Kidnapped.

Stepping out of the club, I gave the two bouncers a small, polite smile.

They didn’t respond—not even a nod. Well, I didn’t expect much.

The night air was sharp against my skin, laced with something I couldn’t quite name. Not just cold—unsettling. Like the wind knew something I didn’t.

I glanced back at them, uneasy. Their heads were high, bodies rigid. Only their eyes were visible through the black balaclava masks. No warmth, no reassurance. Just silence.

I lingered, hoping one of them might say something—anything. Maybe a warning, maybe advice. But clearly, that wasn’t their job, I wasn’t their concern.

I shut my eyes and took in a shaky breath.

It was official: I was going to walk alone through an unfamiliar city. At night.

Maybe I should go back and ask Alice if I could crash in one of the rooms?

No. One night here might cost me everything I haven’t even earned yet.

I sighed and started walking.

Each step echoed louder than the last, the streets stretching longer than they should.

Shadows spilled from alleyways like they were waiting for something. Or someone.

I kept looking over my shoulder. Left. Right. Nothing. But I still felt watched.

A bitter curse burned the back of my throat—Rick. Yvonne.

If it weren’t for them, I’d still be surrounded by protection. By loyalty. Armed men, black cars, bodyguards that shielded me like royalty.

Now I had no one. No family. No friends.

The only person I had left was locked behind prison walls—Claire.

Thinking of her made something twist in my chest. She didn’t deserve that cage. She saved me more times than I could count. From the prison bullies.

Now it was my turn. I had to get my life together—not just for me, but for her too.

I owed her that much.

As if fate wanted to remind me how cruel it could be, the sky darkened in an instant. Thunder cracked above me, and the clouds collapsed, bleeding rain in heavy sheets.

I broke into a run, hoping, idiotically, that I’d magically reach the motel faster.

But the clouds didn’t care. They soaked me through, skin to soul.

I found shelter in a narrow alley with flickering streetlights that buzzed like dying wasps.

The buildings loomed on both sides, their windows dark. Every house was asleep—or pretending to be.

No footsteps. No voices. No light. It felt like the entire city had vanished.

Were there wolves here? Zombies?

Why the hell was the entire city shut down before 8?

I leaned against the cold wall and exhaled slowly. Rainwater slid down my face—until I realized it wasn’t all rain.

Tears. I was crying.

I slid down the wall, hugging my knees.

This new life was alien. Back when I was poor, at least I had my grandmother. Now I had nothing. No one.

I don’t know how long I cried. Minutes? Hours? The rain didn’t stop.

Then I heard a sound—an engine. A low, growling purr in the distance. It sounded like hope.

I shot up and ran toward the main road, scanning, but nothing. I was met with an empty street.

I turned back into the alley and sighed again.

My eyes were drooping. I hated it, but the idea of sleeping on the filthy ground was starting to feel…acceptable. What else was there?

BANG!

A gunshot tore through the air. I snapped upright, heart pounding, searching.

For a second, I couldn’t move—just stood there, scanning the empty street, ears ringing.

Where did it come from?

Panic took the wheel before logic could catch up. I turned and ran—blindly, stupidly—feet splashing through puddles as thunder cracked above.

But I ran the wrong way.

Because the moment I rounded the corner, I met the scene.

There were three of them.

One still had the gun raised, smoke curling from the barrel.

The body of a man lay at his feet, blood mixing with the rain, creating a thin red river that snaked toward the gutter.

The man holding the gun was massive. His body was a roadmap of violence—tattoos inked across his arms, neck, even his face.

Scars marred his skin, the kind you don’t walk away from unless you’re built like a monster.

His eyes locked on mine—and the barrel followed.

I froze.

“Cosa stai facendo Gerald? Il Don ci ha chiesto di non uccidere nessuna persona innocente.”

(What are you doing Gerald? The Don asked us not kill any innocent person.)

The one beside him shoved the gun aside.

Gerald snarled, his eyes still fixed on me.

“Non essere sciocco, Fred. Ha visto i nostri volti e tutti a Milano sanno di non essere in strada per le 7. Essere nuova non la esenta. Lei deve fare domande.”

(Don’t be a fool Fred. She has seen our faces and everyone in Milan knows not to be on the street by 7. Being new doesn’t exempt her. She was to ask questions.)

I didn’t understand much, but I understood enough. They were arguing about me—about whether to kill me.

My mouth was dry, and my legs shook.

“P-please… don’t shoot. I… I…” The words barely came out.

Fear had wrapped itself around my throat like a noose. Even my brain felt paralyzed, thoughts scrambling in every direction but the right one.

The man with the gun didn’t blink.

“We should take her to Don Tiberio,” one of the others muttered, stepping slightly between us.

Don Tiberio?

The name hit me like a slap. I didn’t have time to process it—what it meant, who he was, or why they thought I should be anywhere near him.

Because before I could speak, before I could even breathe right….

I was grabbed from behind.

A hand clamped over my mouth.

The sharp, stinging scent of chemicals filled my nose as fabric pressed hard against my face.

I kicked, flailed, scratched……But my limbs felt heavy, weakening by the second.

“She’s a fierce one,” someone said with a low, amused grunt.

“Don Tiberio will enjoy breaking her.”

That was the last thing I heard.

The world blurred, then darkened, then it vanished completely. And somewhere in the fog of fading consciousness, one truth settled in:

When I wake up, that’s if I wake up—I’ll either be dead… or trapped in a place worse than death. A place I was never meant to survive.