CHAPTER 3: VILTON'S ROOM
1497 Words
"Stop," Dominic's voice sliced through the tension, low and edged with something far more dangerous than rage.
Bianca’s grip loosened immediately, but not before she shoved Isabella back, making her gasp as her bruised body slammed against the cold chair. Spite curled Bianca’s lips as she spat at Isabella, her disgust evident.
Dominic barely acknowledged Bianca’s outburst. His attention remained fixed on the girl in chains, his dark eyes narrowing with something unreadable. He stepped closer, the weight of his presence suffocating.
"You really don't know where the Trenper map is?" His tone was almost mocking. "Let me explain it to you."
Isabella didn’t respond. Her thoughts were drowning in grief, pain pressing against her ribs like a vice.
Dominic exhaled sharply, irritation flashing across his face. He crouched, leveling himself with her, his expression darkening.
"You see, the Trenper map isn’t just any map. It holds the key—the exact route to the underworld. Your father had it. And everyone wants power, Isabella."
"Now tell me," Dominic continued, his voice hardening. "Are you still going to pretend you know nothing?"
Isabella clenched her jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of fear. But her silence wasn’t enough to protect her. Dominic’s fingers snapped around her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"You flinch, you tremble, but you don’t speak. Interesting," he murmured.
Her breath came in sharp gasps, her chest tight with suppressed agony. She was the last Romano. The last thread of a family that had been burned to the ground. And for what? A map?
Bianca let out a cold laugh. "She's wasting our time. Just break her."
Dominic didn’t acknowledge her. His grip on Isabella’s face tightened before he released her abruptly.
"You should thank me for stopping Bianca. She has very creative ways of getting answers," he said, his voice smooth, controlled.
Isabella knew what he was doing—playing with her, watching for a crack.
Dominic leaned back, studying her once more. Then, his expression shifted—annoyance clearly seen on his face.
"You know what I despise the most, Isabella?" His voice dropped, but the menace in it was unmistakable. "People who waste my time."
Without warning, her chin again forcefully, Issabella since as hot tears fell from her eyes down to Dominic hands.
Another offense, Dominic muttered,
"You will tell me where the map is," Dominic vowed. "Or you will wish Bianca had pulled that trigger."
A cold chill settled in Isabella’s bones, Asher life felt like living her body.
Her father had hidden many things. Had he truly expected her to know about this? To be the last piece of his unfinished game?
She thought of her mother’s smile, her little brother’s laughter. Gone.
She had been happy coming and knew she wouldn't meet the little brother she had left, but those joy was cut shot, she hadn't even gotten home.
Because of this man standing before her.
A storm of hatred surged inside her, cutting through the layers of grief. She straightened, her voice hoarse and shaking.
"You killed my family over something I don’t even know about," she spat. "So go ahead, Castellano. Do what you have to do."
A muscle in Dominic’s jaw twitched. His hand shot out so fast she barely had time to react before his fingers pressed more tightly against her throat than before.
Isabella choke, as the pain where unbearable.
"You think I won’t?" His breath was warm against her skin, his words a deadly promise.
She swallowed hard, her body rigid.
Then, he did something she hadn’t expected.
He let go.
Not out of mercy. But because he wasn’t done with her yet.
Dominic turned to Bianca. "Take her to the penthouse. Lock her up. No one touches her until I say so."
Bianca scoffed. "You’re actually keeping her alive?"
He didn’t answer, just cast Isabella one last glance.
"She’s not done serving her purpose yet."
Then, without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving Isabella trapped in the dungeon with Bianca
Bianca looked at her evily, you should thank your star he is keeping you alive.
Isabella’s eyes were vacant, hollow, her pupils dark and lifeless. Yet beneath that empty gaze, a storm brewed. Fear pressed down on her skin like a second layer, suffocating every breath she had left. The fear of knowing her family was gone, obliterated as though they had never existed. The fear of being the last one left.
But anger burned hotter. It festered in her veins like molten fire, coiling around her ribs, feeding off the agony in her chest.
She wanted them dead.
Bianca.
Dominic.
She wanted their blood staining her hands. She wanted to watch them beg for mercy and see the light leave their eyes the same way they had watched it leave her father’s.
But she couldn’t move. Not yet.
Her body ached from hours of torment, her wrists raw from the ropes that had bound her.
Bianca’s sharp voice cut through the thick silence.
"Guards."
Heavy footsteps approached. The men flanked Isabella on either side.
"Take her to the vehicle," Bianca ordered, flicking her wrist in dismissal. "Drop her in the penthouse."
The guards grabbed Isabella by the arms, dragging her up. Her knees buckled, but she forced herself to stand.
Bianca watched, amusement showing in her cold eyes. She thrived on control, on the suffering of others. The smirk playing at her lips was one Isabella wanted to carve off with a blade.
The guards moved toward the door, hauling Isabella with them.
"Stop."
Bianca’s voice was laced with something dangerous, something wicked. The guards halted instantly. Isabella’s breath came in ragged bursts as she turned her head just enough to see Bianca.
A slow smirk stretched across the woman’s face, cruel and knowing.
"Hope you know the room where she belongs?" Bianca’s gaze glowed with malice.
"Take her to Vilton’s room."
The men slightly bent their heads and left with Isabella.
Their grips were firm, as they dragged her through the vehicle.
They got to the penthouse and took her through the labyrinthine corridors. She didn’t struggle, not because she had accepted her fate, but because she has no strength left. Every breath she took burned in her chest, every step forward felt like marching toward something far worse than death.
Was she going to be executed? Tortured? Or was this just another twisted game?
Then they reached a spot.
One of the guards knelt down, pressing something into the floor.
A sharp click.
A hidden door shifted, revealing a passage leading underground.
Isabella’s stomach clenched.
Panic clawed its way up her throat, her breath stuttering. She had expected pain, but the sight of that dark entrance made something deep inside her crack.
She tried to plant her feet, but the guards shoved her forward.
The cold air that rushed out of the opening smelled of damp stone and something foul—something rotten. Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs as they forced her inside.
The moment she crossed the threshold, her shoes were ripped off.
She barely had time to react before they pushed her again.
And then—
Agony.
A searing, unforgiving pain shot up her legs as her bare feet made contact with the ground.
A strangled gasp tore from her throat.
Glass.
Shards of broken bottles lay scattered across the floor like a cruel bed of nails.
She staggered, her body instinctively trying to lift her foot, but there was no safe place to land. Each movement only drove the jagged pieces deeper into her flesh, warm blood pooling around her toes.
The guards said nothing.
They locked the door behind her and left.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
Isabella’s breaths came in short-ragged gasps as she willed herself to stay upright. But her balance wavered, her legs trembling under the excruciating pain.
She had to find a way to move.
Her gaze darted around the room, searching for a patch of safety, but all she saw was the endless glint of broken glass. The realization sank in—there was nowhere to go.
Her body couldn’t take it.
Her strength crumbled.
She collapsed.
The impact sent another wave of agony crashing through her.
Shards embedded into her skin, slicing through her arms, her thighs, her palms. A cry caught in her throat, but she refused to scream.
Tears burned in her eyes, but she forced them back. Crying wouldn’t help her here.
She clenched her jaw, trying to shift her weight, but every movement only drove the glass deeper.
Her blood mixed with the shattered remains beneath her, the wet warmth spreading across her skin.
She had endured pain before. She had been broken before.
But this?
This was designed to kill her not to break her.
Her fingers trembled as she tried to push herself up, but her limbs betrayed her.
Her vision blurred, her breath uneven.
Then she heard a voice, low and calm
"Come sit here."
- Writer
