A Deal With The Devil

CHAPTER TWO: PACKING UP A LIFE

ELENA’S POV

The drive back to my house felt like moving through a nightmare underwater.

My chest was heavy, and the lump in my throat physically weighed me down. I shifted in my seat, trying to find comfort, but the movement caused my hand to brush against the guard sitting beside me. His skin was like granite.

Luca De Santis had sent me home with two of his men to pack my bags. They were massive, grim-faced soldiers who didn't speak, smile, or acknowledge my existence. One drove the sleek black sedan with aggressive speed, while the other sat next to me, acting as my dutiful captor. His bulky frame occupied most of the leather seat, completely invading my space.

My father hadn’t bothered following the car home to bid me one last goodbye. Apparently, he had more important things to handle—like celebrating his sudden freedom from an eight-million-dollar death sentence.

The car came to an abrupt, heavy halt in front of our house.

Our house… It felt strange to call it that now, knowing I would never sleep under its roof again.

The driver pressed a button, and the locks clicked open with a sound like a pistol firing. I reached instinctively for the door handle, but the guard beside me threw me a freezing glare. I instantly retracted my hand, cradling it close to my chest.

Both guards got out first, taking up positions on either side of my door before opening it, effectively trapping me between them.

“Relax,” I muttered, trying to mask my terror with a bravado I didn't feel. “I’m not running. I’m smarter than that.”

Neither of them huffed. Neither of them blinked. They just stared through me, treating me like a package to be delivered. I glanced sideways. The neighbors' lights were out, and the guy across the street was a massive recluse. No one was coming to save me.

I trudged toward the entrance of the house I shared with my father. My mom had died from cancer when I was thirteen, and since then, it had been the two of us against the world. Or so I had thought.

I unlocked the door and pushed it open. For the first time in my life, stepping inside felt entirely foreign.

I noticed the stains on the kitchen walls that I'd ignored for months. My dad’s half-eaten bowl of ramen sat on the counter. Habit made me take a step toward the sink to clean it, but then the sheer absurdity of the gesture hit me. Why wash a bowl in a house I was being exiled from?

I left it there, the broth slowly congealing. It wasn’t my problem anymore. Since he had traded me away, he could learn to clean up after himself. His live-in maid was no longer available.

I shuffled into my bedroom. Oddly enough, my captors didn't follow me inside, choosing instead to guard the hallway and grant me a final, agonizing moment of privacy.

The room looked exactly as I had left it this morning. My pale blue hoodie hung off the back of my desk chair, one sleeve dragging against the floor. A pile of unfolded laundry occupied half my bed—jeans, leggings, and a T-shirt I’d been meaning to put away for three days. Nursing textbooks were stacked haphazardly on my desk, colorful sticky notes protruding from the pages like tiny flags.

For a moment, I just stood there. The room wasn’t beautiful or spotless, but it was mine.

My gaze drifted to the wall above my desk. My graduation photographs. I looked so happy in the baby blue dress Sarah, my best friend, had chosen for me. Sarah stood beside me in pale yellow, both of us grinning so hard our cheeks hurt. There were dozens of them—me in my navy blue cap and gown, hugging her after the ceremony, holding up my hard-earned certificate.

I had graduated nursing school barely a month ago. Thirty days ago, I was planning interviews, arguing with my friends about which hospital would hire me first, and daydreaming about finally earning enough money to move my dad and me into a safer neighborhood.

Now I belonged to Luca De Santis.

The thought struck with enough physical force to make my stomach twist. My eyes landed on a cardboard box tucked neatly beside my wardrobe. Inside were my nursing scrubs. Brand new. Still sealed in their clear plastic packaging.

I had spent an entire afternoon choosing them. Navy blue. Professional. Practical. The kind of uniform that made me feel like my real life was finally beginning.

I crouched beside the box and ran my trembling fingers over the crinkling plastic. I hadn’t worn them once. Not even once.

A bitter, choking laugh escaped me. Four years of brutal exams. Four years of clinical rotations, sleepless nights, and endless caffeine. And now I was packing a suitcase to go live with a mafia monster who bought me like a piece of property.

A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it. I furiously wiped it away, refusing to break down. I grabbed my suitcase and began tossing clothes inside frantically. Anything I could lay my hands on. Anything that proved I existed. When the suitcase was nearly full, I hesitated. I reached into the box, grabbed one set of the navy blue scrubs, and shoved it deep inside before zipping it shut.

I walked out of the room, leaving the rest of my past behind.

The guard stepped forward, silently taking the heavy suitcase from my hand. As we walked out, I locked the front door for the last time and tossed the keys through the narrow gap in the broken living room window.

The drive back to the De Santis estate was eerily quiet. I pulled out my phone, jammed my AirPods into my ears, and blasted music to drown out the sound of my own racing thoughts. But the sheer emotional exhaustion of the last few hours caught up to me. The steady hum of the engine slowly dragged me under, pulling me into a heavy, dreamless sleep born of pure panic.

“Wake up. We’ve arrived.”

The harsh voice snapped me awake. I opened my eyes to find both guards staring at me through the rearview mirror. My cheeks flared a bright, hot crimson as I realized I'd passed out from the sheer terror of living here.

What assurance do you have that you’ll even be alive. My hands shook from the thought and I inhaled a lungful of air to steady myself.

One of them gave a cold, mocking smirk at my situation, making the embarrassment and fear twist into an uncomfortable lump in my throat.

They escorted me out of the car and deep into the labyrinthine halls of the mansion, stopping in front of a towering set of heavy oak double doors engraved with an intricate, terrifying De Santis family crest.

The guard knocked three times. Knock. Knock. Knock.

A heavy silence followed. Then, a smooth, baritone voice drifted effortlessly through the thick wood, chilling me to the bone.

“Come in, Elena.”

A terrifying, deliberate pause followed.

“Welcome to your new home.”