Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

I bent my head, the weight of despair pressing down on me. I guess it was my fate to suffer like this, I thought, as tears rolled down my cheeks, hot and relentless. The forest around me was silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the cool night air. My knees dug into the damp earth, grounding me in my misery. But just then, the soft crunch of footsteps broke the stillness. My heart lurched. As if guided by some primal instinct, I sensed someone standing before me, their presence heavy and commanding.

Slowly, I raised my head, my breath catching in my throat. My eyes widened in shock. Towering over me was the same figure who had defeated William with a single, devastating blow. The figure was tall—impossibly tall—especially as I knelt on the ground, feeling small and fragile in their shadow. Their silhouette was cloaked in darkness, the moonlight barely catching the edges of their form, but their eyes gleamed with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

I stared, fear gripping my chest like a vice, yet something else stirred within me—an inexplicable intrigue. Those eyes held a story, a depth that pulled me in despite the terror coursing through my veins. Why was I feeling this way? I asked myself, my mind racing to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling inside me.

The figure stepped closer, their boots crunching softly against the forest floor. They placed their hands on my shoulders, and my body locked up instantly. Sweat beaded at the top of my head, trickling down my temples. I gulped, my throat dry, as their touch sent a strange jolt through me. For a moment, I felt frozen, caught in a paradox of fear and fascination. Part of me wanted to scream, to run, but another part—some reckless, curious part—relished the fact that I was in the presence of this enigmatic figure. Despite the dread that had consumed me moments ago, there was something magnetic about them, something that made my heart pound for reasons I couldn’t understand.

Then, the figure’s grip tightened. Pain shot through my shoulders, sharp and searing, and my eyes widened in shock. I collapsed to the ground, my vision blurring as the world tilted around me. Staring up at the figure through a haze, I tried to scream, to speak, to say anything, but my body betrayed me. My limbs felt heavy, useless, as if they belonged to someone else. In that moment, I felt myself giving up, surrendering to the darkness that swallowed me whole.

**********

I woke to the sensation of tiny droplets of water on my face, cool and persistent. My head throbbed with a relentless ache, each pulse a reminder of the ordeal I’d endured. Slowly, I blinked, my vision still blurry, and made out the vague shapes of six figures standing before me. Their outlines were indistinct, like shadows in a fog, and I struggled to focus. Closing my eyes tightly, I willed the haze to clear. When I opened them again, the world sharpened, and I saw the six men clearly. They were dressed in immaculate black suits, their hair neatly combed, their hands clasped in front of them. They stood motionless, their faces unreadable, staring at me with an intensity that made my stomach churn.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to look around. I was in a room that screamed wealth and opulence. Chandeliers hung high from the vaulted ceiling, their crystals catching the light and casting prisms across the tiled floor. Expensive furniture—polished wood tables, plush velvet chairs, and intricate rugs—filled the space, each piece meticulously chosen to exude power and prestige. I couldn’t suppress my surprise. In my pack, only my father, the current alpha, his so-called Luna, and my stepbrothers were entitled to such luxury. Yet here I was, in a room that rivaled their own.

This must belong to someone immensely wealthy, I thought, my mind racing. I tried to stand, but my body wouldn’t budge. It was then I noticed the ropes binding me to the chair. My arms and legs were tightly secured, leaving only my head free to move. Panic surged through me, my heart hammering against my ribcage. I was trapped, a prisoner in this lavish cage.

My mind reeled back to the previous night—the chaos in the forest, my stepbrothers’ cruel taunts, the beast that had attacked, the mysterious figure, the wolves, and then… how I had collapsed. They must have brought me here, I realized, piecing together the fragments of memory. But who were they? And why was I here?

The heavy creak of a door interrupted my thoughts. I turned my head, my breath catching as a tall figure stepped into the room. He was dressed in a tailored suit that hugged his muscular frame, his build striking and commanding. His face was sculpted perfection—a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and piercing green eyes that seemed to see straight through me. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a magazine, every feature designed to captivate. My heart stuttered. He was as tall as the figure from the forest. Could he be the one who made me collapse? Could he be the figure?

He strode toward me with purpose, stopping in front of his men and facing me directly. “Hello, Ava,” he said, his voice smooth but devoid of warmth, his face an emotionless mask.

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. “H-how do you know my name?” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

He smirked, a cold, calculated expression that sent a shiver down my spine. “Let’s just say I did my homework. You’re Ava Hunter, daughter of Hunter, the great alpha of the Shadow Pack. Am I right?”

“Yeah, you’re… right..,” I said, my voice steadier now. “So how did I get here?”

“Wrong question,” he replied, his tone sharp and dismissive. “You should be asking *why* you’re here, Ava. I brought you here to show you the truth—the truth about the past.”

I frowned, confusion swirling in my mind. The truth about the past? What was he talking about?

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Well, Ava, you’ve been kept in the dark your entire life. The truth about your past has been hidden from you. Let me start by exposing your father’s evil deeds before I tell you what I want from you.”

I bristled at his words. “My father’s a bad man,” I said stiffly. “You don’t need to tell me that. I already know.”

He chuckled, a low, humorless sound. “Not that kind of bad, Ava. I mean *bad* bad. Your father is evil. Have you ever heard of the word ‘Mafia’?”

“Yes, I have,” I said, my voice laced with suspicion. “But what does my father or the past have to do with that?”

“Your father is a Mafia boss,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine. “Your pack is a Mafia gang, and your father is the head of it all. He’s committed countless crimes, shed innocent blood. That’s why you’re here.”

“I'm Russell Dwayne, and I'm also in the Mafia, infact these are my men", he said.

My eyes widened in shock, my mind struggling to process his words. “You’re… you’re Russell Dwayne?” I asked, my voice trembling. I’d heard of him—the notorious killer, the monster who bombed hospitals, murdered innocents, and thrived on chaos. I’d seen his face on the small TV in my room, the one my father allowed me to keep for “entertainment.” But I never imagined I’d be sitting here, tied to a chair, face-to-face with Russell Dwayne.

“Well, isn’t that great?” he said, his tone mocking. “You know me. Isn’t this world small?”

“Yes, I know you,” I spat, my fear giving way to anger. “And I know what you are. A killer. A monster, so let me guess you want to kill me because you have a beef with my father?.”

He laughed, a loud, humorless sound that echoed in the opulent room. “Women,” he said, shaking his head. “Always so emotional and pathetic. If I wanted to kill you, Ava, I would have done it in the forest last night. I could have sent your body to your father and been done with it. But I didn’t. Which means I have no interest in killing you. And let’s be honest—do you think your father would care if you died? Do you think he’d shed a single tear for you?”

His words cut deep, slicing through the fragile hope I’d clung to. He was right. My father was a humorless creature, a man who thrived on power and control. If I died, he’d probably laugh, call it one less burden. The realization stung, but I refused to let Russell see my pain.

“Then what do you want with me?” I asked, my chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

“I need your help to defeat your father,” he said simply. “I want him dead, not you.”

I laughed bitterly. “And why would I help someone like you? You’re a killer.”

“I’m not a killer,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “I don’t kill the innocent. I’d never kill the innocent. I’m being framed, Ava.”

“Framed?” I asked, confusion flooding my mind. “Who the hell would frame someone like you?”

“Your father,” he said, his eyes darkening. “He committed those crimes—murdered innocents, bombed hospitals—and made it look like I did it.”

“You’re a liar!” I shouted, my voice shaking with rage. “I know my father isn’t the best, but he wouldn’t do something as despicable as that. You’re lying, Russell.”

He chuckled again, but there was no warmth in it. “I’m many things, Ava, but I’m not a liar. You still have so much love for that monster of a father, don’t you? I’ve been watching you your entire life because you’re the key. I’ve seen how he treats you—making you walk on burning coals, treating you like nothing. And yet you defend him.” He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but I’m afraid I have to show you the truth. Only then will you see your father the way I do.”

He turned to his men. “Untie her,” he ordered. Two of the six men stepped forward, their movements swift and precise as they loosened the ropes binding me. My wrists burned where the ropes had bitten into my skin, but I barely noticed. My mind was reeling, torn between disbelief and a gnawing fear that Russell might be telling the truth.

“Follow me,” he said, gesturing for his men to bring me along. They lifted me from the chair, their grips firm but not painful, and led me through a series of grand hallways adorned with gold-trimmed paintings and marble floors. We arrived at another room, this one smaller but no less luxurious. A massive flat-screen TV dominated one wall, and Russell gestured for me to sit in a plush, foamy chair. I sank into it, my body still weak from the ordeal.

“Why is there a TV here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “What do you want to show me?”

“I’m sorry,” Russell said, his voice softer now, almost regretful. “What you’re about to see will be painful.”

He turned on the TV, and a video began to play. My heart stopped as the familiar woods from the previous night filled the screen. But it wasn’t just any scene—it was *that* night, the night that had haunted me for years. The night my mother died. There she was, on the forest floor, blood pooling from her legs, her face contorted in pain and fear. I recognized her instantly, and my chest tightened, tears welling in my eyes.

I remembered that night vividly. My mother, my father, and I had gone camping, a rare moment of togetherness. But an attack had separated us. I’d run one way, they another, and when I returned, I was told my mother was dead—and that it was my fault. The guilt had weighed on me ever since, a constant shadow over my life.

I watched the video in silence, tears streaming down my cheeks. My mother was begging, her voice weak but desperate, pleading with the figure standing over her. I couldn’t see the figure’s face, but then they pulled out a gun. Before my mother could say another word, a shot rang out, and a bullet tore through her head.

“No!” I screamed, my hands flying to my mouth as sobs wracked my body. But the horror didn’t end there. The figure bent down, dragging my mother’s lifeless body across the ground. As they moved, their face came into view, illuminated by the moonlight.

“Dad!?” I gasped, my voice breaking.

Russell switched off the TV, his expression grim. “Now you see,” he said quietly. “Now you see what kind of man your father is. He killed your mother, Ava. And he blamed you for it. So tell me—are you still going to stand by him? Are you going to support that monster? Or will you side with me and do what’s necessary? Revenge.”