Page 1 of And Back

CHAPTER ONE

ZOE

Isit on the cold, damp floor, my wrists raw from the rough rope binding them behind my back. The flickering bulb overhead casts eerie shadows that dance across the grimy walls, making the pipes look like twisted metal snakes. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat seems to echo in the hollow silence of the warehouse. The air is thick with dust and the faint stench of mold, making it hard to breathe. I try to focus on my surroundings, to search for anything that could help me escape.

The rusted metal chair in the corner catches my eye. It's bolted to the floor, and there are some restraints dangling ominously from its armrests and legs. I shudder at the thought of being strapped into that thing. I shift slightly, wincing as the coarse rope digs into my already chafed wrists. How did I end up here? My mind races back to the fashion show, to Valerie and Ettore... and then to the masked gunmen.

Being held captive again triggers a flood of traumatic memories from my many years under the Bratva. The cold, the fear, the feeling of being completely powerless—it all comes rushing back. The damp air of the warehouse, the rough ropes biting into my skin, and the eerie flickering light above all merge with the ghosts of my past. Every creak, every distant sound, sends shivers down my spine, dragging me back to those dark days.

I try to push away the rising panic, but it's a losing battle. My heart races uncontrollably, each beat echoing like a drum in the suffocating silence. The walls seem to close in, the shadows twisting into the faces of my old captors. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the memories are relentless.

I see the cold, unfeeling eyes of the men who held me captive in this same way. I hear the harsh, mocking laughter that still haunts my dreams.

I can almost feel the bruises on my skin from strangers paying my owners to do what they wanted with my body and soul, the pangs of hunger from the lack of food used to punish even the smallest defiance on my part.

My breath comes in short, ragged gasps as I struggle to keep myself grounded in the present. But the past grips me tightly, refusing to let go. The familiar terror of being utterly helpless washes over me, threatening to drown me.

I close my eyes, trying to push away the rising panic. Ettore will come for me. He has to. But as minutes stretch into what feels like hours, doubt creeps in. What if he doesn't know where I am? What if he can't find me?

I strain my ears, desperate to catch any sound beyond the oppressive silence of this dank room. The only thing I can hear is the distant drip of water from the concrete walls, and each drop marks the time with cruel precision. Every so often, the soft scurrying of rats sends shivers down my spine, but I force myself to remain still. Panicking won't help me now.

The cold sweat trickling down my brow makes my skin prickle with unease. I can't let fear take over. I can't let it paralyze me. I need to stay alert, to find any possible way out of here.

I need to think clearly. Ettore... He must know I'm missing by now. The memory of his touch, his voice, gives me a sliver of hope to hold onto. But as much as I want to rely on him, anger flares up inside me.

Why do I always have to depend on someone else? Why can't I find a way out on my own? I can't just sit here waiting for rescue; I need to take action.

I scan the room again, looking for anything that could help me. The rusted chair in the corner, those metal restraints... maybe if I can get to them, use them somehow... I run through all the possibilities as I tug at the ropes binding my wrists. They feel tight and unyielding, but maybe—just maybe—I can loosen them enough to slip free.

The bulb on the ceiling flickers again, and it casts fleeting shadows that make the room feel even more suffocating. My breathing quickens as I twist and pull at the ropes, trying not to make too much noise. If anyone hears me... No, I can't think about that now.

Ettore's face flashes into my mind—his intense eyes, the way his jaw clenches when he's determined or angry. The memory gives me strength. He'll come for me; I know. But until then, it's up to me.

With renewed focus, I work on the ropes again, ignoring the pain and fear gnawing at the edges of my resolve. My wrists are raw and bleeding now, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is getting out of here.

The distant drip continues its relentless beat as if it's mocking my efforts. But I'm not giving up. Not yet.

I glance around once more, assessing every inch of this prison for anything useful—a nail sticking out of the wall, a loose brick, anything that could aid my escape. The shadows play tricks on my eyes, but I force myself to stay focused.

I hear muffled voices coming from outside the room. I press my ear to the door, straining to catch every word. Maybe I can get a clue on how to get out of here. The voices are arguing, their tones heated and urgent. One voice stands out, it's harsh and commanding. I recognize it instantly—Benedetto. My captor.

The other voice is unfamiliar, but it’s clear they’re trying to negotiate with Benedetto. The words are indistinct, muffled by the thick door and walls, but I catch snippets of their conversation.

“...Ettore...”

My breath catches. Ettore? Are they talking about him?

“...Cesare...”

I lean in closer, trying to make sense of the words.

“... You will fucking call my sons by their names, Dante and Virgilio...”

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. Ettore and Cesare are Benedetto’s sons. My captor’s sons. And one of them is Virgilio!

I pull back from the door, my mind reeling. Ettore, the man who has been both my captor and protector, is the son of that monster? And either he or Cesare is Virgilio…? The truth crashes over me in waves of disbelief and anger.

Why didn’t they tell me? How could they keep this from me?

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