The first thing I felt was the taste of blood on my tongue.
My head throbbed—deep, dull pulses that made it hard to tell whether I was dreaming or dead. I opened my eyes to darkness, a sack suffocating the air around my mouth. Rope cut into my wrists. The floor beneath me was cold concrete, and my legs were numb from how long they'd been bent.
Panic didn't arrive all at once. It crept in slowly, like ink seeping into water—blotting out every rational thought.
Where the hell was I?
The last thing I remembered was leaving campus after my final class. Eleanor had gone ahead for our girls' dinner, and I had taken a different route. There'd been a black car. A man with leather gloves. A sharp sting in my neck.
Shit.
I jolted upright—and immediately regretted it. Pain sliced through the base of my skull. A hand shoved me back down. Firm. Commanding.
"Don't move," a voice growled. Deep. Italian. Unmistakably dangerous.
The hood was ripped off.
Harsh light blinded me. I blinked until the figure before me came into focus.
Matteo De Santo.
I had seen his face once before—on a corkboard in my father's office, tacked beside Lucas's profile, circled in red ink. My father had called Matteo the ruthless one. The silent butcher. The one who preferred knives over guns because it was more personal.
Now he was standing inches from me.
"You're awake," he said, tilting his head slightly, like I was a painting he was studying for flaws.
"What do you want?" My voice cracked. I hated how small it sounded.
He crouched to my level, brushing a lock of hair from my face. "You'll find out soon enough."
"I'm not afraid of you," I lied.
He smirked. "Good. I like fire. It makes the fear sweeter when it finally kicks in."
He stood and nodded to the man by the door. "Make her comfortable. We'll keep her breathing—until Lucas gets the message."
Lucas.
This was about him?
I didn't have time to question it. The man shoved a bucket of water at me, muttering something in Italian. I reached for it with trembling hands. My wrists were still tied, so I had to bend forward and sip like an animal.
Humiliation burned in my chest. My father would kill for me. Jessy would tear the city apart. Lucas... Lucas would burn the world down.
And maybe that's what Matteo wanted.
Because this wasn't just about me. I was a pawn. A message wrapped in flesh and fear. The De Santo war had bled into my life—and I was now the battlefield.
Hours passed. Or maybe it was days. There was no window. No clock. Just the silence between footsteps. And my mind, which betrayed me more than the pain ever could.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lucas. His stare. His grip. His warning that night in the alley.
Stay away from this world, Nia. Too late.
I was neck-deep in it now, and drowning fast.
The cell door creaked open.
Matteo stepped in, dressed in black-on-black, his shirt sleeves rolled up, tattoos winding down his forearms like threats in ink.
He dropped something beside me with a dull thud.
A phone.
"Call him."
"What?"
"Lucas," he said, as if the name left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Call your boyfriend."
"He's not—"
"Ah." He smiled coldly. "But he will come for you, won't he? Let's find out just how far he'll go for a pretty little college girl."
He dialed. Put the phone on speaker. It rang once. Twice.
Then—his voice.
"Nia?" Lucas sounded out of breath. Angry. Alive.
"She's here," Matteo said. "Looking lovely, though a little roughed up. Shall I send you her fingers one by one, or would you prefer a live stream?"
The silence on the other end was thunderous. When Lucas finally spoke, his voice was lethal calm.
"You've just declared war."
Matteo grinned and ended the call.
"Looks like your lover boy's on his way."
I stared at the floor, heart thundering in my ears.
I should have been terrified.
But something dark and wild curled inside me.
Because even in this hellhole, hearing Lucas's voice had done something strange to me.
It made me feel safe.
That terrified me more than anything.
Later that night, I lay curled on the cot they'd thrown in the corner. The cold had crept into my bones, but sleep wouldn't come.
I couldn't stop replaying Lucas's voice. His promise. The anger that laced his every word.
A part of me wondered—what would he do to get me back?
How much blood would be spilled?
And would I still recognize him when he came?
A sudden noise snapped me out of thought.
Gunfire. Close. But too close.
The door slammed open. One of Matteo's guards stumbled in, bleeding from his neck.
Behind him...
Lucas.
His eyes found mine instantly—dark, wild, and nothing like the man who had once warned me away.
He looked like the devil himself.
And he was here for me.
Lucas De Santo
The sun had barely risen when the call came in.
"She's gone," Matteo's voice crackled through the line, smug and sharp. "You should've kept your dog on a tighter leash, little brother."
My grip tightened around the edge of the kitchen counter, the granite threatening to crack beneath my palm. I didn't need to ask who he meant.
Nia.
She was gone.
He'd taken her.
"You touch her—" My voice dropped, lethal.
"Then what?" Matteo mocked. "You'll storm in with guns blazing? Oh wait—you won't. Because you don't even know where I am."
The line went dead.
My chest heaved once. Then again. I turned, staring blankly out the window where the morning haze stretched over the city like a warning.
I hadn't just failed to protect her. I'd let my brother turn her into a weapon.
Martino stepped in without knocking, as usual. "You planning to let Matteo walk around with your spine in his hand?"
I didn't respond.
He clicked his tongue. "She means something to you."
I didn't deny it.
He raised a brow. "Does she mean enough for you t
o betray the family?"
The question lingered in the air like the scent of blood.