Chapter 36
36
EMILIA
T he clock on the nightstand glowed 2:03 AM in soft red light.
Dante’s arm was heavy across my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck. He slept like a man who’d been at war for years—deep, still, and with the kind of quiet that only came after blood had been spilled and buried.
I lay there, eyes open, heart pounding like it already knew what I was about to do.
I hadn’t planned to leave tonight.
Not really.
But the thought had been there, coiled in the back of my mind like a snake waiting for the right moment to strike. And now, in the hush of the estate, with Dante’s body wrapped around mine and the weight of his promises still clinging to my skin, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer.
I needed air.
I needed space.
I needed to remember who I was before I became his.
Slowly, carefully, I slipped out from beneath his arm. He stirred, just slightly, his fingers brushing the sheets where I’d been, but he didn’t wake. I held my breath as I pulled on leggings and a hoodie—dark, quiet clothes that wouldn’t draw attention.
My bare feet made no sound on the marble floors as I crept through the darkened halls of Rocco’s estate. The chandeliers above were dim, casting long, ghostly shadows that danced across the walls like silent watchers. I passed the study, the dining room, the grand staircase—all of them asleep, like the house was holding its breath.
The chapel door creaked when I opened it.
Just a little.
I slipped inside and closed it behind me, the air thick with incense and dust. The stained glass windows looked like bruises in the moonlight, their colors muted and strange. I crossed the room quickly, my heart hammering in my chest, and knelt behind the altar.
The panel gave way with a soft click.
The trapdoor groaned as I lifted it, the scent of damp earth rising up to meet me. I pulled out the flashlight I’d tucked into my hoodie pocket and clicked it on, its narrow beam slicing through the darkness below.
One last breath.
And then I climbed down.
The tunnel was colder than I remembered.
The stone walls were slick with condensation, the air thick with the scent of mold and old secrets. My footsteps echoed faintly as I moved forward, the beam of my flashlight bouncing off the uneven floor and the low ceiling that forced me to crouch.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The sound of water falling somewhere in the distance was the only thing that kept me company. That, and the occasional scurry of something small and fast in the shadows.
I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
Each step felt like a rebellion. A breath. A piece of myself I was reclaiming.
I didn’t want to run away.
I just wanted to remember what it felt like to choose.
After what felt like forever, the tunnel began to slope upward. The air changed—less stale, more alive. I quickened my pace, heart pounding with anticipation, and finally, finally, I saw it.
The exit.
Camouflaged by thick ivy and overgrown brambles, the stone outcropping was barely visible from the outside. I pushed through the brush, the leaves scratching at my arms, and stepped out into the night.
Cool air hit my face like a slap.
I breathed in deep—fresh, wild, unfiltered air that didn’t carry the weight of a thousand expectations. The woods stretched out around me, dark and quiet, the trees swaying gently in the breeze.
I was free.
For the first time in months, I was truly free.
I tilted my head back and looked up at the stars, scattered across the sky like diamonds thrown by a careless god. I laughed—quiet and breathless and a little unhinged—and took a step forward.
Then another.
I didn’t have a destination.
I just wanted to walk.
To feel the earth beneath my feet and the sky above my head and know that, for this one moment, I belonged to no one.
Not even him.
I don’t know how long I walked.
Long enough for the adrenaline to fade. Long enough for the silence to settle.
And then I heard it.
Crunch.
A footstep.
Behind me.
I froze.
Every instinct screamed at me to run.
My legs felt like lead, frozen in place, even as my chest heaved and my vision blurred with panic. Slowly—so slowly—I turned, flashlight raised, the beam trembling as it sliced through the trees.
Nothing.
The silence pressed in, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the frantic pounding of my own heartbeat. I took a step back, then another, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
Crunch.
Closer this time.
I spun around so fast I nearly lost my balance—and that’s when they stepped out of the shadows.
Three of them.
No—four.
All masked. All dressed in black. Their faces were hidden, but their eyes… their eyes were locked on me, cold and unfeeling, like I was prey.
My throat closed up, my breath hitching. I opened my mouth to scream, but before I could make a sound, a hand clamped over my face from behind.
I sucked in air too fast, choking on it, my flashlight slipping from my grasp and hitting the ground with a hollow thud. The beam flickered once, twice, and then it went out, plunging us into darkness.
Panic surged through me in a tidal wave, hot and suffocating. I thrashed wildly, my kicks catching only air. My body twisted, desperate to escape, but the man behind me didn’t budge. His arm wrapped around my waist like iron, locking me in place as I struggled, gasping against the gloved hand crushing my mouth.
“Easy,” a voice hissed near my ear. The accent was thick—Russian. “We don’t want to hurt you.”
Liar.
The words sent ice racing down my spine. My muffled scream died against his palm as I fought harder, my boots skidding on loose dirt. I clawed at his arm, my nails scraping against fabric, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t let go.
They worked quickly—too quickly. My wrists were yanked behind me, bound with something tight and biting—zip ties? Rope? It didn’t matter. I couldn’t move. The gag came next, rough fabric shoved between my teeth before I could even think to bite down on the hand still holding my face.
Terror clawed its way up my throat, choking me as I kicked out again. My boot connected with someone’s shin, earning a grunt, but it didn’t stop them.
There were too many.
One of them leaned in close, his breath hot against my cheek. “You should’ve stayed in your cage, princess.”
My stomach dropped, nausea and terror twisting together into a sick knot. They know who I am.
I bucked against the man holding me, but it was useless. My body wasn’t my own anymore—he dragged me backward with ease, his arm like a vice around my waist.
Branches tore at my legs as they hauled me through the trees, my feet scraping against rocks and roots. I stumbled, my knees buckling with every step, but they didn’t stop. My breaths came fast and shallow, my lungs screaming for air.
Think, Emilia. Think.
I tried to memorize the path—left at the twisted oak, right past the fallen log—but everything blurred together in the dark. My head spun, my ears ringing as the forest closed in around me.
Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted.
Somewhere closer, I whimpered.
The sound barely registered before we broke into a clearing. A black SUV sat waiting, its engine rumbling low like a predator ready to pounce.
“No,” I tried to scream, but the gag muffled the sound, turning it into a desperate, broken noise.
The back door opened, and I was shoved inside. My knees hit the leather seat hard, pain shooting up my legs. I twisted, trying to see, trying to breathe, trying to think, but the door slammed shut before I could catch a glimpse of the outside.
The air inside the SUV was stifling, the windows tinted so dark I couldn’t see out. The interior lights stayed off, leaving me trapped in shadow.
And for the first time, I felt it—the cold, crushing certainty that no one was coming for me.
One of the men climbed in beside me, his gloved hand still resting on his thigh like a threat.
The SUV lurched forward, tires crunching over gravel as we sped away into the night.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t think.
I was gagged, bound, helpless—and worse, I was alone.
Dante didn’t know.
He was asleep in the estate, probably still tangled in the sheets we’d shared just hours ago, unaware that I was gone. That I’d slipped out like a thief in the night. That I’d walked straight into a trap.
And it was my fault.
I’d wanted freedom. I’d wanted air.
Now all I had was fear.
The man beside me didn’t speak. None of them did. The silence in the car was suffocating, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of gravel beneath the tires. I tried to stay calm, tried to think through the panic clouding my thoughts, but it was like trying to breathe underwater.
Where were they taking me?
Was this about Dante?
Everything was always about Dante.
I shifted in my seat, testing the zip ties around my wrists. They were tight—too tight. My fingers were already going numb, and every movement sent a sharp sting up my arms. I tried to twist, to roll my shoulders, to do anything that might loosen them, but it was useless.
The man beside me noticed.
He chuckled.
“Don’t bother,” he said, his voice low and thick with amusement. “You’re not going anywhere.”
I glared at him through the gag, my chest heaving.
He leaned closer, his face still hidden behind the mask. “You should’ve stayed in your pretty little cage. But no. You had to play brave.”
I wanted to spit in his face.
I wanted to scream.
But all I could do was sit there, bound and gagged, as the SUV carried me further and further away from everything I knew.
From Dante.
From safety.
From home.
Time passed, but I didn’t know how much. Minutes? Hours? The trees outside the window eventually gave way to buildings—old, industrial, abandoned-looking. The SUV slowed, turned down a narrow alley, and stopped.
The door opened.
“Out,” one of them said.
They dragged me from the car, my legs stumbling beneath me. The air was colder here, sharper, and it smelled like rust and oil and something else—something rotten. We were in some kind of warehouse district, the kind of place where no one asked questions and no one came looking.
They shoved me through a metal door and into a building that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. The floor was cracked concrete, stained with things I didn’t want to identify. The walls were bare, except for rusted pipes and peeling paint. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, flickering like it was struggling to stay alive. The air was thick with dust and the sharp tang of oil, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the faint drip of water echoing through the space.
It smelled like rot.
Like secrets.
Like death.
They dragged me to the center of the room and shoved me onto a metal chair bolted to the floor. My knees scraped against the edge, and I bit back a cry as one of them zip-tied my ankles to the legs of the chair. My wrists were already bound behind me, the plastic digging into my skin. The gag was still tight across my mouth, the fabric damp with my breath.
I was trapped.
Truly, completely trapped.
One of the masked men stepped in front of me, arms crossed, head tilted. He didn’t speak. None of them did. They just stood there, watching me like I was a puzzle they were trying to solve—or a bomb they were waiting to detonate.
I glared at them through the gag, my chest heaving with every breath. I wanted to scream. To fight. To do something.
But I couldn’t.
Not yet.
The man in front of me finally spoke. His voice was low, accented, and laced with something sharp.
“You’re smaller than I expected,” he said, crouching to my level. “But you’ve caused a lot of trouble.”
I didn’t look away.
He chuckled, like I’d told a joke. “Your husband is a very dangerous man, Emilia Conti.”
My stomach twisted.
This wasn’t random.
This was a message.
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face, and I flinched, jerking away from his touch. His smile widened.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’re not going to hurt you. Not yet.”
I didn’t believe him.
Not for a second.
He stood and turned to the others. “Get the camera.”
Camera?
My heart lurched.
They were going to record something. A message. A threat. Maybe worse.
One of the men disappeared into the shadows and returned a moment later with a small tripod and a handheld camera. He set it up in front of me, adjusted the angle, and turned on the light.
It clicked on with a soft whine, and the red recording light blinked to life.
I was being filmed.
My blood ran cold.
The man crouched in front of me again, this time holding a phone. He tapped the screen a few times, then turned it so I could see.
It was a live feed.
To Dante.
My heart stopped.
The screen showed a dark room—this room—me, bound and gagged, staring into the lens like prey.
And then I heard it.
His voice.
“Emilia?”
It was faint, distorted through the speaker, but it was him.
Dante.
I tried to scream through the gag, tried to move, to do anything—but the man beside me grabbed my chin and forced me to look into the camera.
“Say hello to your husband,” he said, his voice mocking.
I shook my head, tears springing to my eyes—not from fear, but from fury.
Because this wasn’t just about me.
This was about him.
They were using me to get to Dante.
And I knew exactly what that meant.
They weren’t going to let me go.
Not until they got what they wanted.
Not until they broke him.
The man stepped back, folding his arms as he stared into the camera.
“Dante Conti,” he said, his voice cold. “We have your wife. She’s alive. For now.”
The camera zoomed in slightly, focusing on my face.
“If you want her to stay that way, you’ll listen carefully.”
I closed my eyes.
And I prayed—not to God, but to Dante.
Because if anyone could find me…
If anyone could burn the world down to get me back…
It was him.
Time passed.
I didn’t know how much.
The camera was off now, the red light gone. The men had retreated to the far side of the room, speaking in hushed voices I couldn’t make out. One of them had lit a cigarette, the smoke curling through the air like a ghost.
I sat still in the chair, my body aching, my wrists raw, my throat dry.
But I wasn’t broken.
Not yet.
I thought about Dante.
About the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
About the way he kissed me—slow, reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth. Like he’d never get tired of tasting me.
About the way he said my name, not like it was a command, but a promise.
And I held onto that.
Because it was the only thing keeping me from unraveling.
The gag was tight, cutting into the corners of my mouth. My wrists throbbed where the zip ties bit into my skin. My ankles were numb. Every inch of me ached, but I refused to cry. Refused to give them the satisfaction.
The men had stopped talking. They were waiting now. For what, I didn’t know. Orders, maybe. Or a response from Dante.
I didn’t know what they’d said to him. I didn’t know what they wanted.
But I knew him.
And I knew what he’d do to get me back.
He wouldn’t negotiate.
He wouldn’t beg.
He’d burn everything down.
The man who’d spoken to me earlier—the one with the Russian accent and the dead eyes—walked back over. He crouched in front of me again, his face still hidden behind the mask. I could see the outline of his jaw now, sharp and clean, like he was young. Too young to be this cruel.
“You’re very calm,” he said, tilting his head. “Most women would be crying by now.”
I stared at him.
He chuckled. “Ah. You think your husband will come for you.”
He reached out and ran a gloved finger along my jaw. I flinched, but I didn’t look away.
“He will,” he said, almost to himself. “That’s the problem.”
He stood and turned away, muttering something in Russian to the others. I caught only fragments—“Conti,” “response,” “plan B.”
Plan B.
I didn’t like the sound of that.
I shifted in the chair, testing the restraints again. Nothing. The zip ties were too tight, the chair too solid. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t run. Couldn’t fight.
The man with the cigarette flicked ash onto the floor and said something sharp in Russian. The others laughed. I didn’t need to speak the language to know they were talking about me.
I closed my eyes.
And I thought about the tunnel.
About the way the earth had smelled—damp and old and alive. About the way the stars had looked when I stepped out into the woods. About the way my heart had raced when I realized I was free.
And then I thought about the moment it all changed.
The footsteps.
The hands.
The SUV.
The way my freedom had lasted only long enough to remind me how much I wanted it.
I opened my eyes again.
I don’t know how much time passed.
The bulb overhead kept flickering, casting long shadows across the walls. The men took turns pacing, smoking, checking their phones. One of them disappeared for a while and came back with a thermos of coffee. They didn’t speak to me again.
They didn’t have to.
Their message had been sent.
And now they were waiting for their answer.
I stared at the floor, my mind spinning.
What would Dante do?
What could he do?
He didn’t know where I was. The tunnel was off-grid. The woods were endless. The SUV had driven for what felt like hours. There were no signs, no landmarks, nothing I could use to help him find me.
But he would.
He always did.
He’d find the thread.
And he’d pull.
And when he did, this whole place would unravel.
I just had to hold on long enough to see it.
The sound of footsteps broke through my thoughts. I looked up to see one of the men approaching me, a syringe in his hand.
My stomach dropped.
“No,” I said, my voice hoarse. I tried to push myself back, but the chair didn’t budge. My wrists strained against the zip ties, the plastic biting into my skin. “Don’t?—”
“Relax,” the man said, his voice flat. “It’s just to make things easier.”
“For who?” I snapped, my voice rising.
He didn’t answer.
I thrashed against the chair, my heart pounding as he stepped closer. The other men watched from the corner of the room, their expressions unreadable.
“Don’t touch me!” I shouted, my voice cracking.
The man grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. I kicked out, my foot connecting with his shin, but it didn’t stop him. He cursed under his breath, his fingers tightening painfully around my wrist as he forced my arm still.
The needle pricked my skin.
“No—”
The world tilted.
My vision blurred, the edges of the room smearing together like wet paint. My head lolled forward, and I felt the faintest tug of my restraints before everything went dark.