The mafia’s captive

ELYSIA “Please… I didn’t! I would never! Pl—please—” Bang! A gunshot ripped through the air. The man on the ground twitched, spasming as blood seeped into the cracks of the concrete. His mouth opened in a silent scream, but no sound came. Just a gurgle. A slow, final exhale. His body stilled. The warehouse fell deathly silent. I clamped a hand over my mouth. My lungs squeezed, suffocating on the terror clawing up my throat. The metallic scent of blood thickened the air, coated my tongue, burned my nose. My stomach twisted so violently I thought I’d throw up. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t make a sound. Then it happened— A sharp, broken gasp slipped out. Too late. My insides tilted in fear, there’s no way that sound would go unnoticed, I should have stayed home. The air shifted. Thickened. Grew heavier. I felt it before I saw it. His gaze. A predator’s attention. Cold. Merciless. Absolute. Panic surged through my veins. I pressed myself deeper into the shadows, my back scraping against the rough crates, splinters biting into my skin. Maybe he didn’t hear me. Maybe if I just— A shadow moved. Slow. Deliberate. A figure emerged from the darkness, sleek and lethal, like a panther prowling toward its cornered prey. My breath hitched. My throat locked tight. He moved with the patience of a lion who knew his prey had nowhere to run. Then came his voice. “Come out.” The words slithered through the air like a blade against silk. Smooth. Cold. Devoid of emotion. Laced with something else. Excitement. No. Anticipation. A sickening kind of pleasure at the hunt. I squeezed my eyes shut, pulse hammering in my ears. If I stay still… if I just don’t breathe… maybe— A hand grabbed me. Rough. Unforgiving. Foolish hope! A strangled cry tore from my throat as I was yanked from the shadows, dragged into the open. My cover was gone. I had nothing. No escape. No one to save me. The concrete bit into my knees as I hit the ground, the impact rattling up my spine. My head hung low, breath coming in uneven gasps. But I felt them. The room was filled with them. Men in suits. Silent. Watchful. None of them mattered. They couldn’t save me from him. No one could. “Eyes on me.” The command cracked through the air like a whip. I flinched. My head snapped up before I could think. Dark eyes. Cold. Hollow. I sucked in a sharp breath. His unreadable expression made it worse. He was studying me. Assessing. Deciding. Hunter. Prey. The dim warehouse light barely reached him. It didn’t need to. Power clung to him. Heavy. Suffocating. His suit fit like a second skin, framing broad shoulders, exuding strength, control—death. I knew exactly who he was. The King. The most feared mafia boss in the city. I had prayed never to cross paths with him. And yet, here I was. Rumors whispered of his ruthlessness. That no one who witnessed his work ever lived to tell the tale. And that’s what I was now. A witness. His gaze remained locked on me. Unmoving. Calculating. My heart slammed against my ribs, the walls of the warehouse closing in. His lips parted. Is he going to ask them to shoot me ljke they had shot that man? “You just made the worst mistake of your life.” I definitely didn’t need a soothsayer to tell me that, I’m going to die! Dread swallowed me whole. My vision blurred. The room tilted. Then— Darkness.