TWISTED

CAPTIVE

CHAPTER THREE

The first explosion rattles the suite just after midnight. It doesn’t sound like thunder—it’s sharper, closer, like the world itself is being torn apart block by block. I sit up so fast the painted birds overhead blur. For a moment, I think it’s V, i never knew him but all i know he is my good for nothing husband’s worst nightmare.Coming back heavier than usual, announcing himself with fire and chaos. But then the shouting starts, voices I don’t recognize, the rapid percussion of gunfire echoing through the halls.

My pulse spikes. This isn’t his kind of game. V is a scalpel, not a sledgehammer. Whoever’s here isn’t playing with precision. They want to make a point.

The door slams open before I can move, and the room fills with strangers—men in black coats, armed and restless, eyes scanning the corners as though even shadows could be dangerous. One of them grabs my wrist, and I know better than to fight. Fighting only makes it worse.

“Where’s Lorenzo?” I whisper, though the word burns my throat.

They laugh. “Busy bleeding out his empire,” one of them says, shoving me forward.

Lorenzo. My husband. The name feels strange on my tongue, like a prayer I stopped believing in but can’t quite forget. He built a kingdom on marble floors and blood-soaked loyalty, and now, in a single night, it’s being torn down.

They drag me through the corridors, past bodies I don’t let myself recognize. Outside, the air smells of gunpowder and gasoline. Cars burn at the edge of the drive, and the night is alive with sirens and screams. I’m shoved into the back of a van, the door slamming shut behind me.

“Tell your husband,” one of them says, his face hidden beneath a mask, “that Bella belongs to us now. This war isn’t about land. It’s about legacy. And legacies are written in blood.”

The van lurches forward, and through the barred window I see Lorenzo’s house collapsing into chaos. For the first time in years, I don’t know whose cage I’m trapped in.

From a very young age i always knew what I wanted didn’t matter, no one wanted to hear what I had to say. And now I've found myself in enemy territory and I don't know how to feel about it. I should be scared of V but there’s something lurring abouting him. All I know is that I'm in deep s**t.

The van ride feels endless, every bump in the road rattling through my bones. My wrists are bound, and the gag is more for humiliation than silence. I don’t fight it. Not yet. The war outside has teeth, and I know better than to bare mine before I understand who’s holding the leash.

When the door finally swings open, I’m hauled into a warehouse that smells of rust, oil, and old blood. My captors move with the confidence of men who believe they’ve already won. They don’t look at me as a person. They look at me as currency.

Lorenzo’s wife.

V’s project.

Bella, the bargaining chip.

I’m shoved into a chair, and the ropes bite into my skin. Across the room, their leader steps forward. He’s young, too young to carry that much authority, but the kind of youth that feeds on cruelty. His smile is a weapon.

“Tell me,” he says, circling me, “what’s it like, being fought over by two devils? Lorenzo with his empire of smoke and mirrors. V with his games, his punishments. Which one do you belong to, Bella?”

The name feels like an accusation. My silence earns me a backhand across the face. My vision flares white, but when it clears, I hear the sound that chills me more than the slap ever could—boots. Slow, deliberate, echoing through the concrete chamber.

V steps out of the shadows like he’s been waiting all along. Calm. Controlled. Hands in his pockets as though this isn’t a battlefield but a classroom.

“Enough,” he says, and the word cuts sharper than any bullet. The young leader stiffens. Even he knows better than to mistake V’s quiet for weakness.

My heart lurches. Relief. Fear. Both coil together in my chest.

V doesn’t look at me right away. He looks at them. “She’s not yours to touch. She’s not Lorenzo’s either. She’s mine.”

And when his eyes finally settle on me, I feel the truth of it like a chain sliding back into place.