Chiara
CHIARA
M y head is pounding, a dull, insistent ache that makes it hard to think, hard to focus. My mouth is dry, and there’s a strange metallic taste on my tongue, like I’ve bitten down on something too hard.
I try to move, but my body feels heavy, sluggish, like I’m wading through molasses. It takes me a moment to realize that my wrists are bound, tied tightly to the bedposts above my head.
Panic starts to bloom in my chest as I struggle against the restraints, but it’s no use. The ropes are too tight, biting into my skin every time I try to pull free.
I blink against the harsh light, my vision swimming as I try to make sense of where I am. The room is unfamiliar—bare walls, no windows, just a single door on the far side that’s closed.
Dread coils in my gut and my skin crawls when I realize I’m inside a shipping container.
Where am I? How did I get here?
I’m hyperventilating when I see him, sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed, watching me with a calm, almost bored expression .
Leo.
The sight of him jolts me fully awake, the fog in my brain clearing just enough for me to remember. I went to his gallery opening. I was nervous, but I wanted to support him, to show him that I still cared, even after everything that had happened between us. He handed me a glass of champagne, we toasted … and then nothing.
“Ah, you’re awake,” he says, his tone almost casual, like we’re just having a normal conversation. “I was beginning to wonder how much longer you’d be out.”
“Leo,” I manage to croak, my voice rough and weak. “What the fuck is this? What did you do to me?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just tilts his head slightly as he watches me struggle. There’s something in his eyes that I don’t recognize, something dark and unsettling.
His gaze roaming over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. “I didn’t do anything, . Well, not yet, anyway.”
I tug at the restraints, my panic growing as I realize just how tightly I’m bound. “Untie me, Leo. This isn’t funny.”
“Funny?” Leo repeats, his smile widening as he sits down on the edge of the bed, too close for comfort. “No, , this isn’t funny. But it is interesting.”
“Interesting?” I echo, my voice rising as the fear claws its way up my throat. “What the hell are you talking about? Why am I here?”
Leo tilts his head to the side, studying me like I’m some kind of puzzle he’s trying to figure out.
“I’ve always wondered what you saw in Giovanni,” he muses, almost to himself. “What it was about him that made you choose him over … well, over someone like me.”
My blood runs cold at his words, and I struggle against the restraints, my heart pounding in my chest .
“This is insane, Leo. Let me go.”
He ignores my plea, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from my face, his touch light but sending a shiver of revulsion down my spine.
“Was it the danger, ? The thrill of being with someone who’s so … hands-on ?”
I jerk my head away, glaring up at him with as much defiance as I can muster. “This isn’t you, Leo.”
“Oh, but it is,” he says softly, his eyes gleaming with something dark and twisted. “You just never took the time to see it. Always so focused on Giovanni, on your little Mafia prince. But now … now you’re going to see a different side of me.”
My breath catches in my throat as I realize what he’s saying, what he’s implying. “Leo, don’t do this. Please, stop. You don’t have to do this.”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it, only a cold, bitter edge.
“Stop? Why would I stop now? I’ve been sent to take you, to deliver you to someone who’s very interested in having a chat with you. But no one said I couldn’t have a little fun first.”
My stomach drops, and a wave of nausea washes over me as his words sink in. “Who sent you?” I ask, my voice trembling.
He doesn’t answer right away, just reaches out to trace a finger down my cheek, his touch sending a shudder of revulsion through me.
“That’s not important,” he says finally, his tone dismissive. “What’s important is that I get what I want before I hand you over.”
“Leo, please,” I beg, my voice breaking as I struggle against the restraints, desperation clawing at me. “Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it. I’ll do whatever you want—just please, don’t do this.”
He hesitates for a moment, and for a fleeting second, I think I’ve gotten through to him. But then he shakes his head, a cold smile curling his lips.
“You don’t get it, do you, ? This isn’t about money. This is about taking something that belongs to someone else, and making it mine.”
“No,” I whisper, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “No, please…”
But he ignores me, his gaze drifting to the ropes around my wrists. “I’ve always been the nice guy, haven’t I? The one who listens, who’s patient. But you never wanted that, did you? You wanted someone who would take control, someone who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
He stands up slowly, his movements deliberate, and walks over to the side of the bed, looking down at me with that same unsettling calm.
“I wondered if maybe that’s why you chose him. If I’d been more like Giovanni, more … assertive, would you have chosen me instead?”
My heart is racing, every instinct screaming at me to get out of here, to get away from him, but I’m trapped, tied down and helpless.
“Leo, please … stop. We can talk, we can figure this out. Just untie me, and we can talk.”
He shakes his head slowly, as if disappointed. “You’re not listening, . I’m done talking. Talking never got me anywhere with you, did it? You never took me seriously. But maybe now you will.”
He reaches for the hem of my shirt, and pure terror courses through me when I see the knife in his hand. I thrash against the ropes, panic making me stronger, more desperate.
“No! Leo, stop! Please, stop!”
But he doesn’t, his hands moving with a cold precision that makes me feel sick. I kick out, trying to shove him away, but my legs are too weak, too slow, and he easily avoids them.
“Stop fighting, ,” he says softly, his voice almost tender as he cuts through my shirt and removes it. “It’ll be easier if you just accept it.”
“No!” I scream, my voice raw with fear and desperation. “Leo, please! Stop!”
But my pleas fall on deaf ears, and I feel the cold air hit my skin as he cuts my bra from my body. I struggle harder, my mind racing with a thousand horrible possibilities, but the ropes hold tight, and I can’t move.
“Leo, don’t,” I sob, my voice breaking. “Please don’t.”
He pauses, his hands stilling for a moment, and for a brief, fleeting second, I think maybe I’ve gotten through to him. But then he looks down at me, and I see something in his eyes that sends a wave of cold terror through me —He’s made up his mind.
“I want Giovanni to know I was here,” he says with a dark smirk.
“No! Please, God, no!” I scream, thrashing wildly, but it’s no use. He’s too strong, and I’m too weak, too groggy from whatever he drugged me with. “Please! Let me go and I won’t tell Giovanni what happened.”
He leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear as he murmurs, “You really think Giovanni’s going to save you? That he’ll swoop in and play the hero? He can’t protect you, . Not from me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out his words, trying to keep the terror at bay. But it’s no use. The reality of the situation crashes down on me, and I’m suddenly drowning in it, gasping for air, for some way out of this nightmare.
But then, something in me snaps—some last shred of defiance, of strength that refuses to let him see me break.
I open my eyes, staring up at him with as much steel as I can muster. “Giovanni will come for me,” I say, my voice steady despite the fear thrumming through me. “And when he does, you’re going to wish you never touched me.”
Leo’s smile falters for just a second, and I see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that cold, cruel gleam that makes my skin crawl.
“Maybe he will,” Leo says, his tone almost bored as he pulls down my jeans and panties. “But by the time he gets here, it’ll be too late. For both of you.”
He stands up, moving away from the bed, and I feel a moment of relief as he puts some distance between us. But it’s short-lived, replaced by a sickening dread as he starts rummaging through a bag on the table, pulling out a syringe.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice shaking as I watch him draw something into the syringe. “Leo, what is that?”
“Just something to help you relax,” he says casually, as if we’re having a normal conversation. “Wouldn’t want you to be too tense, now would we?”
“No, no, no…” I whisper, my heart hammering in my chest as I pull desperately at the restraints. “Please, don’t do this. Please, Leo, you don’t have to do this.”
But he’s already moving back towards me, the syringe in hand, his expression calm, detached, like this is just another day for him.
I thrash against the restraints, my pulse racing, my breath coming in panicked gasps. “No, please! Leo, please—don’t!”
“Shh,” he says, his voice almost soothing as he presses the needle to my arm. “It’ll be over soon, . Just relax.”
I feel the sharp sting of the needle, and a wave of dizziness washes over me, the world tilting precariously as the drug starts to take effect. My limbs grow heavy, my vision blurring as I struggle to stay conscious, to fight against the pull of whatever he’s given me.
But it’s no use.
The last thing I hear before the darkness takes me completely is Leo’s voice, soft and cold in my ear:
“Sweet dreams, .”
And then, there’s nothing.