Page 5 of Stolen By the Devil

In the silence of the ride, all I had left were my thoughts, and they kept spiraling back to my mother. The image of her on her knees, looking broken and desperate, burned into my mind. I had spent so much of my life caring for her, sacrificing everything to keep her afloat despite her addiction. And now, just like that, I was gone, and she was…what? Free? What would she do without me there to take care of her, make sure she was fed and bathed regularly?

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn’t help. Weakness wouldn’t help. I needed to stay calm, alert, and figure out what Drago wanted. He had to want something, or he wouldn’t have taken me and kept me alive.

The car came to a halt. I heard the doors open and close, then the sound of footsteps outside. A door opened, and seconds later rough hands pulled me from the vehicle. My legs were unsteady as they dragged me out, but I forced myself to stand upright, refusing to be carried like a helpless victim.

The air was colder now, the sharp bite of the cold autumn night piercing through the thin fabric of my coat. They led me across a gravel path. I stumbled once, and a hand yankedme back to my feet, offering no words of comfort. Finally, we stopped, and the bag was pulled roughly from my head.

Blinking against the sudden light, I took in my surroundings. We were in front of a large, imposing mansion, its stone façade cold and unwelcoming. The building loomed over us, bathed in the eerie glow of moonlight. It looked like something from a nightmare—grand and terrifying all at once. I shivered, and goosebumps broke out over my flesh.

"Welcome to your new home," one of the men sneered from beside me.

I didn't respond, my throat too tight to form words. The front door opened, and there, standing in the doorway, was Drago Barone, every bit as intimidating as he had been in my apartment, his dark eyes gleaming with something that sent a chill down my spine. He must have driven, or been driven separately to his estate to have arrived first.

"Bring her inside," he commanded the men who held me.

I was pushed forward, my feet dragging over the gravel as I was led into the mansion. The interior was just as grand as the exterior—high ceilings, expensive artwork, and an air of coldness and untouchability that mirrored the man who owned it. I barely had time to take it all in before we reached another door, and I was shoved inside.

The room was dark, save for a single light that illuminated the center. Drago stepped inside after me, his gaze locked on mine. He closed the door behind him with a quiet finality.

My heart raced as the silence stretched between us. I wanted to speak, to demand answers, but the words stuck in my throat. All I could do was stand there, waiting for him to make the first move.

He circled me slowly, like a predator assessing its prey. I could feel his eyes on me, sharp and unyielding.

"You're a curious little thing," he said finally, his voice low and calculated. "Most people would have left someone like your mother to rot in her own filth. But not you."

I swallowed hard, my hands trembling at my sides. "She's my mother," I said softly, finding my voice at last. "I couldn’t just abandon her."

He stopped in front of me, tilting his head slightly. "And what about yourself?" he asked, reaching out and tracing my cheekbone with his fingertip. "You’ve thrown yourself into the fire to save her. Do you think she would do the same for you?"

I didn’t have an answer for that. I wanted to believe that my mother loved me enough to protect me if the roles were reversed, but deep down, I wasn’t sure. The addiction had taken so much from her—her strength, her judgment, and most of all, her ability to think of anyone but herself until it was too late.

Drago must have seen the hesitation in my eyes because his smirk deepened. "You don’t know, do you? You don’t know if she cares enough to save you. Yet here you are, willing to give up everything for her."

"She’s still my mother," I said, my voice shaking. "I couldn’t just leave her."

He leaned in closer, his dark eyes boring into mine. "Compassion is a weakness, Angel," he whispered. "It will be your downfall."

I held his gaze, refusing to back down despite the fear crawling up my spine. "I don’t believe that. Caring isn’t weak. It’s what makes us human."

Drago straightened, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. "Perhaps," he said, his voice softening just a fraction. "But in my world, it’s a liability."

I bristled at his words, but I knew he was right. His world was one of power and cruelty, where love and kindness had no place. But I wasn’t from his world. I wasn’t like him.

“What do you want with me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Drago didn’t answer right away. He turned, walking over to a large leather armchair in the corner of the room. He sat down, crossing one leg over the other as he regarded me with the same cold scrutiny as before.

"You’re going to stay here," he said finally. "You’ll be useful to me in ways your mother never could be."

My blood ran cold at his words. Useful? In what way? I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to silence me.

"Your mother is free of her debt now," he said. "You should be grateful. I’ve given you a way to save her."

"At what cost?" I demanded, my voice trembling with anger.

Drago’s eyes flashed dangerously. "You’ll find out soon enough."

Before I could say anything else, the door opened behind me, and one of his men stepped inside. "Take her to her room," Drago commanded.

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