Fated To The Cursed Alpha Don

2. Torture Chamber

When I open my eyes, the first thing I notice is the pain. Every inch of my body feels like it’s been crushed by a bulldozer, and my wrists are f*****g killing me. I’m hanging by chains, and my toes barely scrape the cold floor. One glance around, I know I’m screwed. This place looks like some kind of torture chamber…or is it a dungeon.

The room’s massive, lit by flickering torches. There are weapons scattered everywhere. I mean, a f*****g brazen bull is in the corner. Hooks dangle from the ceiling, and there's also a goddamn cremation casket in another corner.

My heart is hammering in my chest... I literally hear it clearly. How the f**k did I end up in this hell?

Then it all rushes back. Cole is dead. Dante Moretti’s terrifying face, seared into my mind. My father. My brother. Did they make it out?

A low groan yanks me out of my thoughts. My head snaps to the side, and that’s when I see him…Ren, one of my bodyguards. Slumped against the wall, chained like me.

“Ren?” I whisper. He stirs, lifting his head just enough for me to see the exhaustion etched in every line of his face.

“Miss Romano…” he murmurs weakly. “Is it… really you?”

“Yeah it’s me. What the f**k happened? Where are we?”

He shakes his head weakly. “Don’t know. Been here… ten hours, maybe more. They killed almost everyone. Haven’t seen anyone except—”

The door creaks open.

The sound alone is enough to freeze me in place. Ren stiffens, and my entire body goes cold as a line of men files into the room. All dressed in sleek black suits with blank expressions. They don’t look at us, just stand in formation, heads bowed like soldiers awaiting orders.

And then he steps in. Dante Moretti.

It’s like the air itself shifts.

He’s wearing a red suit that hugs his broad, muscular frame tightly. His short, dark hair styled back, showing off sharp cheekbones and jawline. Tattoos snake up his neck, disappearing beneath the crisp white collar of his shirt.

But it’s his gray eyes that stop me cold. They're dark and filled with anger and hate that’s directed right at me. I try to look away, but I can't. There’s something mesmerizing about him…yet dangerous.

“So, you’re awake,” he says smoothly… with a faint Italian accent that somehow makes everything worse.

“Where am I?” I keep my voice steady even though my heart is thundering violently.

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s studying me carefully. “You shouldn’t worry about that right now, gattina.”

That nickname makes my stomach churn. Kitten? The nerve of this asshole.

He takes deliberate steps towards me, his movements oozing control. The scent of something dark, expensive, and sexy, wraps around every corner of my senses like it owns me. And I hate the way it makes my stomach flip. “Let’s begin,” he says. “You’re going to answer my questions. Lie, and you’ll regret it.”

I don't say a word. Just continue staring at him with a glare.

"Where’s your father?" he asks.

My heart instantly settles in relief. If he’s asking me this, it means he doesn’t know where Papa is. That means Papa actually escaped, probably with Gavi to the safe house in New York.

“I don't know,” I say.

“I'm not going to repeat myself,” his eyes narrow into slits.

I want to be brave. I really do. So I glare at him, pouring every ounce of defiance I have left into that look. “Go f**k yourself.”

The corner of his mouth twitches a little. “Didn’t your mother spank your naughty ass growing up? Is that why you don’t have manners?”

My face burns instantly, not just from anger. There’s heat pooling low in my stomach too. “Screw you.”

“Big f*****g mistake.”

Before I can blink, he grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks my head back. The pain explodes across my scalp sharply, but I bite down on my lip to keep from making a sound.

I refuse to give this bastard the satisfaction he's seeking.

“Say that again...” he growls, “...and I’ll throw you over my lap and spank your naughty little ass myself.”

Before I can snap back, Ren’s hoarse voice cuts through the tension. “Let her go, you bastard!”

Dante’s eyes flick to him, colder than ice. “Marco,” he barks.

One of his men steps forward instantly, head bowed like a loyal dog. “Sir.”

“Bring him to me.”

His words are casual, like he’s asking for a drink, but the authority in his tone makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The man…Marco and two others move without hesitation, unchaining Ren and dragging him forward. They shove him to his knees like he’s nothing more than garbage.

Up close, Ren looks even worse. Blood drips from his face, cuts criss crossing his skin, and his body's trembling like it’s seconds from giving out.

Dante tilts his head slightly, studying him with a detached, almost clinical look. “Found him at your father’s mansion. He claims he doesn’t know where your father is. So, I’ll ask you again. Where is he?”

I don’t answer. Can’t. My lips clamp shut so tightly they hurt, but my body betrays me, trembling in the chains. I refuse to meet his eyes, but I can’t stop glancing at Ren, broken and bleeding on the floor.

Dante’s lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smirk but isn’t far from it. With a lazy wave of his hand, he gives an order without speaking.

Marco steps forward, and that’s when I see the blade.

“Wait…” The word barely escapes my lips before Ren’s scream tears through the air.

I flinch as his left ear hits the floor with a sickening thud. Blood pours down his face, soaking into his already ruined shirt.

“You f*****g bastard!. You’re a monster!”

Dante turns back to me, his eyes boring into mine coldly. “Monster?” He repeats coolly. “That would be your f*****g father. Do you even know what he did to me? To my family? Do you?”

“I don’t know!” My voice cracks desperately. “Please, just let him go!”

He doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch. Another wave of his hand, and Marco moves again.

“No! No, stop! Please!” I scream, yanking at the chains violently.

But the blade flashes again.

Ren’s second ear hits the ground, and his screams…God, his screams shred every piece of me that’s still holding on. He collapses, writhing on the floor, and covered in a pool of his blood.

I freeze. Unable to utter a single word. My chest heaves, hot tears streaming down my face.

Dante turns back to me, calm as ever, like he hasn’t just orchestrated one of the most inhuman acts I’ve ever seen. “Are you ready to talk? Because you’re next, gattina,” he steps closer and continues, “and I promise you, I’ll make it hurt. Slowly. You’ll be screaming, crying, and begging for mercy. Answer me right now, or so help me.”