CHAPTER TWO - Captured in the Dark
1396 Words
The De Luca Estate
The room pulsed with authority. Dim light spilled from the crystal chandelier overhead, casting shadows across the massive oak desk where a map of the Rossi mansion lay sprawled out. Alexandro De Luca stood at the edge of the desk, leaning over the blueprint with casual confidence.
His black silk pajama pants hung low on his hips, his chest bare, the defined ridges of his abdomen visible under the muted glow of the room. A glass of whiskey rested near his fingertips, untouched. The warmth of the liquor wasn’t needed — the heat in his gaze was fire enough.
Opposite him, four of his most trusted guards stood rigid in tailored black suits, hands clasped neatly in front of them. Their posture was respectful, professional — but the tension in the room was thick.
Alex ran a finger along the map. "You enter from the south entrance," he said smoothly, his voice low but commanding. "They keep minimal security there. Two men on rotation. Subdue them quietly."
The guards nodded. One of them — Ricci, the tallest of the four — tilted his head slightly. "And once we’re inside?"
Alex’s eyes flicked up from the map, cool and calculating. "You’ll split into two groups. The first handles the perimeter; the second takes the east wing. We need leverage, not casualties. In and out before they know we were there."
There was a brief silence. Another guard, Lorenzo, stepped forward slightly. His tone was polite, formal. "Sir… may I ask who the target is?"
Alex’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. He leaned back slightly, taking the whiskey glass in his hand. "I would’ve gone for the head," he said smoothly. "But what’s a body without a head?"
He took a slow sip of whiskey, savoring it before setting the glass down. "I want his son. Leo."
There was a brief pause — then a quiet chuckle. Vincenzo, the youngest of the guards, lifted an eyebrow. "You’d be doing him a favor, I guess, sir."
Alex’s gaze flicked to him. "Explain."
Vincenzo shrugged slightly, careful not to overstep. "With all due respect… Leo is no Achilles’ heel. Diego won’t bat an eye if we take him. The man barely looks at his oldest son."
Alex narrowed his eyes, considering this. "And you have a better suggestion?"
"Marco," Vincenzo said. "His second son. He’s stubborn, hotheaded… but he’s Diego’s favorite. You can see it in the way he talks to him — or rather, how angry he gets when Marco doesn’t listen."
Alex’s brow furrowed slightly. "Marco."
Vincenzo nodded. "Yes, sir. I’ve seen him a few times. Small guy. Looks harmless, but trust me — he’s not. And Diego? He watches him like a hawk. I’d say taking Marco would hurt more than taking Leo ever could."
Alex straightened slightly, resting his hands on his hips. The muscles in his abdomen shifted as he moved, tension settling into his posture.
"I wasn’t aware Diego had another son."
"He keeps him out of the spotlight," Vincenzo explained. "Probably to protect him. But that kind of protection… it tells you everything. Marco is his weakness."
Alex’s gaze darkened with interest, his lips curving slightly. "Is that so?"
"Yes, sir."
For a moment, Alex said nothing. He glanced back at the map, fingers tracing the edges of the Rossi mansion — but his mind wasn’t on the layout anymore.
Marco.
A small smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
"Change of plans."
The guards straightened immediately.
"I want Marco Rossi."
The rain clawed at the windows, a steady drumbeat against the glass as if the night itself were mourning what was about to happen. Lightning splintered across the sky, painting the darkened city in brief, violent flashes.
A sweet mourn of two men can be heard in the room as Alexandro thrust in an out, while pulling the man's neck. He was sweating and mourning in pleasure; it has always been that way whenever he smells victory close.
Alexandro De Luca leaned against the windowsill of his room, shirtless, sweat beading along his skin. His breathing was heavy, chest rising and falling with the heat of exertion. The dim light of the room stretched his shadow long and jagged across the floor. His knuckles were white where they gripped the edge of the window. The storm outside mirrored the storm inside him — raw, relentless, and impossible to calm.
Behind him, the man he'd pulled into his bed stirred, trying to catch his breath. But Alex’s mind was far from the body beneath his. The man was nothing more than a distraction, a way to bleed off the restless rage that coiled in his chest.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his dark hair. The clock on the wall ticked past midnight. Any minute now.
His phone buzzed on the table. He snatched it up, eyes narrowing at the message.
"In position."
The corner of his mouth curled upward — not a smile, something darker. Victory was close.
---
Rossi Mansion
The storm blurred the edges of the grand estate, rain running in thick rivers down the stone walls. Inside, the house was quiet, the kind of silence that only comes deep in the night when most were asleep.
Marco Rossi sat in his room, legs stretched lazily over the armrest of the leather chair by the window. A book rested in his hands, but his gaze had long since drifted from the words on the page. The rain outside was mesmerizing, a steady rhythm that pulled at the edges of his consciousness. He blinked, shaking the haze from his mind, and returned to the page.
He never heard them coming.
The door opened silently, shadows slipping in like ghosts. A hand clamped over his mouth before he could turn, another pressing a damp cloth to his nose. His breath hitched — the first and only sound he made. The book fell from his hands with a dull thud.
He struggled, twisting violently, but the drug hit fast. His limbs turned heavy, useless. His mind screamed, but his body betrayed him, sagging into the arms of his captors.
They dragged him out, vanishing into the night.
---
Elsewhere in the Mansion
Diego Rossi woke with a start. His heart pounded hard against his ribs, a heavy, unsettled beat. Something felt off — wrong. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. The storm raged outside, but it wasn’t the thunder that had woken him. It was something else.
A feeling.
Throwing on a shirt, he padded down the hallway. The house felt colder than usual, the air thick with something he couldn’t name. He passed by Marco’s room and hesitated. The door was slightly ajar.
Diego frowned. “Marco?”
No response. He pushed the door open, his pulse spiking when he saw the empty chair, the book lying abandoned on the floor.
A knot of dread coiled in his stomach. “Marco!”
His voice echoed down the hall. The urgency in it pulled others from their sleep. Footsteps pounded as the house came to life — guards, staff, family. The search began, panic thickening with every passing second.
Diego’s breathing was ragged as he stormed down the stairs. “Find him! Check the grounds, every room!”
But as the house swarmed with frantic energy, another voice cut through the chaos — calm, dismissive.
“Relax,” Leo Rossi drawled from the doorway, leaning lazily against the wall. “He’s probably just... doing his thing. You know how he is.”
Diego spun on him, fury sparking in his eyes. “He’s not doing his thing at two in the morning, Leo! He’s gone. I can feel it.”
Leo sighed, but before he could respond, a guard burst through the front doors. He was soaked from the rain, breathless as he held something out with shaking hands.
A letter.
The envelope was smeared with blood.
Diego’s heart plummeted. He snatched it from the guard, ripping it open. His eyes scanned the words, each one landing like a punch to the chest.
"You want to take what's ours. Now we take what’s yours.
- Alexandro De Luca"
The paper trembled in Diego’s hands. The room around him fell to a suffocating silence.
Marco was gone.
And the war had just begun.
- Writer
