And then, the door groans open like something out of a nightmare.
It’s painfully slow, the hinges whining as if the weight of what’s coming next is too much for them to bear. My breath snags in my throat. I don’t move. I don’t blink. The dim light from the hallway spills into the room, stretching long, ghostly fingers across the concrete floor, illuminating the filth and damp that coats the walls.
And then a man steps inside.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Gaunt in a way that makes him look like something dragged from the depths of a graveyard, all sharp angles and hollowed-out cheeks. His eyes—cold and deathly pale—glint with a cold emotion that’s not cruelty or amusement.
No, this is something worse.
The man looks like a professional, who doesn’t take pleasure in his work, because to him, it isn’tworkat all. It’s just another task. Another step toward whatever dark purpose he serves.
He shuts the door behind him, and the lock slides into place with a sickening finality.
I sit as still as I can, my pulse a wild drum against my ribs. Fear curls around my spine, slick and insidious, but I force my expression to stay neutral. I will not cower. I will not let him see how deep this terror runs.
But when he moves, just a slight tilt of his head as he regards me, a shiver rakes down my back.
He drags a metal chair from the corner, its legs screeching against the floor like nails against bone. I don’t flinch. I won’t.
Then he sits and leans forward.
His face is too close.
The dim light sharpens the ridges of his cheekbones, casts long shadows over the thin, almost papery skin stretched over his knuckles as he folds his hands.
His voice, when he speaks, is low and rasping, like the words have to crawl over broken glass to escape his throat.
"You’ve got yourself into a real mess, haven’t you, Miss De Luca? Do you even know what’s happening here?"
A slow, measured breath fills my lungs. I lift my chin. "Marco will find me."
I want it to sound strong. Unshaken.
It doesn’t.
He chuckles. A deep, dark sound that slithers through the silence like a knife slipping between ribs. He leans back, crossing his arms as he watches me. "Oh, I’m sure he will. But that’s exactly what we want."
A fresh wave of dread sweeps through me.
He’s toying with me.Baitingme.
But there’s something in the way he says it, the absolute certainty in his tone, that sends ice snaking through my veins.
There’s something I’m not being told.
His voice drops lower, turning conspiratorial, his words curling like smoke around my already fraying nerves.
"You see, Sofia, this isn’t just about you. It’s about Marco. He’s been making some dangerous enemies lately. And not just among the Lombardis. Even his own people are starting to wonder where his loyalties lie. It’s only a matter of time before he has to make a choice."
I shake my head. "You’re lying."
Am I convincing him, or myself?
He smirks. "You sure about that?"
I press my lips together.
A pause, stretching long and taut.
