5. Deadly Ultimatum

Chapter 5: A Deadly Ultimatum 

ETHAN’S POV

I stirred in darkness, my consciousness clawing its way back through a fog of pain. Voices drifted around me, low and urgent, cutting through the haze. “… yes Boss, the coast cleared out fast. Nobody saw us grab him,” a gruff voice said, followed by a grunt of acknowledgment. 

My heart jolted at the words, but doubt gnawed at me. I refused to believe it was him—The Reaper. It couldn’t be. I convinced myself it was someone else, maybe a rival gang, anyone but Lucian Moretti. My wrists ached, bound tight with coarse chains and I felt the cold bite of metal against my back. I was tied to a chair, my ankles secured, my body slumped in an unfamiliar space. The air smelled of damp stone and rust, and I sensed bodies moving nearby, their presence heavy in the room.

A blindfold pressed against my face, the fabric rough, blocking out everything for what felt like hours—two hours, maybe more. I strained to hear more, my pulse racing, my breaths shallow. Fear gripped me, but I clung to denial. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. I fidgeted against the chains, my wrists burning as I twisted, my body trembling with the terror of the unknown.

Footsteps approached, heavy and deliberate, and I froze. Fingers tugged at the blindfold, yanking it free, and light flooded my vision, searching my eyes like a thousand needles. I squinted, the brightness blinding me, and slammed my eyelids shut, my head spinning. I blinked rapidly, forcing my vision to adjust, the room coming into focus—a stark, concrete chamber lit by harsh fluorescent bulbs. 

My gaze darted upward, landing on the man who removed the blindfold. Marco De Luca. Lucian’s right-hand man. His dark hair gleamed under the lights, his dark brown eyes locked on me with a gaze so cold it could freeze blood. My stomach dropped. Marco would kill me. I knew how fiercely he protected Lucian, how he revered him. And I betrayed his boss, and now I sat here, at his mercy, my life hanging by a thread.

I opened my mouth to speak, to beg, but my throat tightened, the words refusing to come. I wouldn’t plead—not yet. Marco’s expression didn’t waver, his face a mask of disdain, his lips pressed into a hard line. He loomed over me, his broad frame casting a shadow, his silence more terrifying than any threat. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding so loud I thought he could hear it.

“Ease off, Marco,” a voice commanded from the doorway, deep  and authoritative, slicing through the tension like a blade. 

I whipped my head toward the sound, my breath catching as I saw him—Lucian Moretti, the Reaper, standing there, his broad shoulders filling the frame. His jet-black hair caught the light, his gray eyes piercing through me with a mix of betrayal and something darker, something I couldn’t name. He wore a tailored black suit, the fabric hugging his muscular frame, exuding the arrogance of a man who owned the world—and everyone in it. 

Marco turned to Lucian, his posture stiffening. “Yes, sir.” He gave me one last glare, his eyes promising violence, then strode out, leaving me alone with the man I feared most. The door shut with a heavy thud, sealing us in, and the air thickened, charged with the weight of our history. 

I stared at Lucian, and he stared back, his gaze unyielding, stripping me bare. Sweat beaded on my forehead, my body trembling as I sat bound to the chair, my wrists raw, my chest tight with dread. I knew what he was capable of. I’d seen him execute traitors, their screams echoed in my nightmares—men carved open, their hearts torn out, their bodies left for the rats. I fucked him, and then handed him over to the FBI. He wouldn’t believe I didn’t call them, that the raid wasn’t my plan, but I had to try. My life flashed before my eyes, every mistake, every moment leading to this. 

“Please,” I blurted, my voice cracking, the plea spilling out despite my resolve. “Don’t kill me, Boss. I’m sorry. I swear it wasn’t me. I didn’t know about the raid. I’m serious—I’m so sorry.” My words tumbled over each other, my voice shaking, my eyes pleading as I looked at him, searching for mercy in his cold expression. 

Lucian said nothing, his silence more terrifying than any response. He stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete, and circled me like a predator sizing up its prey. His gray eyes never left mine, his jaw tight, his presence suffocating. I kept begging, my voice hoarse, my words a desperate chant.

“Plea..se, you have to believe me,” My hands jerked against the chains, the pain sharp, but I couldn’t stop, my fear driving me to speak, to plead, to survive. 

He stopped at a steel table in the corner, his movements deliberate, his back to me for a moment. The table gleamed with tools—torture tools, I realized with a jolt. Pliers, knives, a blowtorch, all arranged with chilling precision. This basement, this chamber—it was where he broke his enemies, where he made them scream. 

My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat as he picked up a small surgical tool, its pointed edge designed to rip out fingernails. I recognized it from a memory, a traitor’s screams echoing as Lucian used it, his hands steady, his face blank. 

“Do you know where you are?” he asked, his voice low, dripping with icy arrogance, the tone of a man who held my life in his hands and relished the power. He turned to face me, the tool glinting in his grip, his gray eyes boring into mine. 

I nodded, my throat dry, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s where you torture your enemies.” I knew I was one of them now, the realization sinking into my bones, my fear spiking as I stared at the tool, imagining the pain, the blood, the end.

“Lucian, please let me explain,” I said again, my voice breaking, my body shaking. My eyes stung, my breaths coming in short, panicked gasps, my mind racing with images of my own death.

He stepped closer, the tool still in his hand, his expression unreadable, his silence stretching the moment into eternity. I braced myself, my body tensing, my heart pounding as I waited for the pain, for the end. 

But then he spoke, his voice cold, each word a calculated strike. “Relax, Ethan. I have no intention of killing you—at least not yet.” 

He set the tool down, the clink of metal against metal echoing in the chamber, and leaned in, his face inches from mine, his breath warm against my skin. “I brought you here for a reason. I’m giving you a chance to fall in love with me, you’ve got three months to love me. Or I’ll end you myself.”

My breath caught, my mind reeling, his words sinking in like a death sentence wrapped in a promise. Three months. Fall in love with him—or die. His gray eyes held mine, unyielding, the arrogance of a mafia kingpin radiating from him, his ultimatum a cruel game I couldn’t escape. I stared at him, fear and confusion twisting inside me, my body still trembling, my wrists still bound, my life hanging in the balance of his deadly whim.