Captured.

Aurora’s POV

He held my gaze for a moment, then turned around. Some of the men got into the car with him. Two men wrapped my father’s body in a blanket and picked him up like he wasn’t a living, breathing human only moments ago, then tossed him into the trunk of one of the cars.

I was still on my knees, blood-stained hands and clothes, staring off into the distance. Tears trickled down my cheeks, but not a single sound escaped my mouth. How could everything change so fast? One night? One dinner? And now, two men were dead. My father was dead. The trajectory of my life had changed so drastically.

Just then, one of the men approached me. My head jerked in his direction. I recognized him. I wouldn’t forget him. Nico. He had piercing green eyes and bleached blonde hair. He stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of dark-colored hair. He was the man who had gleefully handed Angelo the sword that killed my father. He was number three on the list of men I was going to kill when the time to avenge my father came.

He crouched in front of me. “Isn’t it your lucky day, bella? You get to live.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, ignoring the pounding in my chest. “I guess we’re both lucky then, because today you make my list of men I’m going to kill.”

He looked taken aback. “Okay, now I’m terrified.”

My brows knit in confusion.

Then his lips slowly curled into a sick, twisted grin. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Nico, quit playing! The Don is waiting!” someone yelled.

I turned toward the voice. It was the kind man—the one who had pleaded at the last minute. I didn’t know why he did it. We locked eyes for a moment, and then he looked away.

“Chop chop, love! We can’t keep your new master waiting.”

“Wait, master—” My eyes widened in horror. What in the medieval hell was this? But before I could even finish the sentence, Nico had picked me up and slung me over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” I cried out, kicking my feet in protest. I pounded his back, but he didn’t even flinch. Instead, his grip around me tightened. “Let me down this minute!” I yelled.

“What fun would there be in that?”

The other man rolled his eyes as soon as we approached the car. He opened the door, and Nico hurled me inside and got in beside me. The door instantly locked, sealing my fate.

He turned around and got into the driver’s seat, starting the car.

As the car began to move, reality dawned on me. Father was dead, killed by men wielding swords and guns. I was an orphan, and now I would be a slave to my father’s killer. Whatever the hell that meant.

I stayed quiet, fiddling nervously with my fingers. In my rush, I had left my phone behind in the other car. I had to find a way out of here. It was up to me to save myself. I gazed out the window. We were on the highway, cars swishing past. If only I could draw attention somehow. There were just two men in the car with me.

I glanced at the man in the driver’s seat. I could pull him into a chokehold, enough to veer the car off the road. Surely someone would come to our aid then. And then our eyes met through the rearview mirror. He had soft brown eyes. He looked concerned for me. I looked away immediately. I didn’t need kindness, not from anyone here. I needed the anger I felt when I held my father’s severed head in my hands to keep burning.

I traced the door handle, then the window button…

“Don’t think about it, love.”

My eyes snapped in his direction. “What?”

Nico was staring straight ahead, a gun in his hand. “Don’t think about what you’re thinking right now.” He turned to me with a wide smile on his face.

“How do you kn—”

He blew the end of the gun. “Unlike Angelo, I won’t hesitate to kill you. It would bring me pleasure.”

Bastard. He was now second on my list.

He inched closer, causing me to back away quickly. “You know what I think should be running through your mind right now? What’s in the trunk of the car you’re riding in…”

“Nico…” the man in front protested.

My eyes grew impossibly wide. My mouth gaped. I gripped the seat to keep myself from falling.

Nico was still talking, but I couldn’t hear him anymore. I just saw the crazed look in his eyes and his mouth moving.

The blood drained from my skin. My father—my loving father—was in the trunk of the car I was riding in. A couple of hours ago, which now felt like a lifetime, we were sitting in a restaurant, laughing and chatting. And now, he was laying in a trunk with his head detached from his body.

My shoulders slumped. My eyes glistened with unshed tears. I wrapped my arms around myself to stop my body from shaking, but it was futile. The tears trickled down my cheeks. The anger, the frustration that I couldn’t do anything to save my father, even now, washed over me. My lips trembled, and I cried out in anguish. I let myself feel everything all at once.

My father was dead, and I was all alone in this world.

I didn’t know when we arrived at the mansion. I was too busy crying, consumed by my own emotions. All plans to escape flew out the window.

“We’re here, love. You can stop crying now. Angelo hates to see tears.”

If anything, I was going to continue crying until he was uncomfortable. Maybe then he’d let me go? I thought to myself, hopefully. We drove through silver gates. The mansion loomed in the distance. It looked like a palace. If it weren’t for the circumstances, I’d be gushing in excitement.

It screamed wealth, wealth I didn’t have growing up. There were armed men scattered everywhere. My heart sank. There was no escape for me. The only way I could leave this beautiful prison was mercy or death.

I’m the Angel of Death.

He had told me that himself. I lowered my head in defeat.

As we came to a stop, Nico got out first, then dragged me out of the car. I didn’t even have time to soak in the beauty of the house because he was dragging me along.

When we got inside, Angelo was already seated on a single couch lined with gold.

A throne fit for a king—or the proclaimed Angel of Death. He looked like an angel. Shut up, Aurora, I scolded myself.

He had taken off his suit jacket and tie. His sleeves were rolled up, tattoos peeking out from underneath. A few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing more ink.

The room was dead silent. All the men stood straight, waiting on him.

His head was bowed, dark hair shielding his face. His hands were curled into fists by his sides.

And then he looked up at me. Cold eyes stared deep into my soul. It was hard to make out the emotions swirling behind those soulless gray eyes.