Chapter 3 — No Witnesses

Elena's POV 

My chest tightens. For a second, I can’t breathe, like the air’s been sucked out of the alley. His tone isn’t angry or dramatic, it's it’s casual, like we’re discussing coffee orders instead of my life.

I glance around, hoping someone else might intervene, but no one’s even looking at me. The men surrounding him are busy—cleaning up the scene, securing weapons, checking the bodies like they’ve done it a hundred times. No one questions him. No one asks what to do with me.

I glance toward the alley mouth, where the faint sound of sirens is starting to carry on the wind.

“There’s still time,” I say, barely able to hear myself. “You could leave me here. I won’t say anything.”

His head tilts, just slightly, like he’s weighing that.

“There’s an empty trunk,” he says, voice smooth, almost gentle now. “And three fresh graves already dug.”

I freeze, but he doesn’t move. 

That’s when I know—he means every word.

My knees weaken, but I force myself to stay standing even though the rest of me wants to collapse or scream or bolt, anything except face him like this.

“I don’t want to die,” I say quietly, because there’s nothing else to say. It’s not a performance. It’s the truth, stripped bare.

He watches me for a beat, then steps closer, close enough that I feel his breath on my skin while the scent of blood, smoke, and something expensive curls around me like a warning.

“You don’t have to,” he says. “Not tonight.”

“Then what?” My voice barely holds steady. “What happens now?”

“You come with me,” he says, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “You keep your mouth shut, stay useful, and maybe you keep breathing.”

“Where?” I ask, because the words just come out before I can stop them. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere quiet,” he says while his thumb brushes under my eye, wiping a tear I didn’t know had fallen. “Somewhere no one will find you.”

I shake my head, not in protest but in disbelief. “I don’t belong in your world.”

He leans in even closer, voice a low murmur near my ear. “No. But you touched it first.”

I pull back slightly, not that it matters, since his hand stays firm on my jaw. “If I go with you… do I live?”

His eyes darken, something unreadable flashing behind them. “For now.”

It’s not a promise. It’s not even reassurance. It’s a condition.

“And if I say no?”

His fingers tighten just enough to make the threat clear without needing more words.

“There’s still a trunk waiting,” he says. “And cops close enough that cleaning you up would be an inconvenience I’d rather avoid.”

I close my eyes for a second, because none of this feels real, but the cold air and the blood and the ache in my chest says otherwise. This isn’t a choice. It’s a corner I’ve been backed into with no way out except the one he’s offering.

“I’ll go,” I whisper. “Just… don’t kill me.”

His grip eases as he steps back, already turning like my answer was expected, not debated.

“Good girl,” he says over his shoulder.

Then, colder, to the men nearby, “Get her in the car. If she tries to run—”

He stops mid-sentence and glances back at me one last time. “Put her down.”

He steps closer again, not touching me this time, just close enough that his next words slide against my skin like a final seal.

“I don’t care about your Hippocratic Oath, Doctor,” he murmurs. “You’re mine now.”

 *****

The ride is silent and long. It was so long that I stopped keeping track of the turns after the third set of gates. Now it’s just endless woods, the occasional flash of metal fencing, and the heavy stillness of a car that doesn’t need to rush.

I don’t ask where we are. It wouldn’t matter if I did.

The SUV finally slows, tires crunching over gravel as the trees break open to reveal a massive stone estate—gray walls, steel gates, red-dot scopes scanning from the rooftop. Armed men, cameras. No lights on inside, but every shadow feels like it’s watching.

It isn’t a house. It’s a fortress. The door beside me opens. I don’t move.

“She doesn’t walk, drag her,” Dante says from the other side, voice flat.

I get out and walk. The front doors open before I reach them. No hesitation, no welcome.

Inside, it’s cold marble and too much silence. The air smells like bleach and old money. Someone takes my bag without a word. Another man reaches for my hoodie. I step back, my hands closing around the hem.

“No,” I snap.

He doesn’t blink. “Orders.”

They strip everything—my watch, my hoodie, the pen I’d tucked into my waistband like it could protect me. I don’t argue. I just memorize faces and movements.

Then one of them opens a side door and jerks his chin. “In.”

I hesitate. Dante doesn’t say a word. 

Then I step inside. It’s not a room. It’s a full medical suite. Stainless steel counters, surgical table, monitors, supplies I didn’t even have access to at the hospital.

“What is this?” I ask, turning slowly.

A tall man in a black suit appears in the doorway. No expression. No warmth.

“Your office,” he says.

I blink, confused. “I’m not staying here.”

He says nothing. Just shuts the door and locks it.

I don’t move at first. I just stand there, staring at the surgical table like it’s some kind of joke. But no one’s laughing, and the silence presses in until it feels like the walls themselves are watching me.

Eventually, I sit—because standing feels too much like waiting for an execution—and I settle on the edge of a leather recliner in the corner, facing the sink like it might give me answers.

The door creaks open behind me. I tense.

It’s a woman. Mid-forties, maybe, she carries a tray—tea, sandwiches, a folded towel.

“I’m not hungry,” I say, not even looking at it.

“Doesn’t matter, child,” she replies gently, setting the tray on the nearby table. “You’ll eat, or the Master will think I failed.”

That makes me look up. “The what?”

She doesn’t smile or try to explain. She just straightens the edge of the tray like precision might save her.

“Don’t look him in the eye. Ever.”

My stomach twists. “Excuse me?”

She folds the towel slowly, then turns to face me. Her eyes are hollow, not in a dead way—but in the way of someone who’s seen too much and stopped trying to forget.

“Don’t ask questions, either. Just do your work, stay out of the red wing, and whatever happens, don’t run.”

I push to my feet. “Is this a cult? What the hell is this place?”

She stiffens, just for a second, before she grabs the tray and heads for the door. “It’s survival.”

I follow her a step. “Why would I stay here? Why would anyone—”

She turns so fast I almost back up. Her voice stays calm, but her eyes cut straight through me. “Because you already know too much. And if he ever decides you’re not useful, you’ll disappear just like the rest. Do you understand me, Doctor?”

To Be Continued...