Chapter Eleven
Chloe
Zane Santino. His full name still echoed in my head and my mind kept trying to puzzle it out. For some reason, it sounded familiar. I knew I’d heard it before, but from where?
I didn’t know yet, but something told me I was about to find out.
We’d been in the car for about thirty, maybe forty minutes, and it’d been a while since I’d last seen buildings, even a house. And then it looked a lot like we were entering an industrial district.
My chances of getting out of this alive were decreasing by the second.
But on the other hand, I couldn’t believe Zane would waste so much money on me just to get me killed.
There had to be more to it that I was missing, and I was really hoping that everything would end up being just a big misunderstanding.
He was breathing hard in his seat, likely because of the pain in his shoulder. With the adrenaline wearing off, it was impossible he wasn’t feeling anything now.
I wanted to grab his hand and comfort him. After all, this man had saved my life more than once now. If anything, right now—and until proven wrong—I owed him gratitude. But I couldn’t move, and something was telling me I shouldn’t.
I looked down at my hands pressed on my thighs; there were shades on them.
Shades of red.
Blood.
His blood.
I wanted to throw up, not because it disgusted me but because it reminded me of all the events leading to this moment, and the excruciating anticipation of not knowing what was going to happen next. Despite the cold, my hands were starting to sweat, my lungs not getting enough air.
Then, silence.
The SUV stopped, and both men from the front seats jumped out in a rush. One helped Zane get out while the other opened my door, dragging me out by my elbow roughly, not caring if he’d hurt me.
“Hey! Careful!” I fought the man, twisting against him, but he didn’t seem to care with that either.
He’d been there with Zane at the club, too. His black hair was slicked back into a short pompadour, his olive skin framing a long, sculpted chin. He was tall and lean, not as bulky as the rest of them. Older too.
The SUV was parked next to what seemed like an old factory, maybe a warehouse.
Why stop here instead of at a hospital? Zane needed medical attention, or he’d die and I needed him alive, I needed him to tell me what the hell was going on, since he was the only one who seemed to make an effort to treat me like a person.
Kind of.
Entering the building, I forced myself to memorize everything I could.
Concrete walls, high ceilings, chain-link fences dividing the space into separate areas.
Each door we passed was secured with digital locks.
Then, more people, coming from God knew where, rushed toward us, and before I could process, Zane was taken away.
Panic roared in my ears, my eyes searched for something to focus on, landing on the boxes stacked around the sections by which we walked. Some were open, stuffed with weapons, ammunition and gear I couldn’t even name.
I shouldn’t be seeing all this. The more I saw, the more aware I became that whatever this was, I shouldn’t be here.
They are trafficking weapons.
Santino.
And then it clicked. The Mafia.
Shit.
An explosion went off in my head as I realized exactly who they were and everything suddenly made sense.
The Santino Family. One of the five notorious crime families, one of the most powerful and influential Italian American mafia names. They had at least fifty years of history between America and Italy behind them, and tons of businesses between these two countries.
Men without faces and whispers in the dark.
Everyone knew about these crime lords, but few knew how they looked.
I couldn’t remember exactly where I’d first heard about them, but I knew all about the rumors.
I walked around the shadows of the underworld close enough to know if you ever heard the name, it was a warning.
They had the most efficient organized crime network of all time, which was why they were never caught.
Rumor had it they had everyone on their payroll, from cops to politicians.
They were untouchable. And by the look of it, Zane had to be the leader of their organization, the man behind all those horror stories.
And I was walking right in the middle of one.
Shit. I have to get out of here.
Then the man holding me finally stopped in his tracks and loosened his grip on my arm a little. “Ivar!” he shouted.
Dear Lord. Now, I even know their names. Can’t be a good sign!
A man with light brown hair, clipped into a military cut, strode toward us.
His movements were steady but unhurried, the kind of relaxed confidence that came from someone who didn’t have to look over his shoulder often, the kind of ease that came from knowing he owned the room. He was young, maybe around Zane’s age.
“Zane wants you to keep an eye on her while he’s with the doctor,” the first man said, practically shoving me forward, handing me over to the new asshole, Ivar.
There’s a doctor here?
“Careful with her. This one bites.” He warned Ivar with amusement, speaking in English so I would understand it too before turning and walking away.
“Can you let go?” I jerked. “I can barely feel my arm.”
Unexpectedly, he released me. Then he leaned in so close that for a moment, I thought he would try to kiss me.
“Move and I will put a bullet in your foot.”
Charming.
He took a step back, finally giving me back the space to breathe, but never concealing how his eyes still roamed my body. Even with Zane’s large jacket covering me, I couldn’t help but feel exposed.
“Can you stop staring?” I snapped.
The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk but there was nothing kind about it. It was the most venomous, disgusting grin any man had ever cast my way. He rolled his eyes, a gesture so dismissive that it made me want to slap him.
“I want to see Zane,” I demanded, trying to inject as much authority into my voice as possible.
“Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath and before I could react he was grabbing my arm again, yanking me forward and dragging me through the warehouse.
I winced. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t stop.
“Let go of me! I did nothing wrong!”
I screamed, nearly stumbling as he pulled me toward a stone stairway leading down to what looked like a basement. Fear crept in again because I was pretty sure I wasn't supposed to be alone with this man, going down to a creepy basement.
“Walk!” he barked, his voice echoing off the cold stone walls as he hauled me down the steps.
I’d tried so hard to hold my ground until this moment, but the terror coursing through me was paralyzing. It felt as though I was sinking into the earth, trapped in a place where no one would ever find me. My body almost collapsed when we reached the bottom.
Cell rooms. Like some kind of medieval prison. Oh, God.
He opened one of the cells and shoved me inside, the metallic clang of the door slamming shut echoing through the cold, damp area. I stumbled forward, catching myself before hitting the slicky ground.
He locked the door, and I instantly turned to grip the metal bars. “Why are you doing this?” I whimpered, my voice trembling for the first time. “What do you want from me?”
This was so fucked up.
He shoved the keys into his pocket before speaking again.
“No one likes new faces, and the pretty ones don’t stay pretty for too long around here.” A daredevil smile stretched across his lips. “This is for your own good.”
He was mocking me, enjoying every second of it. The tension between us was thick, but not the kind hinting at anything good.
“Get comfortable, because it’s going to be a long night for both of us, sweetheart.”
His tone made me boil inside out.
“Fuck you.”
I spat in his face, yet he stared at me with no emotion, letting the saliva slide down his cheek. His jaw locked, and I knew if I wasn’t behind these bars, he’d have backhanded me so hard I’d forget how I ended up here.
I held his gaze, daring him to open the door and try.
Because if he opens the door, it’s a chance to run for it.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he wiped the spit away with the back of his hand, smiling cruelly as he turned and simply walked off, his boots thudding against the stone until everything faded into silence. Leaving me alone in the dark, cold cell.
I kicked the bars as hard as I could, but the damn thing didn't even budge.
My mind was in chaos. None of this made any sense. In one night, I’d almost been gang-raped, then saved, then sold, and the man who’d been showing up in my life, helping me, protecting me, turned out to be my worst nightmare. A man probably capable of horrors I couldn’t begin to imagine.
Please, God, let me wake up from this nightmare.
I sat on the cold ground, pulling my knees tightly to my chest, forcing myself to remember how to breathe.
This place was too familiar. Cold and damp, just like Bruce’s basement but with cells instead of dirty mattresses.
And I felt seventeen all over again…
My favorite pajamas crumpled on the floor.
Strange hands exploring without consent.
Cold water hitting, hurting and stealing my breath.
My palms pressed against my ears, trying to silence the memories before they started to claw in my throat.
I couldn’t let panic take over. Panic wouldn’t get me out, but maybe something else could. Though my options felt limited now, there was always a way out.
I just have to find what it is.