Page 74 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

But when the contact is made, when Harold finally picks up, the conversation that follows feels like a game. Harold’s voice is as self-righteous and confident as ever, like he’s in control of everything, like he holds all the cards.

“I’ve been waiting,” he says with an almost casual tone.

“Skip the pleasantries, Harold,” Achilles snaps, cutting him off. “We meet face to face.”

Harold laughs, and I hear the derision in it. “I’ll send you my coordinates. We meet in Luxembourg. You bring the money, and we’ll see how this plays out.”

Achilles leans in, his voice lowering to a deadly calm. “Both hostages better be there. Fantasia and her daughter. Alive.”

Harold smirks before adding, “Oh, and one more thing. You’ll do it my way, or you’ll leave with nothing.”

The line goes dead.

I stare at the phone in his hand, his jaw clenched tight. Harold’s arrogance is his biggest mistake.

I step forward, eyes turning to flint. “We wait for his move.” My voice carves through the room, unwavering. “But when we strike, there’s no turning back.”

Chapter 37

Fantasia

The world outside my cell has blurred into endless grey. I don’t know how long I’ve been here- hours… how many, I don’t know. Time doesn’t feel real anymore. All I know is the cold stone beneath me, the stale air that never seems to move, and the sharp ache in my chest that’s never gone away.

But now there’s noise- footsteps echoing in the corridor, sharp and purposeful. The lock clanks, and the heavy metal door groans open. Harold steps in, his smug smile widening as he leans against the frame.

“Get up,” he says.

I don’t move fast enough, and one of his men grabs my arm, yanking me to my feet. My legs scream in protest, and I stumble, barely managing to keep my balance.

“Where are you taking me?” My voice comes out hoarse, my throat raw from hours of silence.

“You’ll see.” Harold’s smile deepens, and I know better than to ask again.

They march me down the corridor, out into the biting cold. The sky is dull and overcast, threatening rain. A black van waits in the gravel lot, its back doors hanging open.

And then I see her.

Valeria.

The sob hits me before I can stop it- a ragged, ugly sound that tears from my throat. My vision blurs as tears rush forward, hot and unstoppable. She's there, bundled in her jacket. One of Harold’s men is carrying her like she’s nothing more than luggage, her tiny body limp against his chest.

She’s asleep- thank God, she’s asleep- but that doesn’t stop the sharp, choking cry that breaks from me. My legs buckle, and I stumble, barely managing to stay upright.

“Valeria,” I whisper, my voice breaking on her name. My face is wet, tears streaming down my cheeks as I drink her in- the soft rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers twitch slightly against the man’s sleeve.

She’s alive. She’s breathing.

I press my trembling hand to my mouth, biting down hard to muffle the sobs that won’t stop coming.

The man holding her doesn’t even look my way. He just turns and climbs into the van.

“Ah-ah,” Harold tuts, stepping in front of me as I lurch forward. His grin sharpens. “You’ll get your little reunion once we’re on the road. As long as you behave…” Harold pauses, his smile twisting into something cruel. “…shemightsurvive the day.”

I freeze, my breath stuttering in my chest.

Might.

Notwill. Notif you're good, you'll both be fine. Just...might.

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