A groan slipped out of my cracked lips as consciousness slowly returned to me. My eyes fluttered open, vision blurry at first, but as it cleared, I realized something was wrong. Horribly wrong.
My arms were bound tightly above my head with thick rusted chains hanging from an iron hook in the ceiling, making my feet barely graze the cold, filthy floor beneath me. Every inch of my body screamed in pain—sharp, hot, unrelenting pain. Bruises burned across my ribs, my back ached like I had been beaten with iron rods. My limbs felt weak, numb, like life had been drained from them.
I tried to struggle again, but the moment I shifted, fire shot through my spine. I winced and whimpered, biting my lower lip to silence the cry. My head throbbed violently, and the air stunk—metallic and rotten, the unmistakable scent of blood.
I looked around and felt my breath catch.
The room... it looked like a den built in hell.
Chains hung from the ceiling like vines in a cursed jungle. The floor was cracked and stained—blood, oil, and something black and sticky I couldn't name. A wooden table stood at the corner, splattered with crimson smears, its surface lined with rusted tools: blades, pliers, wires… each one more terrifying than the next.
There were two men seated at the far end, one cleaning his fingernails with a knife, the other lighting a cigarette, his gaze resting lazily on me like I was just another object in the room. Their faces were unfamiliar, but their presence reeked of danger. Trained. Deadly.
Terror flooded my chest as realization hit me.
I had been taken.
Then I saw it.
The tattoo on their necks. A jagged snake coiled around a flame.
Familiar.
My pulse quickened, and my mind scrambled for clarity—then it hit me.
Moga.
She had that tattoo. I remembered catching a glimpse when her hair had shifted one evening, but I hadn't thought much of it. Just a design.
But now… now it screamed danger.
I was trapped. Betrayed. And used like a piece on someone's bloody chessboard.
Before I could think more, one of the men stood, flicked his cigarette, and slowly approached. His breath reeked as he smirked at me and dragged a thick finger down my thigh.
I jerked back, panic rising.
"Feisty," he murmured, amused.
I spat in his face.
His eyes flared, and he slapped me—hard.
Pain burst across my cheek.
He grabbed my jaw.
"Luca's pet, huh? Still playing stubborn?" he hissed, his voice dripping mockery. "Where's your Alpha now, pretty girl? Why ain't he come to save you?"
Tears burned my eyes. The sting of betrayal stung harder than his slap.
Where are you, Luca? Why did you let them take me?
Just then, the heavy iron door creaked open, flooding the room with pale sunlight. A figure stepped in.
I squinted past the pain and blood clouding my vision.
A woman… in black jumpsuit.
The door slammed shut again, and she stepped forward.
It was Moga.
Her red hair flared under the shaft of light from a broken roof panel, cascading behind her like fire. Her expression was unreadable—empty, emotionless—but her eyes held darkness I hadn't seen before.
"Moga…" My voice cracked.
She stared at me.
This wasn't the friend I knew. This wasn't the woman who had once laughed with me, shared stories.
This was a stranger.
This was death wearing a familiar face.
And in her presence, I knew I was truly alone.
She stopped, staring at me with eyes that no longer held warmth or the friendliness I once trusted. Her gaze was cold. Calculated.
"Moga?" My voice cracked. "Why… why are you doing this?"
She didn't answer at first. Just tilted her head, studying me like I was something beneath her.
"You're working with them?" I whispered, tears forming as my heart sank deeper into despair.
She chuckled dryly, almost bitterly.
"I'm not working with them. They're working for me."
My knees buckled. "But why—why me?"
Moga leaned in, her face inches from mine.
"Because you were my pawn, darling," she whispered. "And you played your part beautifully."
I shook my head weakly, tears slipping down my cheeks. "He'll come for me…"
She raised a brow.
"Will he?"
My heart cracked.
Because deep
down… I wasn't sure anymore.
--------
Luca's POV
I stared blankly at the bloodied photo frame, the one that once held our smiles. It now laid shattered on the wall, glass shards buried in the paint where my fist had driven it.
The whiskey on my tongue did nothing to drown the ache in my chest.
She played me.
She looked me in the eye, whispered love into my soul, and stabbed me with the sharpest lie.
Rose.
Or so I thought.
A knock disturbed my spiral. My most trusted spy walked in, slow, hesitant.
"Boss…"
"Get out. I don't want to hear anything else."
"Boss… this is important," he said softly, keeping his eyes low.
I clenched my jaw. "It better be worth my time."
"She wasn't a trap," he said quickly. "Rose didn't know who Moga was. She's been used. She's just… naive. I found things."
I froze.
"Did she ask you to say this?"
"No, boss. I've been running checks on Moga and the LMD. I dug deep, pulled files from the syndicate archives. Rose had no idea. Moga planned everything—she returned for vengeance. Rose was collateral. Innocent."
My heart stilled. Then clenched.
Innocent?
A sickness swelled in my stomach as I remembered Rose's screams. Her eyes. The blood.
I had broken her.
I had hurt her.
I nearly killed the one person I was meant to protect.
The glass shattered in my hand as I slammed the cup to the ground.
"Find her," I said, voice raw.
"That's the problem, boss. The necklace you gave her—it had the tracker. It was torn off. We found it on the street, near the penthouse exit. Whoever took her, knew what they were doing."
My mind spun.
I stood abruptly.
"I don't care what it takes. Burn the streets if you have to. Find her!"
"Yes, boss."
As the door shut behind him, I stared into the mirror across the room.
The man in the reflection was not Luca moretti
He was a monster.
One who betrayed his own heart.
And now… he may have lost her forever.
But who took her—and why?
---
Was it already too late… or would Luca find Rose before Moga silences her forever?