Chapter 41
I was always told I would get in trouble one day because of my assets. I might be tripping, but I think that trouble is now.
'One day your enemies will get to you, and when they do, you'd better wish the last thing they want from you is your body.'
I woke to silence. Not the kind of silence that calms or soothes. Not the quiet one that invites sleep. This silence pressed down on me, heavy, suffocating, like it had weight.
My head throbbed. Pain radiated from my temples, through my skull, down my neck. My side screamed with every shallow breath.
I blinked slowly, trying to focus.
Shadows clung to the corners of the room, stretching across the concrete floor, taunting me with their stillness.
I tried to move but my wrists were restrained. My legs, bound.
The ropes bit into my skin as I struggled, tugging, testing, hoping they would give in. But they didn't.
Every movement sent pain flaring up my side, a stabbing reminder of the fight I'd fought and lost.
I blinked again, trying to make sense of the space.
The air was cold, damp, carrying the faint scent of metal and oil. Minimal light hung from a single bulb overhead, swinging slightly, casting the room in half-shadow, half-glow. It wasn't just dark; it was deliberately oppressive.
I tried to remember how I'd gotten here. My mind scrambled through the night. The car, the men in black, Zorian sedated in the second vehicle, the sharp strikes, the panic. And then... blank.
I swallowed hard.
My throat was dry, my mouth ached. Panic curled around my chest again, slow and insidious. I bit it back, forcing my pulse to slow down. Think. Observe. Plan.
My eyes adjusted.
The walls were bare concrete. No windows. No doors visible from my position. Only the faint outline of something metal in the corner, maybe a table, maybe a chair.
I strained my neck, trying to see more, but the ropes kept me hunched, shoulders pressed painfully against my sides.
Then I remembered Zorian. My heart thumped painfully. Where was he? I lifted my head, scanning the shadows.
There was movement. A slight shuffle across the floor.
My pulse quickened.
There, against the far wall was him. Weak, restrained, trying to push himself upright. Sedation still weighed on him, making his movements sluggish, frustrated. His eyes met mine briefly, filled with guilt, fear, helplessness.
"Versace," he croaked, voice hoarse. His lips trembled. "I... I'm here. I... I'm... sorry. I—"
I shook my head, cutting him off with a glare sharp enough to burn through the haze of pain and exhaustion.
"Zorian, it's not your fault. We’ll survive. We’ll figure this out. But you... you have to hold on. Understand? You have to stay alert."
He nodded weakly, biting back a groan as another wave of sedation threatened to drag him under again.
Of course, the first thing they'd do was to sedate my supposed bodyguard like an animal.
I let my gaze sweep across the room, noting every shadow, every possible exit, or lack thereof. My fists flexed, itching to strike, to tear, to fight. My mind raced with options, contingency plans, escape routes, even if the odds were stacked impossibly against me.
And then it hit me. The voices from before. Those muffled, casual remarks about me being a mafia heir. The words lingered in my mind like a warning:
They knew who I was, what I could do.
I let out a shaky breath, forcing my panic down, channelling it into focus. Good. They thought they had me. That meant I knew something about them too.
A dull ache throbbed in my temple. I rubbed it gingerly with the back of my hand, wincing. Every movement reminded me of the fight I'd survived, the rawness of pain, the exhaustion in my muscles. But even bound, even beaten, I refused to feel defeated.
I was Versace. I always found a way.
I shifted slightly, testing the ropes again, noting how they were tied tight, but not impossible.
My mind catalogued the knot patterns, the texture of the rope, the leverage points. There was a way. There had to be.
A muffled sound echoed from somewhere beyond the shadows, a footstep. A door creaked and I froze, ears straining, listening.
The room remained still, silent except for the shallow, uneven breaths Zorian and I were taking.
I glanced at him again. "We need to stay calm. Together. No matter what happens, we survive this. Promise me, Zorian."
His hand twitched against his restraints, eyes narrowing as he gave a barely perceptible nod.
I took a ragged breath, letting my mind sharpen, focusing on every detail: shadows, ropes, walls, the faint hum of machinery somewhere beyond the concrete. Every piece mattered. Every observation was a potential advantage.
Pain, fear, disorientation, they were enemies I could control. I could channel them, turn them into fuel.
I am Versace. I will fight.
It was my survival mantra.
And somewhere in the depths of my mind, Sanaa's words whispered again: "Habibi... I don't want secrets between us."
I clenched my fists, feeling rage, fear, determination coiling inside me like a spring. They had taken me. They had tried. But they had not broken me. Not yet.
I would make them regret every second of it.
The bulb swung lazily above me, painting slow, sickly circles on the concrete.
The ropes had settled into my skin. My wrists felt raw, my fingers numb. Zorian was a shadow against the far wall—pale, defeated, eyes glassy with whatever sedative they'd pumped into him. He mouthed something I couldn't read.
I strained to listen for any footfall beyond the door, any hint that help might come. There was nothing. Just the hum of some machine somewhere else in the building, and the soft, clinical drip of water somewhere I couldn't see.
The silence broke.
The door groaned open, metal grinding against metal. Heavy footsteps entered, measured, deliberate. Not rushed. Not afraid. Each step carried weight, authority, as though the very concrete bent beneath it.
I lifted my chin, straining against the ropes, forcing my body upright despite the ache in my ribs. And then I saw him.
Mr. Kashani. Aurelio's father.
For a moment, my brain refused to process it.
Him. Here.
The man who played the part of patriarch, who toasted to family and legacy, who wore silk suits and smiled with calculated warmth at dinners. The man whose son was my fiancé.
The head of the Kashani Mafia.
My stomach twisted, nausea curling deep.
"You," I whispered, the word laced with disbelief and venom. "You did this?"
His eyes, dark, cold, merciless, met mine without a flicker of guilt. He didn't deny it. He didn't need to. He wore his ruthlessness like a second skin.
Fury surged through me, burning hotter than the ropes biting into my wrists. "Does your son know?" I spat, my voice raw. "Does Aurelio know what his father is doing to me?"
Kashani chuckled low, a sound that chilled the air more than the damp concrete walls ever could. He didn't answer my question. Instead, he tilted his head, studying me with a strange nostalgia.
"I remember when I first held you," he said, almost wistful, though his tone dripped with mockery. "You were a baby then. Tolerable. Quiet. Not this defiant, arrogant thing in front of me now."
My pulse stuttered. The words sliced deeper than the ropes.
He leaned closer, his shadow stretching over me like a curse. "Perhaps you should ask your parents about that. Your real parents."
My chest seized. A sharp, cold panic rippled through me. Real parents. The words echoed, unrelenting, gnawing. I forced myself to mask the confusion, to hide the tremor in my voice.
"Bastard," I snarled instead, the word tearing from my throat. He was clearly asking me to die.
He didn't flinch. If anything, my defiance amused him. His lips curled into something cruel.
"How dare you," he said softly, dangerously, "warp my son into this weak sentimental creature? And Dominic, my nephew. You dare make him betray me too?"
“After I got rid of his parents and sent his sister far away from here, he depended on me, only me. And you come and waver his mind?”
He killed his parents? He had a sister?
The floor vanished beneath me.
I gasped, my mind racing, pieces colliding too fast to hold. Dominic. He didn't know for sure, but he suspected. He thought Dominic was the one who had saved Sanaa.
I swallowed the truth like glass. My only choice was to lie. To protect Dominic. To protect Sanaa.
"I always knew she was alive," I hissed, voice cutting, cold. "It was me. I hid her. I kept her away from your filth. From you. It was so easy to trick you."
His face darkened.
The faint mask of control cracked, and for a moment I saw the monster beneath, the one Aurelio must have learned to fear since birth.
WHAM!
The slap came hard and merciless.
My head snapped sideways, stars exploding behind my eyes. The taste of blood filled my mouth, metallic and bitter. I felt it slide down my lip, warm against my chin.
Fuck.
The men in the room froze. Even Zorian, half-sedated, made a sound, hoarse, pained, as though he'd been struck too. The air itself recoiled.
Mr Kashani didn't waver. He didn't blink.
"Deal with her," he ordered flatly, straightening his cuffs like nothing had happened.
The guards exchanged uneasy glances. Their hesitation was almost human, fearful, uncertain. She's still the heir, their eyes seemed to say. She's still untouchable, isn't she?
Mr Kashani caught it instantly. His lip curled in disdain.
"Why fear the one bound in chains," he demanded, voice rising like thunder, "when I, Kashani, hold your families in my hands? When I’m the one who decides whether your children, your wives, or your mothers breathe tomorrow?"
Silence. Utter, suffocating silence.
And then the men moved.
Their shadows stretched toward me, slow and deliberate, carrying the promise of pain.
I tasted blood again, sharp against my tongue. My jaw clenched. Rage coiled inside me, hotter than my fear.
You want to break me? I thought. You'll need more than ropes. You'll need more than fists.