Until You Burn

Chapter 1: The Abduction

I didn’t notice the black SUV until it was too late.

It had been a long-ass day—my final art shift at Eastside Gallery, my hands still stained with ink and dust. The sky was already bleeding into midnight, and the flickering streetlights buzzed like dying flies. I turned into the alley that cut behind the bakery and led to my apartment. I took it every night. It was faster, and fear had never really been something I entertained.

But tonight?

Tonight, I should’ve been scared.

I heard the tires before I saw them. A screech.

Then—impact.

A body slammed into mine, pinning me against the cold wall. Something sharp jabbed into my neck. My scream barely escaped my throat before the burning spread through my veins. It was like ice—fast, violent. My vision tilted.

And everything went black.

---

When I came to, I felt a softness all around me. Velvet. Like I was a guest and not a hostage. The room was decorated like some antique collector’s fantasy—gold wallpaper, heavy curtains, not a speck of warmth anywhere.

My skull throbbed. My mouth was dry. “What the hell…”

The door clicked.

I sat up immediately, every muscle ready to spring. The man who entered was taller than he had any right to be. Black suit, broad shoulders, face carved from cruelty. Not handsome—too harsh for that. But magnetic in the way a thunderstorm is.

And I knew that face. I’d seen it on late-night news exposés, whispered about on corners, printed in red-inked warnings in places polite society didn’t admit existed.

Killian Moretti.

The heir to the Moretti mafia family.

Just my f*****g luck.

“You’re awake,” he said, like we were acquaintances, not captor and prisoner.

“No s**t,” I snapped.

He walked in, all calm and calculated, like this wasn’t the beginning of something monstrous. He stopped at the foot of the bed and stared at me like I was a challenge.

I yanked against the cuffs. “Where am I?”

“In my estate.”

“I didn’t ask who owns it. I asked where.”

He tilted his head. “You don’t get to ask questions here, Zariah.”

The way he said my name—like he’d practiced it, like he was already laying claim—made my skin crawl.

I let out a bitter laugh. “You really think you can just kidnap someone and expect them to go along with it? What, am I supposed to kneel and thank you?”

His jaw barely twitched. “No. I expect obedience.”

“Oh, then you’re about to be deeply disappointed.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t even raise his voice. “Your father owed us. The debt is long overdue. This is how it's paid.”

My stomach turned cold. “My father’s been dead for three years.”

“Debts don’t die,” he replied. “People do.”

I rose to my feet, fists clenched. “So you decided to take his daughter? That’s your idea of justice?”

He stepped closer. My body screamed to move, to flinch, but I stood still. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

“I don’t believe in justice,” he said. “I believe in balance. And you, Zariah, are the price.”

---

I didn’t scream. I didn’t beg. I stared him dead in the eyes and said, “You picked the wrong girl.”

He studied me, his eyes unreadable. “You think you’re different from the others?”

“I know I am. I don’t break. And I definitely don’t belong to anyone.”

A twitch. Barely there. Maybe amusement. Maybe annoyance. I couldn’t tell. His control was surgical. But there was something under it, something rough and unfinished.

“You’ll learn,” he said eventually.

I spat at his feet.

That was the first time I saw a crack. It wasn’t anger—it was calculation. Cold. Dangerous.

“You’ll regret that.”

“I already regret breathing the same air as you.”

We stared at each other for a second too long. The tension between us was a knife, suspended in midair. I wanted to throw it. He looked like he wanted to catch it and shove it deeper.

Then he turned his back to me.

“You’ll be moved to your permanent quarters in the morning,” he said. “Enjoy the night.”

“You think I’m just going to stay here?!” I shouted. “You think I’ll marry you?!”

He looked over his shoulder. “You don’t have a choice.”

And then he was gone.

---

I paced that damn room for hours. I found a fireplace poker, shoved it behind the dresser. Took note of the locks. Memorized the sound of footsteps in the hall. My wrists were raw, but I didn’t care. Every move he made, every word he said—I burned it into my brain.

I wasn’t here to submit. I wasn’t here to survive.

I was here to make him wish he’d never laid eyes on me.

Because if Killian Moretti wanted a war,

He just made the worst enemy of his life.