9. Victoria Galli
Chapter 9
Victoria Galli
I wake to thick, suffocating darkness, like the world has swallowed me whole.
Where the hell am I?
My body aches. My head throbs. There’s a sharp sting along my ribs, like something tearing beneath the skin. I try to move, but everything feels heavy—too heavy. Like my limbs belong to someone else. Like I’ve been drugged. Or worse.
I blink into the shadows, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The air smells stale, like old wood and dust, and the faintest glimmer of light cuts through the darkness from the corner of the room, just enough to outline a worn armchair. I don’t know where I am. I can’t remember how I got here.
I push myself up slightly, my back pressing into the cold surface beneath me. A low groan escapes my lips, but I quickly swallow it, my mind racing.
Why does everything feel wrong?
There’s no sound. My heart beats faster as I struggle to recall anything, but nothing comes. Just fragments. The bedroom. Shots fired. A man.
The door creaks open.
A figure steps inside, silhouetted by the sharp light in the hallway. My pulse spikes as recognition hits me like a wave. It’s him. The man from the parking lot. The one who attacked me. The same man that took me from the De Luca mansion. He must have used some drug, because I can’t remember a damn thing.
Shit.
I sit up, wincing at the pain in my side, but I force myself to stay steady, to not show fear. Not in front of him. Not now.
He takes a slow step into the room, his gaze piercing through the darkness. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with striking features made sharper by the shadows—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, hair cut short and dark as ink. There’s a kind of cold elegance to him, the kind some would call handsome. But to me, he’s just a monster in nice packaging.
And still… there’s something about him. A flicker in the way he walks, the way his eyes scan me—it’s familiar. I can’t place it, and that unsettles me more than I want to admit.
“You’re awake,” he says, his voice rough, like gravel scraping against metal.
I don’t say anything at first; I just stare at him. The anger, confusion, and terror all boils inside me, but I can’t give him the satisfaction of seeing it.
“You,” I manage to rasp, my throat dry, “what the hell do you want? Who are you? Where am I?”
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes stay cold. “Name’s Eddie. You’ve got a lot of questions, Galli. But you’re gonna need to be patient if you want answers.”
I shift slightly, ready to stand, but the pain in my side stops me. I grit my teeth. “You think I’m just gonna sit here and wait for you to explain yourself? You attacked me.”
“Did I?” His tone is playful as if he’s enjoying this. “I think you’re remembering it wrong.”
I narrow my eyes at him, fury burning in my chest. “Don’t play games with me.”
He steps closer, and for the first time, I notice the knife at his belt, glinting in the dim light like a quiet threat. My breath catches, but I don’t flinch.
“You don’t get to decide how this goes, Victoria Galli,” he says, voice low, almost tender. “You’re not in control anymore.”
Galli. Always Galli. Why?
I straighten as much as I can. “Let me out of here,” I say, my tone steady despite the fire gnawing at my side. My gaze flicks to the door, calculating. I could try to lunge, catch him off guard—but my body’s sluggish. Weak. Poisoned.
I shift, and pain lances through me.
He chuckles, and the sound makes my skin crawl. “Sorry about that,” he says. “Had to incapacitate you. Can’t have a girl like you pulling one of your dumb, brave stunts. Even half-dead, you’re dangerous. I like that about you.”
My jaw tightens.
“What did you do to me?”
He tilts his head, smile widening. “Just a little incision, pretty-face. Slipped in something slow. Elegant. Nothing fatal—unless you push me. It’s reversible, if you behave.”
He knows. He knows exactly what he’s doing. What he put in me.
“And the former cop act?” he adds with a smirk. “Impressive. Really. You almost fooled everyone.”
The air freezes.
How the hell does he know that?
“I won’t do anything,” I whisper. “Just—please. Remove it.”
With shaking fingers, I lift my shirt. My breath hitches.
The wound is jagged, stitched with rough, medical thread, ringed in dried blood. Like a butcher’s experiment. My stomach flips.
He stares down at me like he’s proud of it. “That’s gonna sting for a while, Galli. But even like this…” His gaze drifts over me—slow, deliberate. “You’re something to look at.”
My pulse spikes, but I hold his stare.
“I’ve studied you,” he says softly. “Your records. Your file. Your face. I know how you think. How you move. You’re smarter than they give you credit for. And fuck, you’re beautiful when you’re angry.”
His voice is smooth as silk dipped in venom.
“You just wait,” I spit. “When I get out of here, I’ll make you pay.”
He smiles, like I’m entertaining. “You won’t. But I admire the fire.”
He leans in, his voice brushing my ear. “No one’s coming for you, you know. Well… maybe Elio. That was expected. Planned, actually.”
My blood turns to ice.
“He’ll come for you,” he murmurs. “He always does. But by the time he does…”
He lets the sentence hang, heavy with implication.
“…it’ll be too late.”
I narrow my eyes. “You want him to come?”
He pulls back just enough to study my face, his own unreadable. “Great question,” he says. “But I can’t answer it in much detail, now can I?”
He runs a hand through his hair, then shrugs like we’re just having a casual conversation over coffee.
“All I can say is… someone higher up needs you here. They know he’ll come for you. That’s the point.” His voice lowers, a shadow slipping into the space between us. “It was never about you, Galli. It’s always been about him. Him and his brother.”
He pauses, tilting his head slightly, studying me in a way that makes my skin crawl.
“But me?” His mouth curves. “I see your potential. I always have. You might not have noticed me, but I’ve been watching you.”
I swallow hard.
Galli, again. Like I’m just a name on a page. Not a person. Not a woman. Just leverage. Just a prize to be moved around.
But there’s something else behind his eyes too—something not quite hatred. Not quite admiration. Something twisted. Possessive.
He doesn’t just need me here.
He likes that I’m here.
And I have no idea what’s more terrifying: the poison bleeding through my veins…
…or the fact that he might want to keep me.
But then... a flicker of an idea sparks in my head. I have to use this. His obsession. Maybe I can overman him when he’s not focused…
My limbs feel heavy, but my mind races. This is my chance to turn the tables.
I push myself off the floor, desperation lending me a strength I didn’t know I had. I charge, hoping to catch him off guard.
But he’s too fast.
In a blink, he’s on me. His hand shoots out to grab my wrist, pinning me down against the cold stone floor with terrifying ease. The side wound flares up in agony as the poison spreads. The pain almost makes me faint. Shit. I gasp, but my attempt to break free is futile.
He straddles me, the weight of him pressing down, dominating. I can’t move. My chest heaves with each shallow breath, and my eyes burn with frustration.
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” he whispers, his breath too close, warm against my skin like a brand I can’t escape. His voice is smooth, almost affectionate, like he’s savoring this moment, drawing it out to watch me squirm.
“This,” he continues, trailing a slow glance down my face, “is the part where you realize I’m the new boss and you’re just a toy in my hands, and you will bend to my will. One way or another.”
His fingers brush a strand of hair from my cheek, a touch too gentle for the weight of his words. A shiver runs through me, my body’s instinct fighting the stillness I force myself to maintain. He watches, eyes dark, pupils blown wide—not with anger, but with something worse. Something hungry.
“Get. Off. Me.”
“You don’t even see it yet,” he murmurs, tilting his head as if studying me, as if I’m some intricate puzzle he’s piecing together. “You think Elio is the one who always comes for you, the one who can’t stay away?” He chuckles, low and knowing. “Look at me, Galli. I’m here. I’m the one who’s always watching, always waiting. The difference between him and me?” His lips curve into a slow smirk. “He wants to save you. I want to keep you.”
His fingers trail to my chin, tipping it up just slightly, forcing my eyes to stay locked on his. “You’ll learn soon enough,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to fight so hard. There are worse things than belonging to me.”
I let the silence stretch, forcing myself to breathe evenly. His touch is light, a mockery of tenderness. He wants me to be afraid. He wants me small.
I refuse to give him that.
I lift my chin slowly, just enough to shift his grip from control to mere contact. Just enough to show him I’m not his toy.
“You really think I’m yours to keep?” My voice comes out steady, sharper than I expect. “That I’ll just sit here, bat my lashes, and thank you?”
His smirk deepens like I’ve said exactly what he wanted to hear.
“You’ll come around,” he murmurs, fingers grazing my jaw. “You’ll see.”
I hold his gaze, keep my body still, though everything inside me screams to move—to fight. “There’s something you don’t understand, Eddie.” My voice lowers a thread of iron beneath the words. “Elio’s not the only one who doesn’t let go.” I lean in just enough that he has to either move back or accept the challenge. “I’ll get out of here. And when I do? You’ll regret ever thinking you could own me.”
His fingers tighten—just for a second, just enough for me to feel the snap of control fraying beneath his skin. He likes this. My fire, my fight. It fuels him. But I see something else there, too—frustration.
Because deep down, he knows I’m not afraid of him.
Not in the way he wants.
I lock eyes with him, searching for any weakness. There’s nothing.
He stands abruptly, the chair scraping against the concrete floor as he steps back, exhaling like he’s bored of the game. Like my resistance is nothing more than an inconvenience.
“If you won’t bend,” he says, almost lazily, “then I’ll have to kill you.”
His fingers catch my chin, squeezing my cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my face up. My skin burns where he touches—not from pain, but from the sheer wrongness of it. His other hand trails along the exposed skin of my hip in a slow, deliberate drag that makes my stomach twist.
I freeze.
“But not just yet,” he murmurs, eyes dark, voice too calm. His grip loosens, but he doesn’t step away. “Not when there’s still so much left to play with.”
I want to slap his hand away. Spit in his face. Drive my knee into his ribs and watch him bleed. But I don’t. Not yet. Because I need to think—to calculate, to read him, to figure out what the hell he’s planning before I make my move.
And most of all, because I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
My whole body aches, and the darkness creeping into my vision tells me the poison is sinking deeper. Spreading. Gaining ground.
He turns on his heel and walks out, leaving me gasping in the cold, silent room.
For a long time, I just lie there, trying to process what the hell just happened. Who is he? He looked young—too young to hold this much power. But something about him felt… familiar. Not his face, exactly. Just something in the way he moved. The way he looked at me like he already knew what I’d do before I did it.
He’s not working alone. He can’t be. Someone else is behind this. Someone pulling the strings.
Just as I start to close my eyes, praying for even a minute of peace, a sound cuts through the silence like a knife.
The door creaks open again.
Eddie?
I freeze. My breath catches.
But then: the soft, deliberate click of heels on concrete. Not boots. Heels.
A faint scent drifts in—expensive perfume, floral.
My stomach turns to ice.
A silhouette lingers in the doorway. Feminine. Curved. Composed. She tilts her head ever so slightly, like she’s studying me.
Something ancient stirs in the back of my mind.
No. No. It’s not possible.
I blink, trying to focus through the blur in my vision. But my body recognizes her before my brain catches up—every muscle goes tight, a cold sweat beading along my spine.
“Mom?” My voice cracks, barely audible.
She steps forward into the light.
My stomach drops. My entire world tilts.
“No… no…” The word falls from my lips in a broken whisper. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit.
But there she is.
She steps forward, calm as ever, elegance wrapped in ice.
This isn’t real. It can’t be real.
I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. The poison is in my blood, but it’s her presence that turns my limbs to stone.
Why the hell is she here?