Under His Protection: A Dark Mafia Romance

14. The Confrontation

The red roomis a cage of crimson. It’s a suffocating space where the walls breathe with my fear. My gaze darts from the whips and chains lining the shelves to the heavy iron door, sealed with a lock that looks like a grim, metal grin. Every detail screams Dexter’s depravity—a twisted game of pain and control.

I’m still alone here, but how long will it be before they come back?

My fingers trace the cold, sleek leather of the bench, the chill seeping into my skin. A bitter taste fills my mouth, a rising tide of bile. This isn”t a place you leave. This isn”t a place you survive. It”s a place where hope goes to die.

I pull on my clothes, even if it’s just my sleepwear. I’m not sure what will happen, but I need to prepare. I glance around the room, my eyes scanning every inch, searching for a weapon, an escape route.

There are no other doors, no windows. Nothing but a collection of tools designed for pain and pleasure. My gaze lands on a metal whip, its surface smooth and cold, resting on a shelf like a serpent. I reach for it, and the handle fits perfectly in my hand. Maybe, just maybe, it can buy me a few seconds, a sliver of time. But how the hell will I use it?

I crouch by the door, my senses on high alert.

Then, the world shatters. Gunshots explode through the stillness, sharp and deafening. Alexander? My heart shrieks his name, a raw, desperate cry trapped in my throat. More shots, each report a hammer blow to my soul. And then, the deafening silence returns, heavier, and quieter than before.

After a few minutes, the heavy door swings open with a crash. Dexter stands there, panting, sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes blazing, a gun clutched tightly in his hand. His usual cruel smirk is gone, replaced by a frantic look in his eyes.

“Come with me,” he says, his voice a rasp, a harsh whisper that cuts through the silence.

Fear freezes me, but the gun in his hand is a compelling argument. He doesn’t wait for a response, yanking me by the hair, his fingers digging into my scalp.

“What’s going on?” I manage to stutter.

“Nothing,” he hisses, “just some—disagreements—”

I stumble after him as we navigate a maze of lit corridors, each turn making me more nervous.

He throws open two massive metal doors, the sound reverberating through the corridor. They look like the entrance to a grand conference hall, but instead of a polished boardroom, I’m met with a cold, sterile space. He shoves me inside, his grip bruising my arm.

The air is filled with the smell of dust and something else, a metallic tang that makes my stomach churn. The fluorescent lights reveal rows of chairs lined against the walls and long, rectangular tables standing ready. They look like they’re waiting for a meeting or a gathering, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong.

My eyes are drawn to the corner of the room, a chilling sight that freezes me in place. My legs turn to lead, rooted to the floor. A pile of bodies lies there, twisted and still, like discarded dolls. A serpent, its scales permanently etched in a tattoo on the arm of one, glints in the sharp overhead light. It’s all Dexter’s men, their lives snuffed out, their bodies scattered like debris. Blood has seeped into the cold linoleum, staining the floor a dark crimson. Their eyes stare blankly at the ceiling.

Nausea washes over me; the smell of blood is in the air. I recoil, but Dexter’s grip tightens on my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. He looks beyond me, his gaze fixed on something unseen, a target I can’t identify.

A figure emerges from the shadows, rubbing their eyes as if waking from a deep sleep. My heart lurches. It’s Cole. He looks disheveled, his hair a mess, his clothes rumpled, and his eyes are clouded with worry. He’s just like me, caught in a game he didn’t expect.

He descends the stairs, his movements slow and measured. A smile stretches across his face, but it isn’t the smile I’m used to. It’s a strained smirk, almost apologetic.

“Don’t kill him,” I plead, my voice choked. “He didn’t do anything, he’s just a designer I work with. Please, Dexter, let him go.”

But as he gets closer, something shifts. His smile widens, turning into a chilling grin. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting his face in a harsh glare, revealing a depth of darkness I’d never noticed before. His eyes have turned cold and calculating.

“Bravo, Ava,” he says, his voice a silky purr that sends shivers through me. “You really are a good person. Too bad you’re surrounded by so much evil.”

He pauses, his gaze lingering on Dexter, who stands frozen. “Isn’t that right, Dexter?” Cole continues, tilting his head, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Didn’t she try to save you, too? Tried to convince you that you were better than this, that you could change?”

Dexter swallows hard, unable to meet Cole’s gaze. A muscle twitches in his jaw.

Cole turns back to me, his smile turning sharp, almost cruel. “But some people can’t be saved, Ava. Some people are just born bad.”

He steps closer, and I step back, a primal fear taking root in my gut. He adjusts his tie, the smooth white silk a stark contrast to the grim scene. My eyes dart to the black feather tucked into the band of his belt. It all clicks.

Cole is the Raven.

A wave of ice floods my veins, chilling me to the bone. The feather in Michelle”s hair, Sarah”s letter—the pieces of the puzzle snap together with a horrifying clarity. He was playing with me, toying with my fears, watching me squirm. A puppet master pulling my strings, orchestrating my terror.

He sees the recognition in my eyes, the dawning horror, and lets out a low chuckle. “I know, it’s a little dramatic, being The Raven and all,” he says, reaching me. He caresses my cheek with the feather and places it between my breasts. The touch freezes me in place, a premonition of something far more terrifying than I could have imagined.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on the feather nestled against my skin. “Did you ever suspect? Or were you too blinded by your precious Alexander?”

My stomach churns, my stomach’s content threatening to come back up.

Cole? The man who shared coffee with me, who offered design advice? The man who— assaulted me? The room spins, and I clutch at the table nearby for support. It can’t be. It can’t be him. He’s the freakin’ owner of Spectrum Design.

My words are trapped in my throat. I am paralyzed, unable to speak.

“I never did tell you about the farm I volunteer at,” Cole says, his voice silky smooth. “It’s a bird farm. I believe Michelle and Sarah got my lovely feathers. I was saving the biggest one for you.”

“Now,” he says, his eyes as hard as steel. “Let’s talk about your role in all of this.”

The world shrinks to a single point: Cole. Dexter, the guns, the crimson-stained floor—they all fade into a blurry background hum. My eyes snag on the pile of bodies in the corner. They lie in a tangled heap, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Dead. They’re all dead, and something inside me screams that Cole is the one who did it.

From the shadows behind him, a small army emerges. They appear from the stairs, their faces steely. They’re all armed. He’s built a force, and he just took down Dexter’s men.

Cole follows my gaze. “They were trouble, Ava,” he says, his voice a soft caress that somehow feels more menacing than a shout. “Traitors, really. Siding with Dexter instead of me— their real Tato.”

A shudder courses through me. Tato? Tato means father in one of the Slavic languages, I think. What the hell does that mean? My mind struggles to make sense of it all.

Dexter, pale and slick with sweat, raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll go now. I got her for you. Like we agreed.” He looks around nervously, his eyes darting from Cole to the figures silently filling the conference room. “I delivered her—”

“Sure, run along, Dexy-boy,” Cole says, his voice cold and measured. He never takes his eyes off me.

Dexter takes a hesitant step back, his arms still raised. “I’ll leave the city. Never come back.”

“Yes, yes,” Cole says, his tone bored, dismissive. He continues to study me, his fingers toying with the gun in his hand. It’s a casual gesture, but the fear it stirs within me feels primal, deep.

“O-okay,” Dexter stammers, turning to leave.

Two gunshots shatter the silence. The flash of the muzzle fire momentarily blinds me. A hot wind whips past my ear, carrying the metallic scent of gunpowder. The sound is loud, reverberating off the bare walls of the room.

Dexter crumples to the cold linoleum floor, two dark holes staining the back of his head. His limbs sprawl at awkward angles.

I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth, stifling a scream. “Shit—” I breathe. “Why—-why did you do that?”

Cole shrugs, his expression indifferent. “I can’t have backstabbers in my midst, Ava. He took half my people and tried to turn them against me, reversing Veles that I built against me. Such a fucking mess.”

He lights up a cigarette with his other hand, “Dexter saw me as a rival, you know? But I was a friend. He thought he could manipulate me and use me to achieve his own goals. But I’m not a puppet. I’m the one who pulls the strings. He’s just a casualty. A necessary sacrifice. He should have known better.”

Cole is the Raven. Cole is the Raven. A cold-blooded murderer. I pinch myself, desperate to wake up from this nightmare, but the pain is sharp and accurate.

“Tie her up,” Cole commands.

One of his men steps forward, a coil of thick rope in his hand. He binds my arms behind my back, the rough fibers digging into my wrists, drawing blood.

“Don’t do this, Cole,” I spit, my voice raw. “It’s not worth it, you’ll get caught!”

“They didn’t catch me so far, did they?” He runs a hand through his sun-bleached hair, his ice-cold eyes fixed on me. “Harvey suspected me back when I posed as The Specter. And still, the idiot didn’t catch me.” His laugh is a cold, distant sound devoid of humor.

My eyes widen. “The Specter?” I mumble, the pieces falling into place with sickening certainty. Of course, The Specter. Harvey had mentioned a ruthless criminal from years ago, one they never caught.

Cole Cohan is The Specter. And the Raven. The same person. How could I have been so blind?

The signs were all there. Cole owns Spectrum Design Studio, Specter, and Spectrum. It was right in front of me, Harvey, and Alexander. The frayed envelope with a warning about poor Mark was all a setup to steer me in another direction while the Raven executed his plans right under my nose.

I’m so stupid.

“Where is Alexander?” I ask.

“You’ll be reunited soon enough,” Cole says, his gaze sweeping across the room. “Clean up this mess and get the shipment going. We send them out tonight.”

“Send what out?” I demand, but he ignores me.

“Take her and the Bourne girl to my apartment,” he instructs his men. “Make sure they’re locked up well. This one—” He pauses, his eyes lingering on me. “This one is— spicy.”

Two men grab me, and their grip is rough. As they drag me away, I think of Michelle caught somewhere in this labyrinth of terror. And of Alexander, rushing into a trap, he might not escape.

I’m in the hands of the Raven. The thought is a cold fist clenching around my heart, squeezing the last hope from my soul.

Why the hell is Cole doing this to me, to us, to Alexander?

The driveto the new place, which I assume is Cole”s apartment, was short. We”re still in the harbor area, I think, but it”s impossible to be sure. I was blindfolded, my mouth gagged, and my screams swallowed by the darkness.

The heavy steel door shuts, the sound rattling through the sterile white hallway like a death knell. It isn’t a lock, not a traditional one, anyway. It is a mechanism, a series of bolts sliding into place with a grinding, metallic shriek that makes me shudder. There’s a bed nestled in the middle of the room, a surprisingly cozy-looking affair with crisp white sheets, plump pillows, and a thick, gray blanket. Even a bedside table sits next to it, complete with a lamp and a book.

It’s a room. A bedroom. But a bedroom in this place? It feels— off. Too normal. Does someone live here? Is this Cole’s room? The sterile white and gray décor feels more like a hospital room than a personal space. There’s a smell of bleach and disinfectant, which stings my nostrils. This isn’t an apartment. It is a fortress. A sterile, cold, and utterly terrifying fortress. This place was built to keep people in.

The thought of other victims takes over my mind. I’ve been so stupid, so naive. I thought I could handle this world and carve out a little sanctuary for Alexander and me in the midst of all things evil.

My gaze sweeps across the room, taking in the cold, concrete walls. This isn’t just twisted. It is methodical. Calculated. It is the mind of a man who plans for every contingency and anticipates every move. Cole.

“Michelle?” I whisper at the figure slung in the corner of the room. A sob, muffled and choked, comes from over there. I rush towards the sound, my bare feet slapping against the cold concrete floor, my pulse rising.

Is she okay?

There she is, huddled on the floor, her body trembling, her face buried in her hands. I can smell her fear, a sharp, acrid tang that mingles with the scent of blood.

“Michelle, it’s Ava,” I say.

She looks up, her eyes red and swollen. A bruise is blooming purple and yellow around her left eye. It looks like a grotesque, blooming flower.

“Did Cole do this to you?” I ask, anger fuming inside of me like a steam roller. Instead of answering, she gazes ahead to the bolted door.

Her wrist is bent at an unnatural angle, the bone starkly visible beneath the torn skin.

Bile rises in my throat. He did this. The realization is a cold fist clenching around my heart.

“Ava,” she chokes, her voice raw; the sound is scraping. She lunges towards me, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight. Her body is rigid, trembling, and I feel another surge of protective anger.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, stroking her hair.

Nothing is okay. Why am I lying to her?

We stay like that for a long time, the silence broken only by her ragged breaths and the distant hum of an air conditioner. The room has no windows; it’s another prison. We’ve gone from Dexter’s grip to the Raven, being passed around like rag dolls, traded, and violated.

“He— he broke my wrist, the shithead,” she whispers. “He said—he said it was a lesson.”

“What lesson?” I ask, my voice tight. My wrists throb from the ropes that bound them earlier.

“A lesson—- for disobeying him,” she says, her eyes downcast. “For coming back to Port Haven, for being with Dexter. He’s fuckin’ insane, Ava. Twisted in the top.”

I feel a surge of guilt. Is this my fault? Am I the one who has dragged her into this nightmare?

“So why not just kill you? Or me—” I ask. The words are a bit too blunt, a thought I should’ve kept to myself.

She shrugs, her eyes avoiding mine. “I don’t know.”

There’s a coldness to the room, a sense of calculated cruelty, that makes me uneasy. Cole doesn’t seem like the type to do anything for no reason. There has to be a reason for keeping Michelle and me alive. And I need to find out what it is.

We sit on the cot, huddled together. The thin blanket does little to ward off the chill that seems to seep from the very walls.

“Dexter is gone,” I say.

“I know,” Michelle sobs, “The Raven, that asshole, laughed when he told me.” Her voice cracks, and she looks away, a tear tracing a path down her bruised cheek.

“He’s a—” I start, but my words are cut off by the heavy clang of the door slamming open. Two of Cole’s men stand there, faces like stone, eyes like ice. They move into the room, their footsteps heavy and deliberate. They’re carrying someone, dragging them along with a brutal efficiency.

My blood runs cold. It’s Alexander.

He stumbles into the room. His white shirt is a bloody mess, clinging to his wounds like a second skin. His eyes, usually bright, are dull, one of them swollen shut. They’ve taken the fight out of him, leaving him empty.

I want to scream. I want to run. I want to do something, anything, but I’m frozen.

“Alexander!” I say, and the word feels raw in my mouth. My heart slams against my ribs, a fierce ache. I lunge toward him, but one of the guards grabs my arm, his grip tight.

“Stay back,” he growls, shoving me hard against the wall. The impact sends a jolt of pain through my body, but it’s nothing compared to the agony of seeing Alexander like this.

“Ava,” Alexander gasps, his voice ragged. His words are a struggle. “Don’t touch her—” he adds, his fiery eyes locked on me.

Cole walks into the room, a lion in a tailored suit. He looks immaculate, his crisp white shirt and suit are so different from the battered and bruised Alexander. He’s like a shark circling in the shallows, savoring the moment, the power he holds.

“Well, well, well,” Cole says, his voice making my blood freeze to ice. “Look at what the cat dragged in.”

“Why?” I scream, the word ripped from my throat. “Why are you doing this?”

Cole’s smile widens, his eyes gleaming with an icy amusement. “So many questions, little Ava. You’re fiercer than I remember. During all those hours working with you, leaning up against you, and showing you ideas on the drawing board. I didn’t know you had this power in you. I wonder what else you can do with that—”

“Screw you, Cole,” I hiss, my voice tight with fury.

“We almost did that, didn’t we?” he says with a glint in his eyes. “But that was a while ago. Hadn’t we been—interrupted.”

The chilling memory of his assault flashes in my mind. How could I have been so stupid? To trust him, to even think for a moment that he could be anything but a creep?

“You’re sick in the head, Cole,” I say, my voice shaking. “Doing this for nothing but sadistic pleasure.”

“Oh, well,” he says, a smug smile on his face. “There, you might be wrong, sweetheart. Don’t you remember my brother? My poor, dead brother?”

I refuse to look at him, to give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

“The Bournes killed him, Ava,” Cole continues, his voice a soft hiss. “Or rather, Alexander’s father did. It was all very—tragic. A drug deal gone wrong.” His words are flat and emotionless, like a robot reciting a script. “And now, Alexander gets to suffer the consequences.”

“This is all for revenge?” I say, my throat tightening and my eyes welling up. The world suddenly feels different, colder.

“Partially,” Cole says, his gaze shifting to Alexander. “But there’s much more to this, Ava. You’ll see. You’ll feel it.”

“You bastard!” Michelle screams, her voice raw. “Let him go!”

Cole chuckles a strange, cold, humorless sound. “Temper, temper, Michelle. You know I don’t like it when you get all worked up.” He turns to me, his eyes narrowing. “As for you, Ava, I’d advise you to keep your little friend in check. Wouldn’t want anything to—happen to her, would we?”

I glare at him, my body trembling with rage, but I know I am powerless. We are trapped, at his mercy.

“You-you’re a monster,” I hiss.

“Perhaps,” Cole says. “But monsters tend to win, Ava. Remember that.”

He looks at Alexander. “Isn’t that right, Alexander? You understand monsters, don’t you?”

Alexander lifts his head, a glint in his bruised eye. He spits a mouthful of blood at Cole’s feet. “Go to hell,” he growls. But even in his weakened state, there is a strength in his gaze, a fire that refuses to be extinguished.

“Always the charmer, Alexander. But your charm won’t save you this time.” He turns to his men. “Take him to the other room. Make him—- comfortable.”

As they drag Alexander away, his eyes meet mine. In that brief moment, I see a flicker, a spark of defiance that refuses to be extinguished. But I see something else, too. I see fear, the sheer terror in his gaze. And that scares me more than anything.

The door slams shut behind them, the heavy clang echoing in the room. My gaze sweeps the room, searching for anything, anything at all. It’s like a desperate prayer, a plea for a sign that this nightmare isn’t real.

But it is.

My eyes land on a small, framed photograph perched on the bedside table. It’s a picture of Cole, his smile a chilling, perfect facade. His arm is wrapped around a young woman, her eyes wide, and her face a mask.

My breath catches in my throat. I recognize her instantly.

It’s Emily.

Emily was a talented intern from Spectrum Designs who vanished without a trace a few years ago. Rumors swirled about her disappearance, including whispers of foul play, but nothing was ever confirmed.

Michelle follows my gaze.

“No one knows what happened to her,” I say, pointing at the frame.

But I know. Deep inside, my gut twists with a chilling certainty as I look around the room. She was here. At some point, at least. The subtle signs, the whispers of her presence, are undeniable. What happened to her?

The photo, Emily’s wide eyes, Cole’s chilling words, the reality of the prison bedroom—it all converges into a terrifying truth. We are trapped in the lair of a monster, someone who hides his true nature behind a mask of charm and success.

And I have no idea what he has planned for us.