn't you let them take me? Why do you keep saving me?"
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Because I can't let them have you."
Celia's heart skipped a beat, her emotions a tangled mess. She hated that she felt anything for him at all after everything. She wanted to yell at him, to tell him to leave her alone—but the words wouldn't come.
Ezra's hand brushed against hers, sending a jolt of electricity through her. "You're mine to protect, Celia. Always."
Her breath hitched at the possessiveness in his voice, the way he looked at her like he meant every word. But she couldn't stay in this cycle. She couldn't keep being caught between the world of violence and the man who had pulled her into it.
"I don't need your protection," she said, pulling her hand away. "I need to be free."
Ezra's eyes darkened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he nodded slowly. "I know. But until this is over, you're not safe."
Celia turned away from him, her chest tight. She didn't know what to believe anymore. She didn't know if she could ever be free from this world—or from Ezra.