No Escape From The Don

The Devil's Island

The helicopter’s blades slowed, chopping the night air until silence pressed in. Tessa’s chest rose and fell in shallow, shaky breaths as Damien lifted her down. Her shoes touched the rough concrete, and she froze.

For half a heartbeat, she turned instinctively, ready to call for Mama, for Papa—then the memory slammed into her chest like a fist. The screams. The blood. Their bodies crumpled on the ground. Eyes that would never blink again.

Her throat locked.

The island loomed like a fortress. Black fences crowned with barbed wire stretched into the jungle. Harsh floodlights cast sickly light over rows of women sitting against the walls, their faces hollow, eyes dark. Some clutched children to their chests, their gazes fixed on her with something sharp—envy, bitterness, despair.

The children didn’t move. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t even whisper. They were too quiet for their age, staring like shadows of what children should be.

Armed men stood at every corner, rifles in hand, their expressions blank. No pity. No humanity. Only the cold watchfulness of predators who had seen this all before.

And at the very heart of it all, rising above the squalor, stood a palace. White marble, tall columns, golden balconies catching the light. Beautiful. Terrible. A jewel set in rot.

Tessa’s stomach churned. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. She wanted to scream, but her throat squeezed tight, strangled by the echo of her mother’s last cry.

“Theresa…”

Damien’s deep voice broke through her haze.

She flinched as he crouched beside her, his hand closing around hers, cold and unyielding. His faint smile revealed nothing.

“This is your new home.”

Before she could speak, a sleek black car rolled to a stop. The driver opened the door with a bow, and Damien guided her inside, his hand heavy on her back.

Tessa slid into the leather seat, stiff and trembling. The door slammed shut, trapping her in the dark cage with him.

The car rolled forward, and through the tinted glass, the island unfolded.

Narrow streets lined with crumbling buildings. Women dragging buckets of water, guards shoving them aside. A child stumbled, earning a harsh slap that sent him crashing to the dirt. Another woman sat in the dust, her eyes glazed and empty, her arms locked around her knees.

Tessa pressed her forehead against the window, tears spilling down her lashes. “I want to go home,” she whispered.

The words stung the moment they left her mouth. Home was gone. Burned. Buried with them. She hated herself for saying it, as if the lie could bring her parents back.

Damien’s hand tilted her face toward him. His thumb brushed away a tear as if he were gentle.

“You are home,” he said simply, his voice smooth as steel. “You belong to me now, Theresa.”

Her chest caved in. The only people she had ever belonged to lay cold in the dirt, and this man dared to claim her. A scream clawed its way up her throat, but she bit it back, tasting blood. If she screamed, would he kill her too? Or keep her alive just to suffer?

The palace gates yawned open. The car slipped inside, swallowed whole

---

Inside, the air changed. Perfumed halls stretched endlessly, lined with golden mirrors and crimson carpets. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, casting dazzling light that felt cruel against her grief.

Damien walked with long strides, dragging her by the hand. Her legs shook, stumbling to keep up. Guards bowed their heads as he passed. Servants scattered, their eyes fixed on the floor, afraid to meet his gaze—or hers.

Tessa’s throat burned. She wanted to cry out, to call her parents’ names, but the words shriveled before leaving her lips. Even if she screamed them, no one would ever answer again.

At last, Damien stopped before an ornate door. He pushed it open, revealing a lavish room: silk curtains, a bed large enough to swallow her whole, shelves stacked with toys and dresses.

It looked like something from a princess’s storybook. For a second—just a second—she almost imagined her mother’s laugh, her father’s warm hand guiding her inside.

But the memory twisted, turning bloody, lifeless, wrong.

Damien crouched before her again, brushing her hair from her damp cheeks. His dark eyes locked on hers.

“Do not be afraid,” he said softly, almost kindly. “You are mine now. No one will ever hurt you—except me, if you disobey.”

Her knees buckled. She shook her head, pressing her hands to her ears as if she could shut him out. The only voices she wanted were gone.

Damien’s smile widened, cruel and patient. He stroked her hair as though soothing a child.

“They’re gone, Theresa. Forget them. Forget everything you were. Here, you start anew.”

She collapsed to the floor, her tiny frame trembling. Muffled sobs poured through her hands.

Damien watched her for a long, unreadable moment. Then he rose.

“Rest,” he ordered. “You will need your strength. Tomorrow, I will show you your kingdom.”

The door closed with a heavy click, locking her inside.

---

Tessa curled up on the cold floor, shaking until her tears dried into silence. Outside, the palace still breathed with muffled screams—the crack of a whip, a woman begging before her voice was cut short.

She pressed her hands over her ears, but another sound rose inside her head, drowning out the terror. At first it was faint—soft humming, almost like the wind. Then clearer. Voices.

Her parents’ voices.

She lifted her head, her breath catching. The room around her blurred, the golden walls fading, until she was back in their small living room. A crooked cake sat on the table, candles bent and dripping wax. Mama’s hands clapped out of rhythm, Papa’s deep voice joined in, off-key but loud.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday my baby...."

Tessa’s eyes widened. Her lips parted. “Mama?” she whispered, stumbling forward on her knees. She reached out a trembling hand toward them. For a moment, she swore she felt it—Papa’s calloused palm closing around her fingers, Mama’s kiss brushing her forehead.

The song wrapped around her, warm and alive. She could almost feel Papa’s rough hands on her shoulders, Mama’s kiss brushing her hair. Their faces glowed in the candlelight, smiling, alive—alive—alive.

Tessa’s lips trembled, as tears pooled her eyes. She reached out a shaking hand toward them, desperate to hold on, to keep them there. But as the last note of the song echoed, their faces flickered, twisted, and the palace walls bled back in.

She was alone again.

Her whisper broke the silence, fragile and cracked.

“Mom… Dad… I miss you.”

And clutching that fading memory like a lifeline, she drifted into a restless, broken sleep.

***

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