Page 36 of Marcello DeLuca

“No!” I scream, dropping to my knees beside him. I press my hands to his wound, trying to staunch the bleeding, but it’s like trying to hold back a flood with my bare hands. “I’m not leaving you!”

His grip on my arm tightens, his eyes pleading with me to go. But I can’t move. I can’t leave him like this. He would never leave me like this.

A shadow falls over us, and I look up to see men—faceless figures dressed in black, their eyes hidden behind sunglasses, their guns equipped with silencers. The realization crashes over me like a tidal wave. We’re under attack. They’re here for us.

“Get her,” one of the men barks, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.

I don’t have time to react before I’m yanked to my feet, strong hands gripping my arms. I struggle, kicking and twisting, but it’s no use. They’re too strong, too prepared.

“Let me go!” I scream, my voice echoing through the cavernous showroom. But no one is left to hear me. The store is a slaughterhouse, the elegant furniture now a backdrop to a scene of utter horror.

It takes more than one of them to do it, but they drag me towards the exit, my feet barely touching the ground. I catch a glimpse of Uncle James, his face twisted in pain, before he disappears from view. My driver is also lying against the steering wheel lifeless. I bite back a sob, the taste of fear and helplessness bitter on my tongue.

The black SUV with midnight dark tinted windows looms ahead, its dark windows like the eyes of a predator waiting to swallow me whole. They shove me inside and slam the door shut with a final, ominous thud.

I’m plunged into darkness, the silence suffocating. The engine roars to life, and the vehicle lurches forward, carrying me away from the carnage and into an uncertain, terrifying future.

We ride until the SUV bumps and jolts over rough terrain. The black windows around me seal off any view of the outside world. I have been bound by my wrists, the rope cutting into my skin with each jolt of the vehicle. My heart pounds a frantic rhythm in my chest as the reality of my situation sinks in. I’ve been kidnapped by monsters, and I have no idea where they’re taking me.

The driver’s voice is a murmur, indistinct through the thick partition separating us. I strain to hear, catching only snippets—names, plans, my future laid out like a chessboard. My future. They think they own it, own me. My stomach churns with a mixture of fear and rage.

Finally, the SUV grinds to a halt. The door swings open, and I’m yanked out into the blinding light. Blinking against the harsh sun, I’m shoved forward, my feet stumbling over the gravel beneath me. The hands on my arms are firm, unyielding, and I’m dragged towards a large, warehouse. It looms ahead like a fortified beast.

Inside, the air is thick with the smell of oil and dust. The light filters in through windows high above, casting long shadows that stretch and twist across the floor. I’m shoved into a chair, my bonds cut just long enough for them to tie me to the chair instead. The ropes bite into my skin, but I barely feel it. My mind is racing. I search for a way out or a weakness to exploit.

Then, a tall, imposing, man appears. His sharp suit a stark contrast to the gloomy surroundings. His cold eyes lock onto mine, and a slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. My blood runs cold as he steps closer.

“Safia,” he says, his voice smooth and oily, like poison honey. “After all these years, my dear, you’re finally mine.”

I glare at him, refusing to show the fear that churns inside me. “I am not yours! What do you want?” I spit out, my voice trembling.

He chuckles, a low, mocking sound. “Straight to the point. I like that. It’s simple, really. I want you.”

“You’re insane,” I snap, struggling against the ropes. “I have no idea who you are, or why you brought me here.”

He shakes his head, stepping even closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “I don’t intend to hurt you, Safia. In fact, I’ve been waiting fourteen years for this moment. For us to be together as one.”

My skin crawls as understanding dawns on me. My parents died fourteen years ago.

The man moves so close to me that I can smell the faint scent of his cologne, feel the heat of his breath. “You’re delusional,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ll never be with you.”

“Oh, but you will,” he murmurs, reaching out to stroke my cheek. I flinch away, but he grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You are to be my wife. My soulmate. Because, you see, my heart beats for money. And you, my dear, are worth billions.”

I freeze. “What are you talking about?” I ask, feigning ignorance to the fortune my father supposedly left. The fortune that I dare not touch because it was the reason my family was no longer here. I found out as much when Marcello discovered the Grecozi crime family was after me last Christmas.

His smile widens, a snake’s grin. “You see, my dear. Your father was a very smart man. Made some very shrewd investments. And since he wouldn’t sign them over to me while he was alive, I’ll take them from you, his heir.”

“Investments?” I manage to ask, my voice barely a whisper.

“Yes,” he says, releasing my chin and pacing around me. “A million dollars into a crypto stock when it was worth only a penny a share. Now, it’s worth forty dollars a share. Do the math, Safia.”

My mind stumbles over the numbers. I had heard stories about the amount of money people speculated my father had in investments. But four billion dollars? I’m set to inherit four billion dollars? The shock hits me like a physical blow, knocking the breath from my lungs.

“And I could kill you the same way I took out your family,” the man continues, his voice casual, as if discussing the weather. “But then I’d never get my hands on that money.”

I stare at him, my heart hammering in my chest. This is why he killed my family? For my father’s investment? Anger surges through me, hot and fierce. He steps closer, and I do the only thing I can think of. I spit in his face.

His eyes darken with rage, but he wipes the spit away with his finger. He then brings that finger to his lips to taste my spit. “Tasty. You have spirit,” he says, almost admiringly. “But it won’t save you.”

---