Chapter 1
Elena
The silence was louder than the screams.
Elena’s head pounded as she blinked against the blinding light above her. Cold. Her skin was cold. She was lying on something hard, stone, maybe? Her wrists burned, the skin rubbed raw beneath coarse rope.
Where the hell was she?
The last thing she remembered was walking home from the library, earbuds in, mind somewhere between her criminology notes and her favorite true crime podcast. A van. A sharp sting to her neck. Then nothing.
Now, this.
A basement? A cellar? The air was damp and smelled like old metal and roses, the strange mix making her stomach turn.
Her body trembled, but not from fear—at least, not just fear. There was something else too. Rage. Panic. Confusion. It crawled up her spine and coiled in her throat.
She tried to sit up, but the chains clinked and tightened at her ankles.
“f**k,” she hissed.
A chuckle echoed from somewhere in the shadows.
Her breath caught.
"You're awake," a deep voice said. Calm. Smooth. Dangerous. It rolled over her like velvet dipped in poison.
She squinted toward the sound as her eyes adjusted. He stepped into the light slowly, like he had all the time in the world. He wore a tailored black shirt, open at the collar, sleeves rolled to the elbows. His jaw was sharp, dusted with a shadow of stubble. His dark hair curled just slightly at the ends.
But it was his eyes that made her breath freeze. Cold. Calculated. And yet… there was something else in them. Something unspoken.
He looked like he belonged on the cover of a luxury magazine—not in a basement with a kidnapped girl.
“Who the hell are you?” she spat, forcing her voice not to shake.
He tilted his head, amused. “No 'thank you' for saving your life?”
She blinked. “Saving me? You kidnapped me!”
He sighed, stepping closer. “If I hadn’t, you’d be dead. Shot in the street like the rest of your precious witnesses.”
Her heart jumped. “What are you talking about?”
“You were going to testify, weren’t you? About the Lucchese case.”
She stared at him, stunned. “How do you—?”
“I know everything, Elena.” His voice dropped lower. “That’s why I couldn’t let you go.”
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She wanted to scream. Fight. Cry. But she couldn’t afford to break. Not in front of him.
“I’m not your prisoner,” she whispered.
He smiled. “No. You’re something else entirely.”
What the hell does that mean?
“Don’t play games with me.”
“Oh, but I’m not.” He crouched beside her, slow and smooth, his face inches from hers. “You’re in my world now, Elena. And whether you like it or not... you belong to me.”
She stared at him, breathing hard. Her lips parted, a retort on the edge, but no sound came out.
Because in that moment, looking into his eyes, she wasn’t just afraid of him.
She was afraid of herself.
Afraid of what some small, twisted part of her felt, something that should not exist in a situation like this....
Fascination...
