The room was dim, save for the single bulb swaying faintly from the ceiling. The air felt thick, like it was holding its breath. Sergiy and the other man sat cuffed to metal chairs, wrists bound, eyes swollen from the earlier struggle at the port.
Lucas stood in the corner, his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, exposing a deep scrape on his forearm. He had cleaned the blood off his face, but a fading bruise shadowed his jawline—a souvenir from the punch he'd taken.
He cracked his knuckles and slowly moved to stand in front of them, his expression unreadable. Cold. Focused.
"I'll keep this simple," he said, voice calm but steely. "You're not here because I enjoy torture. You're here because you made a mistake—thinking I wouldn't find out."
He dragged a chair over, metal scraping against the concrete floor, and sat down, legs slightly apart, elbows on his knees.
"You've been watching my family," he continued, eyes locked on Sergiy. "You didn't harm them, yet. Which means you were under instructions. So here's your only offer—I want a name. Just one."
Neither man said a word.
Lucas sighed and leaned back. "Alright. Let me explain your options."
He pulled a small black bag from the side table and set it on the floor between them. "We'll start with something simple. Like ice water poured slowly down your back while you're tied to a cold steel pipe. See how long your body takes to freeze."
The men flinched.
"If that doesn't work," he added, tilting his head, "we'll try the next step—noise deprivation. Blindfolded, bound, nothing but static and silence for hours. Your mind won't know whether it's been five minutes or five days."
Still no response.
"And if you still stay quiet," Lucas's eyes darkened, "you'll be gagged and left standing, wrists bound above your head, ankles tied, for a full night. Let's see how strong your resolve is when your muscles start to scream."
He stood up, walking toward the other man. "This is your last chance. Give me a name. Or I start."
Lucas reached for the bag again, pulling out a set of tight plastic cords and a small, coiled wire. As he moved behind the silent man and gripped his wrist—
"Mikhail," Sergiy rasped, his voice breaking. "It was Mikhail."
Lucas paused.
He slowly stepped around, facing Sergiy again. His expression didn't shift, but his eyes sharpened. "Mikhail who?" Ofcourse he knew which Mikhail Sergiy was talking about, but he wanted to confirm.
"I... I don't know his full name," Sergiy stammered. "He only ever gave us the first name. A Russian. He said to watch over you. That's it. No contact. Just observe. Report back."
Lucas stared at him for a long moment. The name echoed in his head like a warning bell. Mikhail. That name meant trouble. He's been violating the clauses ever since the treaty began.
Lucas leaned in closer, voice a low growl. "You're sure he said nothing about harming me and people related to me?"
Sergiy nodded quickly. "Yes. Just to report. He said... he said they were not to be touched unless ordered. I swear."
Lucas stepped back. He was silent for a moment, collecting the pieces in his mind. Someone had ordered surveillance, but not a hit. Yet. It was a warning. Or worse—a trap being set slowly, piece by piece.
"How many people know about my family and my house?" Hearing his deep voice, both of the captives stiffened. They both looked at each other but soon Sergiy answered, "Only we both know about this. Mikhail don't know this yet as he never gave us his contact information. The only way to tell him this thing was to board that cargo ship and then find his man, who will take us to him."
Lucas listened silently. So Mikhail don't know anything about his marriage and where he is living. He exhaled through his nose, flexing his hand once before muttering, "Mark."
Mark stepped out of the shadows. "Yeah?"
"Get both of them locked up in the lower wing. Feed them. Watch them. I'm not done."
"Yes, boss."
Lucas turned back toward the door, his heart hammering beneath the calm. He had to be extra careful.
********
Lucas went to get Rachel from her school as Bella texted him that she won't be able to pick her up. He held Rachel's small hand as they walked toward the house. The little girl was chattering excitedly about her day at school, but Lucas's mind wandered—back to the warehouse, to the questions left unanswered, and to the man tied up waiting to talk again. But as they stepped into the house and the warm aroma of lunch hit him, the sharp edges of his thoughts softened.
His gaze immediately caught sight of the shopping bags near the kitchen counter, and then—her.
Bella stood at the stove, wearing an oversized cream tee that fell just above her knees, her hair tied in a loose bun, stirring something that smelled like garlic and butter. She hadn't heard them yet, humming softly to herself. He noticed her feet tapping slightly to the rhythm, almost like she was dancing in her own little world.
Rachel dropped her bag and raced toward her. "Mommy!"
Bella turned and smiled, her face lighting up. "There's my sunshine."
Lucas followed, hands in his pockets. "Did you go out today?" He already knows about it all but still he acted surprised seeing all the bags.
Bella glanced toward the bags, then back at him with a sheepish smile. "Yeah… I went for a quick grocery run. And maybe a little more than that."
Rachel, now hopping in place, piped up. "Did you get me something too?"
"Of course, baby." Bella reached into one of the bags and pulled out a small pack of Rachel's favorite character-themed cookies. "I would never forget you."
Rachel squealed with joy and ran to the living room, already tearing into the package.
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "And for me?"
Bella gave him a mysterious smile, reaching into another bag. "Well, since you keep stealing mine, I finally got you your own."
She tossed him a familiar-looking bottle of shower gel. Her brand. The exact one he had quietly started borrowing from her side of the bathroom a few days ago.
Lucas caught it mid-air, his lips tugging into a smirk. "You noticed?"
"Noticed?" she turned back to the stove. "I nearly used dish soap the other day."
Lucas chuckled and placed the bottle down. He looked around—at the bags, the scent of lunch, the giggling from the living room, and Bella gently swaying in front of the stove again. Something stirred in him.
An hour ago, he'd been standing in a dim, cement-walled room with blood on his knuckles. Now, he was surrounded by warmth, domestic chaos, and quiet laughter.
He took a breath, realizing once again just how drastically his world had shifted and how he still can't tell her the truth, his truth.
"You alright?" Bella asked, glancing at him over her shoulder.
Lucas walked up behind her, his voice softer now. "Yeah… Just thinking how crazy life is."
Bella smiled faintly, not pushing. She stirred the pan again, and Lucas leaned on the counter, watching her, his body finally starting to relax.