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Chapter Thirteen - Blood, Obsession, and Bad News
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2025-12-10 09:50:46The cut on my forearm burns — a thin line of heat, barely bleeding now, but unmistakably hers.
I wipe the streak of blood across a white towel and watch it bloom red.
She moved beautifully. Too beautifully.
Most people fight like animals when cornered.
I should be furious she tried to kill me again.
But as I lean back in my office chair and study the fading blood on my skin, what I actually feel is…
alive.
She almost caught me off guard.
Almost did real damage.
And the worst part?
A dark part of me wanted her to.
I’m still replaying the moment her knife grazed me when a knock hits my office door.
I grit my teeth. “Enter.”
Rocco slips inside, pale and tense. Not a good sign.
“That better not be hesitation on your face,” I say, sitting up.
Rocco clears his throat. “Boss… we’ve got movement.”
I stand immediately.
“Talk.”
“We tracked activity at the Moretti cache in Jersey,” he says, holding out his phone. “Two men entered, grabbed documents, and left. It matches Vito and Luca Moretti.”
Aria’s brothers.
The ones who left her behind.
The ones she defended anyway.
My jaw tightens. “Where are they going?”
“North.”
“Toward?”
“New York,” Rocco says. “Straight to the Moretti penthouse.”
So Aria wasn’t lying about that.
Interesting.
I take the phone from him. The surveillance footage is grainy, but the posture, the walk — unmistakably the brothers.
Rocco shifts nervously. “There’s more.”
“There always is,” I mutter. “Say it.”
“Amanda Moretti’s card pinged in Manhattan an hour ago.”
My pulse sharpens.
Aria’s mother.
Vicious. Calculating. Invisible until she wants to be seen.
“And Vincenzo?” I ask quietly.
“No direct sighting,” Rocco admits. “But if Amanda is active… he’s probably close.”
I stare at the frozen image of Aria’s brothers on the phone screen.
A family disappears overnight.
That is not a coincidence.
That’s strategy.
I hand the phone back. “Get surveillance on every route into Manhattan. In and out.”
“Yes, boss.”
“And Rocco?”
He straightens. “Boss?”
“Not one whisper of this reaches the rest of the soldiers. Keep it quiet.”
He nods quickly and leaves the room.
The moment the door shuts, the silence shifts.
Loaded.
Aria wasn’t lying.
Not about the penthouse.
Not about her brothers.
And yet…
Her family is moving without her.
Her father vanishes.
Her brothers raid a safehouse.
And she’s chained in my basement.
Her family abandoned her.
I’m not sure which possibility I hate more.
I glance down and notice a thin smear of Aria’s blood under my fingernail — from where I grabbed her wrist in the fight.
I shouldn’t care.
But I do.
Her blood on me.
A bond forged in violence.
I shrug into my jacket and head toward the basement stairs.
I need answers.
And Aria’s the only one with even fragments of the truth.
She probably escaped again by now.
Good.
I want to see what she does next.
I want to see how far I will.
As I reach the top of the basement steps, a slow, dark thrill curls under my ribs.
Her brothers are moving.
Her father is likely hiding in the same city.
And Aria Moretti — the most dangerous weapon in their arsenal — is completely in my hands.
For now.
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The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty-Seven - Shower and no chains
There’s a knock at the door.I’m already facing it when it opens.Rocco steps in first, followed by a woman who immediately changes the temperature of the room—and several of Dante’s men hauling duffel bags. Not small ones. Big, overstuffed, weapons-grade bags.My eyes flick over them automatically.Clothes, I think.Probably.The woman doesn’t wait for introductions.She snaps her fingers once, sharp and decisive. “Out. All of you.”The men hesitate for exactly half a second.Then they’re gone.The door closes behind them, leaving just the three of us and a small mountain of bags.Rocco clears his throat. “I’ll—uh—wait outside.”She waves him off without looking. “Good.”Rocco gives me an apologetic glance and disappears.The woman turns to me and finally smiles.Not fake.Not cruel.Curious.“I’m Danika,” she says. “Dante’s sister.”That explains… a lot.She looks me up and down slowly, thoughtfully—like I’m a project instead of a threat.Then she wrinkles her nose.“Oh,” she says.
The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty-Six - Upstairs
Rocco comes back alone.That, in itself, tells me something.He doesn’t reach for his gun. Doesn’t bark orders. Doesn’t look at me like I’m a bomb about to go off.Compared to Marco—who looks like he might pass out if I breathe too close—Rocco is… tolerable.“Alright,” he says, keeping his tone neutral. “We’re moving.”He steps closer and carefully undoes the cuffs around my wrists. The metal clicks open, and for half a second, my muscles tense on instinct.I don’t move.Rocco watches me anyway, sharp-eyed but not hostile.“Follow me,” he says. “Please.”Please.Interesting.I do as he asks.We head upstairs, and I catalog everything automatically. Habit. Training. Survival.A marble side table near the stairwell—heavy enough to smash a skull if tipped right.A decorative vase full of dried branches—one snapped at the right angle could puncture a throat.A wrought-iron railing—wrap, pull, twist. Neck broken in seconds.A glass lamp—shatter, use the base, drive it upward.Fifty ways to
The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty-Five -
I leave the room before the silence turns into something dangerous.The hallway is still humming with adrenaline when I spot Marco lingering near the stairwell, shoulders tight, eyes darting like he’s already anticipating bad news.“Move her upstairs,” I say, voice flat. “Room next to mine.”Marco blinks. Once. Twice.“You’re—” He swallows. “Boss, you can’t be serious.”I don’t slow down.“She stays under my roof,” I continue. “Constant watch. Full access.”Marco takes a half-step after me. “She’s a Moretti. She broke out twice. She almost killed you. Putting her next to your—”I stop.Not abruptly.Deliberately.The air changes.I turn my head just enough to look at him.Not with anger.Not with rage.With disappointment.“Say it again,” I tell him quietly.Marco stiffens. “I just think—”“That’s the problem,” I cut in softly. “You’re thinking. When I didn’t ask you to.”His throat works as he swallows.Rocco steps forward before he can finish the sentence. “I’ll handle it,” he says
The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty-Four - The Choice
The phone is still on the table.I don’t look at it again.I don’t need to.Five hundred thousand dollars.My name.My father’s signature written between the lines like a death sentence.The room hums with tension, but inside me something goes very still.I don’t break.I don’t cry.I straighten.Slowly, I lift my eyes to Dante.He’s watching me like he expects me to fold—or explode. Like he’s bracing himself to decide what to do about me.I don’t give him that.“If my father wants me dead,” I say calmly, “then I want his empire.”The words land heavy.Marco inhales sharply behind me. Someone curses under their breath.Dante doesn’t react right away.Good.I step closer to the table, palms braced against the wood.“He doesn’t issue bounties lightly,” I continue. “This isn’t punishment. It’s containment. He thinks I’ve compromised his control.”I look up at Dante, meeting his gaze head-on.“He’s wrong.”Silence.Then Dante says quietly, “You’re asking for war.”“No,” I correct. “I’m of
The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty-Three - Outlawed
The cameras flickered across the screen in front of me, one feed after another lighting up the darkened strategy room.I wasn’t breathing.I watched Dante move through the compound with lethal calm, weapon in hand, body loose and ready. He didn’t rush. He didn’t hesitate. He went straight toward the west corridor.Straight toward Dale.My father’s favorite.My father’s oldest friend.Dale never failed. He’d always said the job mattered more than the cost. That if it killed him, so be it — the mission would still be finished.That was what made him dangerous.That was what made my father sending him here feel wrong.Until it didn’t.Because there was only one reason Dale would be inside this house.Not for territory.Not for Dante.For me.My father hadn’t just abandoned me.He’d outlawed me.The feed switched just as Dante stepped into the corridor.Dale was already there.Older now. Grayer. But his posture was exactly the same as I remembered — relaxed, patient, like violence was jus
The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty-Two - The Meeting and the Siren
I didn’t bother unchaining her for the meeting.That alone made my men uneasy.Aria stood at my side in the strategy room, wrists still cuffed, the chain clipped to a heavy ring bolted into the floor beneath the table. She didn’t look restrained. She looked coiled—eyes sharp, posture relaxed, like she was daring someone to underestimate her.The table was already covered in maps, photos, and timelines. Marco, Rocco, and two of my lieutenants stood waiting. Conversation died the second they noticed her.Good.“Sit,” I ordered.They did.I gestured to the maps. “The Sage twins have pushed into Fifth Avenue. We know that. What we don’t know is how they’re staying three steps ahead of us.”Rocco pointed to a marked route. “We think they’re moving product through rotating fronts. Art galleries, pop-up events—”“No,” Aria said calmly.Every head snapped toward her.Marco stiffened. “Boss—”“Let her talk,” I said.She leaned forward as far as the chain allowed, studying the map like it belon
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