At last, my vision cleared, revealing the vast room I’d been brought into. White marble gleamed beneath my feet, spotless and cold. It was a ballroom—grand, elegant—much like the one in my own mansion. Ahead, glass doors opened onto a patio overlooking manicured gardens. Beyond them, the lawn stretched wide, hedges and trees etched faintly against the dim light. The night sky and a lone security lamp cast just enough glow to reveal the outlines. Shrubbery masked the compound walls—perfect cover for my men waiting outside.
My attention returns to the interior as my gaze sweeps the room. To the right, a small raised platform stood hidden behind red curtains. Along the left wall, chairs sat neatly in a row. Above, a grand chandelier hung from the domed ceiling, its light glinting off gold leaf moldings that traced the edges of the room, meeting at each corner with ornate precision.
They shoved me into the center of the room, the three men flanking me like vultures. I took grim satisfaction in the fact that my foot had already connected with one of their faces. He glared back, rage simmering just beneath the surface. My body ached, but I bared my teeth in a menacing smile, daring him to lose control.
“You wouldn’t be smiling for much longer Vitelli!” This triggers a laugh from me. My laughter echoes off the walls. He becomes angrier, practically grinding his teeth, when he realizes that his threats are only causing me amusement. As I'm currently trussed up like a pig, they clearly believe that they've won.
He tries to lunge towards me but is held back by his buddies. I find this hilarious. If they think that I'm going to cower they are sorely mistaken. I know that Elle is being heldsomewhere in this building. Dario and Dante should be able to track her exact position.
Their first priority is to get her to safety. We all Salvatore may have brought me here to die, convinced he’s outsmarted me. But tonight, he'll learn why I’m don—and why he’ll never be. Before I rid myself of them all, I must ensure my wife is safe.
“What the hell is going on here?” A heavily accented Albanian voice cuts through the room, sharp and commanding. My laughter dies instantly. The men who were restraining let him go at once. They exchange uneasy glances before turning to the two figures who entered. “Nothing Sir,” the leader stammers, his voice tight, betraying the nerves he cannot hide.
The two men stride further into the room, immaculately dressed in tailored Tom Ford suits. Alban Berisha’s black hair is slicked back into a tight ponytail, his angular jaw lending him a cruel, classical kind of beauty. Behind that polished exterior lurks something darker—corruption and depravity etched into every line of his face.
“Ah, Don Dominic Vitelli,” he says smoothly, a smile curling his lips. “I’m delighted you could join us.” Rage surges through me; I want nothing more than to wipe that smug grin away. “Fuck off,” I snarl. His smile falters, amusement draining from his eyes. “Now, now—that’s no way to speak to your host. You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble, Vitelli.”
“Oh? And what sort of trouble is that?” I press, deliberately stoking his anger. “You bastard—my business has been ruined because of you!” he snaps. “No,” I growl back. “It’s your fault. I told you years ago I wanted no part of your operations in my territory. I don’t deal in trafficking.” His face hardens, but before he can respond, another voice cuts in. “You shattered a long-standing alliance between the Cosa Nostra and the Albanians…an alliance that profited both sidesfor years.” My uncle—the treacherous, double-crossing snake—finally speaks, his words dripping with betrayal.
If looks could kill, Salvatore Vitelli would already be dead. He stumbles back under the weight of my glare—so much for his bravado. “I will not stand by and profit from the suffering of women and children,” I say, my voice dropping into a dangerous growl, a warning of the anger simmering beneath the surface.
“You’ve confiscated my shipments, Vitelli. You owe me for the business you’ve cost me. I have a client waiting for his merchandise.” Both men exchange a look, amusement flickering in their eyes. Then Berisha leans forward, his smile cutting like a blade. “I’ve met your beautiful wife, Dominic. Alban I think she’d make the perfect replacement.”
“Oh? I’m looking forward to becoming acquainted.” They both laughed. “In fact, I planned on sampling the goods for myself. We must ensure that we have a suitable replacement. I'll enjoy taking what’s near and dear to you Vitelli like you've taken from me. Starting with your precious wife.”
Fucking hell! No way I’ll ever let that bastard lay a hand on my woman. They can’t know how much she means to me. I need to stall them, keep their attention fixed here until Dante and Dario get her out. My fingers drift toward the waistband of my pants, the movement disguised as nothing more than a shift of stance.
“You overestimate her worth,” I sneer. “Elle isn’t the prize you think she is. My wife is docile, hardly a replacement. Truth is, I only married her because she once saved my life. Nothing more.”
“You expect us to believe that,” Salvatore snares. “We’ve been told that you’ve been making goo-goo eyes at each other for months.” Their laughter erupted sharp and cruel, echoing through the room like a pack of hyenas circling their prey.
“As Don of New York’s Cosa Nostra, I can’t afford anyone questioning my choices. I married her to settle a debt—nothing more. In our world, debts are sacred. She was in danger because of me, not because I cared for her. She’s an orphan, not even a mafia princess. I never intended to take a wife, so why not choose one who’s low maintenance, an orphan—grateful for scraps of attention? Our nights together mean nothing.” The words burned as they left my mouth. My stomach twisted, bile rising. Thank God she wasn’t here to hear the cruelty I’d just unleashed.
“Elle is the perfect wife—she keeps out of my business.” Their eyes gleamed with amusement, suspicion simmering beneath the surface. Alban Berisha leaned forward, his smile thin. “Well then, let’s put that to the test.” He flicked his hand, and one of the guards peeled away, footsteps echoing as he moved toward the raised platform.
When the red curtains slid aside, I nearly gasped. My eyes locked with Elle’s beloved grey ones—haunted, glassy, brimming with betrayal. The sight pierced straight through me.
Pale, trembling, her long black hair fell in waves across her shoulders. They had dressed her in a red corset, sheer stockings, and garters, her lips painted blood-red, her eyes shadowed dark. My angel looked broken and every tear cut me deeper.
She has to know I lied to protect her. When this is over, I’ll explain, I’ll make it right. She’ll forgive me. Rage burned in my chest—I wanted to rip apart every man in this room who dared to look at her.
She sat bound in a chair, hands tied before her. Catalina—the traitor—stood smugly at her side, an Albanian soldier lurking close by. Her satisfaction was written across her face, and never in my life had I wanted to hurt a woman more. Her reckoning would come.
“Salvatore, you were right. It would be a pleasure to break this one.” The bastard’s voice dripped with hunger as his eyes devoured my wife. “A shame I can’t keep her as my pet. Too bad she now belongs to Pacheco.”
Wait…what…Pacheco?Pacheco is an even bigger monster than these two. His depravity has no end. And that’s saying something. There are rumors that this man has ties to the Mexican cartel. He’s notorious for his abuse of women. When he’s finally finished with them, they’re a shell of their former selves. Many of them choose to end it all even after they’re rescued.
Dread clawed at me as I sawed at the ropes, my hands jerking, skin tearing. I hissed at the pain but pressed on—Elle had to be freed. My movements quickened; any moment now, I’d have to act. Alban Berisha stepped onto the platform, his voice dripping with malice. “Well, pet, let’s see if your husband speaks the truth.” His filthy hand traced her face, jaw, and neck as she twisted away. Rage surged—I would slice off that hand for daring to touch her.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” Elle spat in his face, her tigress spirit blazing. My muscles tensed, and I hacked at the bonds with renewed fury.
The silence pressed down, heavy and suffocating. Alban dabbed at his face with a handkerchief, eyes gleaming. “Your husband was wrong—you’re no docile dove. Breaking you will be fun.” His voice was calm, deceptively so. He leaned closer, lips curling. “Shall we let your husband watch, hmm?”
Everyone waits for the eventual storm to erupt. And then it did. A slap cracked across Elle’s face, her head snapping to the side with a gasp—just as the glass doors shattered in an explosion. One of the guards beside me dropped instantly, a bullet tearing through his skull.
Gunfire roared outside, echoing through the ballroom. Men in tactical gear surged in, cutting down our captors one by one. More poured through the breach, replacing the fallen. Bullets whizzed past my ear, the air thick with smoke and chaos.
My hands finally free, I tore at the bonds around my legs. Dante crouched beside me, urgency in his eyes. “Dom, are you okay?” “Forget me—get Elle.” He hesitated. “Now!” I barked. He pressed a gun into my hand, nodded, and sprinted toward her.
