Don't fight it...

Arabella's gaze shifted to the wall clock once again, the umpteenth time she had checked, and midnight had arrived.

Rubbing her tired eyes, she sighed, her thoughts focused on the reason for waking at such an odd hour, though she didn't know why. Nonetheless, a certainty that something was about to occur enveloped her, impossible to ignore.

This sensation was familiar, not for the first time. It mirrored the feeling she had experienced when her father was killed. Had she been older then, she might have persuaded her father to flee, avoiding the tragic outcome. Unfortunately, her age at that time had stopped her from making that decision.

“Alessandro,” she murmured, the name leaving her lips almost involuntarily.

A shiver coursed through her, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end at the mere mention of his name. She couldn't rationalize how she knew, but she was convinced that this inexplicable feeling was somehow connected to him.

“What if he found me again?” Her voice trembled as the words escaped.

Arabella embraced herself, rocking back and forth, lost in contemplation of the possibilities. Since that night, she hadn't crossed paths with Alessandro, nor had she received any communication from him. In fact, she had been living her life, albeit with a tinge of loneliness, which was still a preferable state to the sheer terror he had instilled in her.

Pushing herself off the bed, she approached the window and drew back the curtains. The sight that met her eyes caused her to gasp involuntarily, reflexively slamming the curtains shut before cautiously peering out once more.

“Shit, they've found me!” she cursed under her breath, teeth gritted and hands clenched as her gaze fell upon the familiar black van parked a considerable distance from her apartment.

The van had been trailing her for a while after work hours, though she hadn't given it much thought until now.

“I've been so oblivious!” She groaned, slapping her forehead in frustration.

Realization dawned that the van was likely a threat, and its pursuit had been directed at her. If only she had connected the dots sooner, she could have taken swift action. Her residence was now encircled, with additional vehicles and motorcycles converging. She couldn't help but wonder who else in the building might be the target of this ominous intrusion.

The only viable option was to exit through the rear door.

Running a hand through her hair, she hastily tied it up in a messy ponytail. Changing into a clean top and denim shorts, she geared up for swifter movement, aware that time was of the essence.

Furthermore, she found solace in the darkness. It would allow her to blend into the shadows, facilitating her movement without drawing undue attention.

Hurrying into the bathroom, she splashed her face with water, exiting almost immediately. A small duffel bag was hastily filled with a selection of clothes and essential items she deemed necessary. With one last fleeting glance at her apartment, Arabella slipped out.

However, fortune seemed to have abandoned her. The moment she emerged through the back door, she whirled around, a gentle tap on her shoulder sending a shiver down her spine.

A piercing shriek escaped Arabella's lips as she sighted the figure before her, clad in an all-black ensemble. The man removed his gloves, the movement catching her eye, her gaze trailing from his sizable palms to his face.

Alessandro De Luca!

The mental image she had harbored of him paled in comparison to reality. Her last memory of him dated back six years when she was just fourteen. He had possessed a striking handsomeness then, a tall figure that seemed ripped from a magazine cover. She had believed Blaze to be the epitome of male beauty, but this man before her effortlessly outshone those notions.

Even the grimace on his face couldn't diminish his allure. Unbidden thoughts surged within her, thoughts she immediately chastised herself for. He was the enemy, after all, and indulging in such fantasies was absurd.

“No…” Her voice was a mere murmur, accompanied by a vehement shake of her head. “He's the enemy. I shouldn't be having such indecent thoughts about him.”

“Hello, Princess,” Sandro's voice oozed with a mocking smirk, eliciting an involuntary flinch from her. “Don't worry about those naughty thoughts; I seem to inspire them in everyone.”

Their gazes locked, Arabella's eyes meeting his intense green stare.

“Sweet dreams,” his words were mumbled, lips pursing as if blowing a kiss.

In a blur, Alessandro closed the distance, blocking her escape route. His sudden movement forced her to attempt a sidestep, yet he was quicker, his grip finding her neck in a vice-like hold.

Arabella's mouth opened in a desperate attempt to scream, but the sound was stifled before it could emerge. A searing pain radiated from her neck, swallowing her protests in darkness.

She clasped Alessandro's hand, feeling his grip tighten on hers, and blinked as her vision blurred.

"W-what did you do to me?" she slurred, her head pounding. A heavy sensation weighed on her skull, and the world in front of her became indistinct. He must have injected her with something, but she couldn't discern anything clearly.

"Don't fight it," Sandro rasped. "Have a wonderful dream."

Arabella grunted as he administered whatever he had done to her neck once again.

"Shit!" she exclaimed before succumbing to the enveloping blackness.

______

Arabella grimaced as she awakened. Her head continued to throb, and her mouth carried a sour taste as if she had feasted on lemons the previous night.

She rubbed her eyes upon opening them, immediately regretting the action as they ached. With determination, she forced herself to sit up on the bed, grimacing and massaging her neck as a twinge of pain shot through it.

Then, the back of her hand grazed her temple. Warmth radiated from the spot, causing her to wince. A fever seemed to be brewing. However, recalling the last time she had been sick proved difficult. She reckoned whether it resulted from overworking herself in the plaza over the past month.

It wasn't out of necessity; she had ample resources to sustain herself for a lifetime. Her motivation was rooted in experiencing the sensation of working for money.

The room's curtain rustled, diverting her attention. She recognized that this wasn't her room. The space she occupied couldn't possibly match the grandeur and expansiveness of her current surroundings. The room's decor even radiated opulence, leading her to wonder if she had been abducted.

Recollections of the preceding day flooded her mind, accompanied by images of men dressed in black, Vans, and motorcycles.

"Jesus, Alessandro!" Arabella exclaimed, pushing herself upright on the bed.