CHAPTER 8-WELCOME TO HELL

                   The following days were spent attending interviews and making appearances at public events, arm in arm with Amira’s darling boyfriend or at least that was what they made the world see. The press ate it up.

                All of it was certainly one fast rollercoaster ride for her. It had only been five days, yet she already felt exhausted. Would she even be able to make it to four months?

               Whenever Montez had no use for her, she was expected to stay back in the mansion like a housewife while he was off in the office.

              He didn’t return until evening, and most times she had already gone to bed. They lived like two strangers totally out of each other’s space, as it should be. In the morning before she woke up, he was gone, and by night when he returned, she was already asleep.

               It wasn’t until they needed to make an appearance together in public that he had a servant deliver the message to her bedroom, along with a luxury dress and a pair of heels.

              That morning, when she got out of bed, Amira noticed an odd chill in the air. The De Vitalio mansion had been quiet all day. Too quiet.

              When she came down for breakfast, she realized Montez had left without touching a thing on his plate.

             “Montez didn’t have anything to eat?” she asked the cook the moment she entered the kitchen.

            “Signore Vitalio was rather too upset this morning, miss,” the brunette woman in her late fifties said to her in a low voice.

              “Do you know why?” Amira’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

               “Not really, to be honest, but he only gets like this when business doesn’t go as planned.”

               “I see. Well, thank you.” She smiled.

               “You’re welcome, miss.”

               When business doesn’t go as planned.

              She clung to that piece of information, reading deeper meanings into it. Throughout the rest of the afternoon, she tried getting into his room, but it so happened that the door needed a password to get in.

              Screw the slimy bastard.

              Other parts of the house, however, weren’t so secure. She searched the storerooms, trying to see what she could find, but there wasn’t anything useful. She gave up for today.

              That evening, Amira realized Montez was taking far longer to return than usual. It wasn’t until 11:45 p.m. that the gates groaned open and a black Mustang pulled in like a phantom god.

              Staring out her window, she saw Montez stepping out, his coat whipped behind him like a king returning from war. But it wasn’t just him.

              Along with his personal assistant, Enzo, two of his bodyguards followed. Her eyes widened when she saw the guards dragging a man between them. The poor man was covered in blood, bound, and his screams were muffled by a cloth shoved deep into his mouth.

              She placed a hand over her mouth in shock. She had been right all along. Montez De Vitalio was into something dangerous and highly illegal. He was a tyrant and a murderer.

             He must have thought she was asleep. Well, jokes on him. This was a huge scoop, and if she could just get them on camera…

              As the men walked inside the building, she could hear their footsteps fading away instead of ascending the stairs. Then it hit her, they were going to the cellar.

               Quickly, she grabbed her phone and crept down the stairs barefoot, careful not to be caught. A cold chill ran down her spine as she followed them toward the cellar.

                Mostly made of wood, it led to a narrow hallway with a door at the end. They were already inside, and she could see faint light coming from the wooden door.

                Inching closer, she pressed her ear against the door, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

                SLAM!

                She flinched at the sound of the victim’s body cruelly hitting the floor.

               CRACK!

              This time it was the sound of fist meeting flesh, over and over again.

             A low voice spoke, calm but cruel.

            “You sold our trade routes to the Russians and really thought we wouldn’t find out about your treachery?”

             That was Enzo. But now she realized he was never truly Montez’s personal assistant. Rather, he was a right-hand man in whatever shadowy business this was.

            “Please—” the man pleaded in a broken voice. “I never did such a—”

              Another punch collided with his jaw. He spat out blood, groaning in agony.

             “Don’t insult my intelligence,” Enzo snapped harshly. “You’re lucky he’s letting me deal with you first.”

              Amira swallowed hard from the other end of the door. Damn it, Enzo had always been such a calm, professional figure. Who knew he could switch to beast mode under different circumstances?

              Then came the voice she could feel in her bones. Montez’s voice. Cold as it was deadly, yet aristocratic.

            “A man who betrays the Dark Syndicate dies in two ways, Guliano. First his body, then his name.”

              D-Dark Syndicate?

             Her breath caught as she clutched her phone, sweat running down her back. This was no company. It was a business shrouded in blood money. This was power that never made headlines because it erased them.

           She took a peek through the keyhole.

            “Please, De Vitalio.” The man burst out crying as he lay sprawled at Montez’s feet, begging for mercy. “I have a family, please.”

            Montez looked down on him like an insect, his brows furrowed in disgust. Then came the unmistakable click of a gun being loaded.

            “So did the three men in power you exposed,” he said coldly.

             He got to his feet and pointed the gun at the man’s head.

             Amira’s knees went weak. She knew she should run and pretend she heard nothing, but she stood frozen, hypnotized and terrified like she had never been in her entire life.

            And then, just as she expected him to pull the trigger, he let out a sigh.

             “Let her in.”

             Her blood turned to ice. Her eyes widened in shock.

            “Signore?” Enzo asked, looking around in confusion.

              “My woman has been eavesdropping for eleven minutes and forty-two seconds now. It’s time she joins us.”

             The door swung open, and two strong arms grabbed her, throwing her inside at his feet.

              “Curiosity looks good on you, love,” he said in a mock tone. “But you know what curiosity does to the cat?”

              Shit, she had been caught.

              Amira glanced up at Montez standing over her, wearing a black shirt, no tie, his sleeves rolled up and blood smeared on his knuckles. With a cruel smirk, he cocked his head to the side as he stared down at her.

            “Welcome to hell, amore mio.”