Katarina POV At The Experiment LabClick.The straps on my wrists groaned as I pulled against them. Plastic—tight. Too tight. My skin was raw underneath.The lights overhead weren’t normal hospital lights. They buzzed. Flickered. Like they were alive and watching me. The whole room smelled like burnt wires, bleach, and metal that had seen too much blood.My mouth tasted like cotton. Or old pennies.The doctor stood behind the glass, his shadow moving like a smear across the wall.Then the door creaked open.He came in like a ghost—long lab coat, gloves on, clipboard in one hand, syringe in the other. His shoes didn’t make a sound. That was the worst part. Even the floor didn’t dare piss him off.“Good morning, subject K.” His voice scratched the air. “Today’s the big one. We wipe. We plant. We smile.”I didn’t answer.He smiled. The kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “Still holding on? Brave. But exhausting, no?”I stared at the ceiling. There was a water stain shaped like a devil’s
Giordano POVI lit a cigar with the same hand I’d just used to backhand one of my own men.The fucker hit the floor, bleeding from the mouth, still begging. I didn’t care. I needed answers. Someone let the girl slip. Someone opened the cage.And I was going to find out who.The cigar tasted bitter this morning. Maybe it was me.Maybe it was the stench of betrayal I could already smell on one of the bastards lined up in my office.Eight men. All loyal. All trusted.And one of them was lying.I didn’t speak at first. Just sat there in my carved chair, with the wolf heads on the arms and sipping black espresso like it was blood. The room was quiet, save for the tick-tick-tick of the old grandfather clock in the corner.Tick.Tock.Like a countdown to someone’s execution.I looked up, slowly.“My bride ran,” I said. Calmly. Coldly. “She got as far as the street.”No one moved. No one dared breathe too loudly.“She had help.”I stood. Pacing in slow, deliberate steps. My shoes tapped acro
Katarina POV: A hostage at Giordano's villaI hadn’t seen Maribel in days.Not a sound. Not a scream. Not a whisper through the vents. Just silence. That sick, suffocating kind that crawled under your skin and stayed.I was curled on the cold tile floor, back pressed to the bed frame. The room smelled like stale perfume and disinfectant. My wrists were raw from being yanked around. My lips cracked. My knees ached.Maribel could be dead. And maybe that would be my fault, too.I swallowed hard. “No. Not again.”“She’s dead,” I whispered, staring at the ceiling. “And it’s my fault.”I had to get out. Before they buried me alive with her.That night, the hallway light clicked on—soft and low. The knock came softly. Then the door clicked open. That guard. The one with the twitchy hands. The one who looked at my shoulder like it meant something and flinched when I spoke. He always left my food tray angled toward the wall, like he didn’t want to see me suffer.“You said you wanted out,” h
Vittorio POV: Still At His Mansion"Say that again."I didn’t raise my voice. Didn’t move.The sound of Scarface whining grated on my last nerve.He’d been moaning for the past hour—about the bullet, the cold floor, the chains digging into his wrists. I didn’t care. The stench of his rotting leg was starting to burn through the walls. Maybe that was poetic.I spun. Grabbed him by the jaw.“You got one chance, rat. Tell me why Giordano wanted Katarina.”Scarface whimpered I stared at him. Sweating. Pathetic. Face pale, lips dry, shirt clinging to his back like plastic wrap. He wasn’t built for pain. Not the kind I gave.“You want water?” I asked calmly.He nodded fast. “Y-yeah, boss. Please”I slammed my fist into the wall beside him.The plaster cracked. Loud. A jagged line ripped through the brick, dust raining down like ash.Scarface flinched like he’d been shot again. Eyes wide, legs twitching against the rope.But I didn’t move.I stared at the wall.A torn piece of yellowed pape
Vittorio POV At The DeLuca Mansion“Get. Out.”I didn’t whisper it. I didn’t scream it. I said it like a sentence.The moans from my bedroom were getting louder.My boots slammed down the marble hallway, the cane tapping beside me like a ticking bomb. I could hear the thud of skin on skin. A woman’s breathless gasp. Wet slaps. A man's low growl.My brother’s growl.The twin who vanished after Fiorella died. The bastard who left me alone to drown in the wreckage of her loss.And now?Valentino was back.Fucking some long-legged brunette on my sheets.My sheets.I kicked the door open so hard the knob smashed into the wall.I grabbed the lamp and hurled it. It shattered against the wall, missing his skull by an inch.“You’re in my bed!” I roared. “My fucking bed, Tino!”“Vit!” he called out, grinning like he’d just walked into a bar, not my goddamn bedroom. “You’re early.” The woman didn’t stop. Neither did he.Her head was thrown back, mouth wide. He had her from behind, one hand o
Kat POV in Giordano MansionWe didn’t get the chance.Two days later, the container cracked open to light.Real light. Sunlight.Blinded me.Then rough hands dragged us out. We were shoved into a van. Driven for what felt like forever. No talking. No water. Just heat.When they pulled us out again, I saw it.The estate.White walls. Palm trees. Fountains.Hell dressed in silk.They cleaned us up. Threw dresses at us. Told us to stay in the east wing.I hid the key in the lining of my bra.At night, the air turned sharp. Cold. It smelled like metal, old perfume, and fear.Maribel leaned in so close I felt her breath on my cheek. “You still got that plan?”I didn’t blink. I nodded once. “Then let’s go.”She moved fast, quieter than I expected—like this wasn’t her first time running from a nightmare. The tiny key trembled in her hand as she reached for the old, rusted padlock on the door.She tried it once. Nothing. Tried again. Still stuck.“Shit,” she whispered. “It’s not working