Tina's fist slammed into Enzo's chest, a dull thud echoing through the room. "You don't get to control me anymore!" she yelled, her voice hoarse, cracking at the edges. He staggered back, catching himself on the edge of the coffee table. A stack of magazines slid off, fanning across the floor like fallen leaves.
Enzo's lips curled into a sneer. "You're mine, Tina. Always will be." He lunged, shoving her shoulder. She stumbled, her hip crashing into a bookshelf. Books toppled, spines splitting as they hit the hardwood. A framed photo—the three of them, happier once—fell last, glass splintering into jagged shards.
She swung back, knocking a lamp off its stand. It smashed against the wall, ceramic chunks skittering everywhere. "I'm done!" she screamed, shoving him again. He grabbed her wrist, twisting hard. Pain shot up her arm, but she yanked free, kicking over a chair in the process. It clattered, legs up like a dead bug.
Outside, the night was thick with shadows. Ginny crouched beside Mike behind a rusted shed, the sounds of breaking things spilling through the open window. "That's not normal," she whispered, her breath fogging in the cool air. Her eyes were wide, darting toward the house.
Mike's jaw clenched. "Something's wrong. We're going in." He pointed to the guards—two hulking figures pacing the front yard, their silhouettes sharp against the porch light. "Back window. Now."
They darted across the lawn, grass crunching underfoot, and pressed against the house. The rear window glowed faintly, curtains half-drawn. Mike gripped the frame, muscles straining as he shoved it up. It groaned, stuck, then gave way. Glass shattered as he punched through the pane, shards raining onto the kitchen tile inside. Ginny flinched but climbed through after him, her sneakers crunching on the debris.
Inside, the living room was a war zone. Tina ducked as Enzo swung a fist, missing her by inches. She grabbed a candlestick from the mantle and hurled it. It clipped his shoulder, and he roared, charging her. They collided, crashing into the couch. It tipped, fabric ripping as they fell over it. Her elbow caught his jaw; his knee dug into her side. She gasped, shoving him off, and scrambled to her feet.
The door banged open. Ginny burst in, Mike right behind her. "Tina!" Ginny shouted, her voice slicing through the noise.
Enzo spun around, sweat beading on his forehead. "Who the fuck are you?" he snarled, wiping blood from his lip.
Mike stepped forward, fists balled. "Leave her alone, Enzo. This ends now."
Enzo laughed—a sharp, ugly sound that made the air feel colder. "You've got guts, kid. Stupid, but guts." His hand dipped into his jacket and came up with a gun, black and gleaming. The room froze. Tina's breath hitched, her chest tight. Mike's eyes widened, but he didn't move.
"You think you can waltz in here and tell me what to do?" Enzo's voice dropped low, dangerous, like a blade sliding from its sheath. "I run this city. Every cop, every judge—they eat from my hand. Cross me, and you're not just dead. You're erased. Your family? Gone. Your name? Dust. I'm untouchable, and you're just filth."
He cocked the gun, the click loud as a thunderclap. Mike swallowed hard, hands trembling but still raised. "You're not a god, Enzo. You're just a bully with a toy."
Tina lunged forward. "No!" Her scream was raw, desperate, but Enzo's finger hovered on the trigger. Time slowed—her heartbeat a drum in her ears, the gun barrel steady on Mike's chest.
Then, a soft shuffle. Ginny darted past, disappearing down the hall. Enzo didn't notice, too focused on Mike. Tina's eyes flicked toward the sound, hope flickering. What was Ginny doing?
A moment later, Ginny reappeared, Mia cradled in her arms. The little girl's hair was tangled, her bunny clutched tight. Ginny shook her gently. "Mia, wake up! See what Daddy's doing!"
Mia blinked, sleepy and confused. "Daddy?" Her voice was small, a pebble dropped into a stormy sea.
Enzo's head snapped toward her. His face changed—hard lines softening, just for a second. The gun vanished back into his jacket, quick as a snake retreating. "Hey, baby girl," he said, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Why're you up?"
Mia rubbed her face, peering around. "Why's it so loud?"
"It's just… a game," Enzo lied, stepping closer. "Grown-up stuff. Go back to sleep."
Mike saw his chance. He moved fast, scooping Mia from Ginny's arms. She squeaked, startled, but didn't fight. He held her tight, stepping between Enzo and the door. "Back off, Enzo," he said, voice steady now. "Let them go. Or even your own daughter will see who you really are."
Enzo's eyes blazed, fury rolling off him in waves. His fists clenched, knuckles white, but Mia's gaze pinned him. He couldn't risk it—not with her watching. "Fine," he spat, stepping back. "Take her. Run. But I'll see you soon, Real soon. "Bye Mia daddy loves you" he added.
Tina grabbed her purse, hands shaking so bad she nearly dropped it. Ginny yanked her arm, pulling her toward the door. Mike followed, Mia clinging to his shoulder. They stumbled outside, the night air sharp against their skin. Tina glanced back once. Enzo stood in the doorway, a shadow with burning eyes. Was that anger? Pain? She couldn't tell, and she didn't care.
They piled into Mike's beat-up sedan, doors slamming. He floored it, tires squealing as they peeled out. Mia curled up in Ginny's lap, already drifting off, oblivious to the storm she'd stopped. Tina stared out the window, chest heaving, the adrenaline draining fast. Her hands hurt—nails had gouged little crescents into her palms. Free. For now.
But Enzo's words stuck, clawing at her mind. I'll see you soon. He wasn't bluffing. A man like him—mafia boss, king of the streets—didn't let go easy. He'd come for Mia, for her, for all of them. Tina looked at her daughter, peaceful despite everything, and felt a spark ignite. She'd fight. No matter what.