Damsel of Distress

"Even doesn't have enough scorch of the damsel of distress."

Arthur and Dempsey sat inside the wooden cabin at Dempsey's summer inn in Phoenix, Arizona. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows and warming the room. The scent of old timber mixed with the sharp tang of burning tobacco. Dempsey lit a cigar, exhaling a slow stream of smoke before speaking.

"Well, Nafisa's information proved beneficial. The deal is indeed happening in Nairobi, and from what I hear, some big names are pushing to make sure it goes smoothly. The Belgians are wealthy bastards—will pay any amount to see the consignment delivered without a scratch. On the surface, it's a simple give-and-take. Nothing unusual."

He tapped the ash off his cigar, watching embers glow in the afternoon sunlight. "If Nafisa is right and VPS plans to destroy the consignment, Nairobi is the best place to hit it."

Arthur swirled his whiskey before taking a sip. "I heard VPS is in Europe. Maybe Italy. Probably visiting his old pet, Massino. Nairobi is closer to him than to us."

"Doesn't matter," Dempsey said, shaking his head. "If he goes personally, it's a lie. VPS might be formidable, but he isn't reckless. He'll send someone to do the job."

Dempsey studied Arthur through the haze of smoke. "As a matter of fact, where's that guy you mentioned?"

Arthur exhaled slowly, setting his glass down. "Hard to say exactly. He's the best at what he does, but when he doesn't want to be found, he disappears. I can get word to him. Question is, how much are we paying?"

Dempsey smirked. "Fifty million to start. But I want to meet him first before we finalize anything."

Arthur sighed. "He has his quirks. If you don't trust him, he won't work for you."

Dempsey flicked the last of his cigar ash into a nearby tray and stood. "Talk to him first. See what he says."

He walked toward the door, pushing it open with one hand. Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Where are you going?"

"To take a leak." Dempsey stepped outside, letting the door creak shut behind him, leaving Arthur alone with his whiskey and the lingering scent of smoldering tobacco.

Vikram, Mr. Massino, and Coppola sat inside Mr. Massino's study, the air thick with the scent of old books and whiskey. Vikram sipped his tea and coughed lightly. "So, how have you been, Mr. Coppola?"

Coppola offered a tired smile. "A tad uneasy at times. Working with Mr. Massino is surely tiresome."

Massino shot him a glare, and Coppola wisely decided to stay silent. He took a sip of his coffee before changing the subject. "Where is Sonny?"

"He's fine—enjoying his time in India. Made some new friends, learning a lot about the environment there. I'm thinking of sending him back once the marriage concludes."

"A good idea. I hope Mr. Massino doesn't object."

Vikram smirked. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Coppola hesitated, then turned to Massino. "Are you okay with this decision?"

"THE HELL I AM OKAY WITH IT!" Massino bellowed. "You two never listen to me. Always making decisions on your own!"

Vikram remained unfazed. "Fine. Then tell me a better idea."

Massino scoffed, frowning. "I don't have one right now. But if I did, it would be better than this."

Vikram leaned forward. "Unfortunately, we don't have time to wait for your 'wise' decision, Mr. Massino. Things are moving fast, and with every passing day, the situation is becoming more volatile for all of us."

Massino exhaled sharply, lowering his head. Vikram leaned forward. "I want to meet Anabelle. Where is she?" He turned toward Coppola.

"She's waiting for you in her car. It seems she wants to take you somewhere."

Vikram pouted. "Fine. I just hope she doesn't kill me and dump my body under some canal." He chuckled. "You know, because we're in Venice."

His joke fell flat.

He sighed and straightened his jacket. "Anyway, end all animosity between the families before the wedding. I don't want any last-minute scuffles. Many important guests will be attending, and I refuse to let unnecessary drama tarnish my—or our—reputation."

With that, he strode briskly out of the room.

Massino and Coppola exchanged looks.

"Don't you have anything better to do than stare at my face, you pesky owl?" Massino growled.

Irritation mixed flashed across Coppola's face as he rose from his chair, and walked out. Massino sighed, swirling his whiskey before downing it in one go.

Vikram knocked on the window of Annabelle's car. She pushed the door open slightly. "Get in."

Vikram slid into the passenger seat and shut the door. "Where are we going?"

"Nowhere in particular," Annabelle said, adjusting her grip on the steering wheel. "Just wanted to have this conversation without Mr. Massino breathing down our necks."

"Wise decision." Vikram chuckled.

"We could go to one of my favorite restaurants if you're up for it." Annabelle glanced at him with a slight smile.

"Why not?"

"Good." She started the engine, and the car purred to life. With a smooth turn of the wheel, they merged into the evening traffic, heading toward one of Annabelle's favorite spots.

"So, how's life going?" Vikram asked abruptly.

Annabelle let out a small sigh. "Fine. The wedding is keeping me busy. I have nothing else to do but drown myself in the arrangements. Papa is sick, and my family isn't exactly thrilled about me marrying Sonny. The enmity between our families won't fade overnight. But... I just hope things start to change once the wedding happens."

Vikram reached out and lightly held her hand. "Would you like to hear a suggestion of mine?"

Annabelle glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "Go ahead."

"I'm thinking of sending you and Sonny to India after the wedding," Vikram said, his tone measured. "You already know how bad the situation is between the families. It would be in everyone's best interest if the bride and groom stayed away from Italy for a while. You don't have to cut ties completely—Italy is your home, after all. But until your father..." He paused briefly. "Until he passes, you and Sonny should stay in India. It's a great place, and you'll enjoy it. Security won't be an issue—my men will take care of everything. And while you're there, I can handle some of our mutual enemies here."

Annabelle listened carefully, absorbing every word. "And who will manage things here in our absence?"

"Don't worry about that, dear. Mr. Massino and Mr. Coppola will be here. Your father doesn't have much time left, and I believe this would be best for him. He deserves some peace in his final days."

Annabelle's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I need to talk to my father about it."

"No need. I already proposed the idea, and he agreed immediately. Your father-in-law is more hesitant, but he doesn't have a better option."

She exhaled slowly. "Fine. If everything goes as planned, we'll move to India after the wedding."

"Excellent." Vikram's lips curled into a satisfied smile.

Annabelle pulled into the parking lot of St. Peter's and turned off the engine. "It's an excellent restaurant. You'll love it."

Vikram nodded as they stepped out of the car, walking side by side into St. Peter's.

"Two plates of risotto, two plates of arancini, two plates of carbonara, two espressos, and two gelatos. Keep them coming when we're done," Annabelle told the waiter.

Vikram chuckled. "That's a lot of food."

"It's fine. One should eat to their fill. Empty stomachs often lead to foolish decisions." Annabelle unbuttoned her cuffs and rolled up her sleeves.

Vikram took a sip of water. "Are you happy with the marriage?"

Annabelle smiled gently. "Yes. Why wouldn't I be? Sonny is a gentleman—nothing like his father. Any girl would be ecstatic to marry him."

Vikram studied her with a sharp gaze. "I didn't get this far without learning how to read people. I can see the uneasiness in your eyes."

"It's not like that." Annabelle shook her head. "I really am happy. The past few days have just been exhausting. But don't overthink it, Mr. VPS. I'm more than happy to marry Sonny. In fact, I should thank you for arranging this alliance."

Vikram's expression darkened. "Were you this happy when your father arranged your marriage with Rico's boy?" His voice was low, cutting through the space between them like a knife. "Don't lie to me. You can fool others with that facade, but I'm not so easy to deceive."

Annabelle's smile faded. "What do you want me to say?" she snapped.

"For starters, the truth."

Annabelle held his gaze for a long moment, then sighed. "It's impossible to fool you. No wonder the world fears you." She leaned back in her seat. "Fine. No, I'm not happy with this alliance. Not because I don't want to marry Sonny or that I don't find him desirable. But because my psychotic father-in-law has humiliated us throughout this entire process. We're facing taunts and disgrace from our own relatives."

She exhaled sharply, the anger bubbling to the surface. "My uncles are vultures, waiting to devour my father's wealth after he's gone. That's why he wanted me to marry into a powerful family—for protection. But your sudden decision to marry me to Sonny changed everything. We managed to keep our wealth from my greedy uncles, only to hand it over to another greedy man—one who also happens to be our enemy." She glared at him. "How do you think I feel in this situation? You destroyed all our plans with a single stubborn decision of yours."

Annabelle's voice trembled with fury, but Vikram simply smiled, letting her rage wash over him like rain on stone.

"If you were angry about my decision, you could have told me," Vikram said, tapping the rim of his glass lightly. "I don't force my decisions on others."

Annabelle sighed. "You're not understanding my situation, Mr. VPS. I'm not refusing to marry Sonny—I want to. But I don't appreciate the humiliation that comes with it."

"And what do you expect me to do about that?"

"Talk to Mr. Massino. Convince him to be at least somewhat civilized. His suffering in his youth isn't my fault, and whatever grudge he holds against my father is a relic of the past. If we're going to be family, mutual respect is the least we deserve."

Annabelle's voice remained calm but authoritative.

Vikram narrowed his eyes slightly and let out a long breath. "Fine. If that's what you want. I won't tell you to submit to Massino, but showing a little obedience wouldn't be unwise. That said, you won't have to worry. You'll be in India long before he gets the chance to humiliate you. As for your father, he's developed a thick skin over the years."

Annabelle rose, fishing out a key from her pocket and pushed it towards Vikram. "I remembered I have to be somewhere. Feel free to use my car. You know my car's color, right?"

As she turned to leave, Vikram caught her hand. "Where are you going?"

"It's personal. But don't worry—the wedding is happening as planned."

Vikram held her gaze for a moment before releasing her hand. Annabelle quickly pushed the door open and stepped outside.

Just as Vikram was about to stand, the waiter arrived, placing an array of dishes on the table.

Vikram glanced at the food and smirked. "Good. I haven't eaten since morning."

"The bill?" he asked.

The waiter smiled. "Ma'am has already paid."

Vikram's lips curved into a small smile. "Grazie."

The waiter gave a polite nod. "Bon appétit!" He walked away.

Vikram picked up his fork and spoon, sighing as he muttered to himself, "Bon appétit, indeed."

Annabelle walked toward a nearby gas station, her steps quick but measured. She glanced around before pushing the door open.

The cashier barely looked up, his weary eyes dull with exhaustion. He was too tired to suspect anything.

"Hey. How much to make a phone call?" Annabelle whispered.

The cashier raised an eyebrow. "Why? Don't you have a phone of your own?" His lips curled into a lazy smirk.

"It got damaged. Just tell me how much," she snapped.

"Fifteen euros. Cash only."

Annabelle scowled. "I don't have small change. Here, take this hundred and shove it up your sweaty ass."

She crumpled the bill and tossed it at his face before grabbing the phone. From the depths of her coat's inner pocket, she pulled out a worn piece of paper and dialed the number scrawled on it.

"Hello. Am I speaking with Mr. Henderson? Is this his residence?"

A voice from the other end, barely above a whisper, replied, "Why? What do you want?"

"I was told to call Mr. Henderson when I had important information for him. Something about someone from Europe."

"What do you know?"

"Am I speaking with Mr. Henderson? I was instructed to disclose the information only to him."

"Speak now or forget it!" the voice snapped.

Annabelle smirked. "Fine. A certain someone is in Italy. Mr. Henderson would be very interested in knowing this."

"Can I know the source?"

"No. The source demands anonymity."

Without waiting for a response, Annabelle hung up and pushed open the door of the telephone booth. As she stepped outside, she froze. The cashier stood there, grinning.

"Maybe a certain someone is willing to pay a certain someone a certain amount of something to keep him silent," he said smugly.

Annabelle sighed. "Actually, that certain someone is already silent."

The cashier's smirk twisted into a gasp as warmth spread across his chest—blood pooling from the bullet wound in his heart. His legs buckled.

"Grazie," Annabelle muttered.

She grabbed a nearby gasoline canister, dousing the body before leaving the hose running. As she walked out, she lit a cigarette, took a slow drag, and flicked it behind her without a second glance.

The gas station erupted in flames.

As the fire raged and bystanders rushed to the scene, Annabelle slipped into the chaos, vanishing without a trace.....