Page 89 of Lord of the Dark

My knees trembled, but I didn’t obey immediately. I couldn’t. Every instinct in me resisted surrendering to this man. My breath came in ragged gasps as I stared at him, his cold,impassive face, as he placed the small bag of white powder on the table like evidence. My thoughts raced.

"Someone planted this on me!" I finally cried, my voice louder than I intended. "I was bumped into outside the club. Someone must have slipped it into my pocket!"

The security man lifted his head, stepped closer, and studied me with a calculating look. "Interesting story," he said dryly, his voice laced with disbelief and mockery. "But this isn’t a courtroom, Signorina."

I felt my stomach twist, but I clenched my jaw. "I didn’t do anything! I’m not a drug dealer! I have rights, and I demand you listen to me!"

He laughed—a cold, harsh sound that cut through my nerves like a knife. "Rights?" he asked sarcastically, shaking his head. "If you keep screaming, things will only get worse for you."

As he reached for me, his hand outstretched to grab me, I felt panic explode inside me. I jerked up from my spot, twisted to the side, and aimed a sharp low kick at his knee—as best I could in pumps.

A deep curse escaped him as he staggered back, and I seized the chance to bolt for the door.

But I didn’t get far. His hand clamped around my arm with merciless force, yanking me backward. I screamed, kicked wildly, but he was too strong. With a brutal jerk, he forced me back into the chair.

The security man paused as I stopped struggling and pulled black zip ties from his jacket pocket. The seconds stretched endlessly as I stared at them—those sharp, gleaming strips of plastic. They were disturbingly familiar. My heart skipped before pounding in frantic terror.

It was like the ground had vanished beneath me. The memory of Russo, of our meeting in the car, flooded back—the moment he had used these same ties to mark me in an instant of hispower. A dark shiver ran down my spine, my body freezing. But this was different. This wasn’t passion, wasn’t a game. This was cold. Dangerous.

"No!" I screamed, thrashing and twisting, but the man seized my wrists with brutal strength and wrenched them behind the chair’s back.

"Stop fighting, Signorina," he growled as the first zip tie tightened with a click. The plastic bit into my skin, painful and unrelenting.

"I didn’t do anything!" I cried, my voice breaking as I desperately tried to wrench free. "I’m not a drug dealer!"

His voice was ice, his hands merciless. "You’ve got nerve, I’ll give you that."

The zip ties cinched tighter around my wrists, and I felt tears welling—not just from pain, but from the suffocating helplessness threatening to drown me.

"Please," I whispered, my voice hoarse and cracking, "this isn’t me. You don’t understand—"

"No, Signorina," he cut me off, his face so close I could feel his breath. "You don’t understand. Just shut up."

My mind raced, fury and fear warring for dominance inside me. The plastic of the zip ties burned into my skin, my fingers were going numb, but panic kept me screaming.

"I'm innocent! Let me go!" I twisted as much as I could and, in pure desperation, spat at him. The droplet landed on his cheek.

He froze, his hand pausing mid-motion. Then he slowly shook his head, anger and disgust twisting his features. He wiped the spit from his face, his expression darkening as he took a deep breath. Then he growled low and sharp: "Che cazzo fai, stronza?" He reached for a cloth, unhurried.

"No! Don't touch me!" I shrieked as he stepped closer. I thrashed, kicked, but the chair only wobbled beneath me, barely inconveniencing him.

"Forse questo ti farà stare zitta," he muttered, shoving the cloth between my teeth. It was rough, scraping unpleasantly against my mouth. My eyes widened, but he remained unfazed. His movements were coordinated, professional, as he pulled the fabric taut and knotted it roughly at the back of my head. The pressure was uncomfortable.

My protest died into a muffled, choked sound, and I could do nothing but stare at him with wide eyes as he assessed me with cold detachment. The taste of the fabric was vile, but it was the humiliation that enraged me. His gaze lingered on my face for a moment before he shook his head and walked to the door. "Idiota," he hissed under his breath before the door slammed shut with a heavy click.

I snorted through my nose. The silence that surrounded me now was even more unsettling. The room seemed to close in around me, the dark walls pressing closer, the cold steel of the chair digging uncomfortably into my back.

I tried to regain control, but my body wouldn't stop trembling. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, and the memory of Russo and his zip ties was so overwhelming I felt like I might pass out. I was trapped. Alone. Powerless. And the knowledge that no one knew where I was made the panic inside me rage like a storm.

Twentyfour

Alessandro Russo

The room was dark, save for the bluish glow of the monitor before me, displaying the scene. Fiona. Her delicate figure sat on the chair, the black dress clinging to her curves, yet her posture was rigid, tense. Her eyes, wide with panic and fury, desperately searched for an escape as she found herself alone in the room.

I leaned back, my gaze never leaving her, never leaving the woman who had been driving me mad for weeks. And now, seeing her before me again, the pull was overwhelming, almost unbearable. I hadn’t seen her in so long, had relived every moment with her over and over. But now she was here—and the sheer force of what I felt for her still caught me off guard. I wanted to hold her, to soothe her, to take away every ounce of pain I had caused her. But just as fiercely, I wanted to possess her, to tear down every wall of strength she had built between us. It was the need to experience her in her entirety—raw, unprotected, mine alone. This contradictory hunger was my greatest weakness. She was the only one who could reduce me to this state of total loss of control, and I hated and loved her equally for it. She had become a part of me I never asked for, yet could no longer let go of.

Giovanni opened the door behind me, his heavy footsteps echoing through the room. He snorted, sounding slightly winded, and I had to suppress a smirk.

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