003

CHAPTER THREE

CALISTA

Darkness was the first thing that greeted me.

Then it was darkness, and the stench of damp concrete, and stale tobacco.

My head throbbed violently, a sharp spike of pain shooting behind my eyes every time my heart beat. 

The flashback had left a ringing in my ears that was only now beginning to fade into the background noise of heavy footfalls echoing off concrete walls.

I blinked, trying to focus my vision through the haze.

I was tied to a cold metal chair in what looked like an abandoned warehouse. 

My arms were pulled behind my back, bound tight at the wrists with thick rope that bit into my skin every time I tried to move.

"Look at that," a raspy voice echoed from the shadows. "The princess is awake."

Two men stepped into the light.

They were large, unkempt, and reeked of cheap booze and sweat.

 Their vests were slung over their shirts, and heavy pistols hung at their hips. 

The one on the left had a jagged scar cutting across his jaw, while the other carried a dark sneer that made my stomach turn.

I forced myself to sit up straight, keeping my face completely empty of the terror clawing at my throat. 

I had spent four years in the Donati estate watching how weakness was exploited. I couldn't afford to break.

"Who sent you?" I asked, keeping my voice surprisingly steady. "If you know who I am, you know what happens to anyone who touches a Donati."

The scar-faced man let out a mocking laugh.

"A Donati?" he spat, taking a slow step toward me. "You’re not a Donati, sweetheart. You’re just the low-born stepdaughter your mother dragged into the compound to secure a soft bed."

He stopped right in front of my chair, leaning down until his foul breath brushed against my skin. My jaw clenched, but I refused to look away.

"We’ve been watching that house for weeks," the second man chimed in, stepping up beside him with his arms crossed over his chest.

 "We saw how the young Don looks at you. We saw the way he touches you when he thinks the guards aren't looking."

My pulse hammered wildly against my ribs, but I kept my mouth shut, gripping the wooden frame of the chair behind my back.

"It's disgusting, really," Scarface sneered, his eyes slowly dragging down the front of my white shirt.

 "Fucking your own stepbrother? The future Don of Cosa Nostra, dipping his pen in forbidden ink. Tell me, piccola... what do you think would happen if the Don himself found out his prized son was corrupting the family line with his step-sister?"

 "There is nothing between us."

"Don't lie to us, bitch!" the second man barked, stepping closer. "We saw him through the study window right before we blew the doors! He was seconds away from tearing your clothes off!"

Scarface let out another dark chuckle, reaching out with a leather-gloved finger to trace the curve of my collarbone.

 I flinched backward, pulling against the ropes so hard the rough fibers cut into my skin.

"Here’s the deal, princess," Scarface murmured, his voice dropping to a sickening whisper. "We're going to ransom you back to Rheyes for a heavy price. But maybe... just maybe... if you let us get a taste of you first, we might be nice enough not to tell the old Don what his little golden boy has been doing behind his back."

"Touch me," I whispered, glaring at him with every ounce of hatred in my veins, "and he will rip your skin from your bones."

"He's not here, sweetheart," the second man smirked, reaching out his thick hand toward the top button of my shirt. 

"It's just us—"

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The roar of automatic gunfire shot through the steel doors fifty yards away.

The sound was deafening, echoing like cannon fire through the warehouse.

 Before the two men could even turn their heads, the massive double doors slammed off their hinges, crashing down onto the concrete floor.

In the blink of an eye, a shadow crossed the room.

He didn't look human. He moved with a speed so unnatural, so terrifyingly that my brain couldn't process the violence fast enough.

Rheyes.

He moved like a demon dragged straight out of hell. His dark suit jacket was gone, his white dress shirt was completely drenched and stained in fresh blood.

 It coated his forearms, splattered across his neck, and ran down across the sharp line of his cheekbone.

Before the second man could even pull his weapon, Rheyes was on him.

Rheyes jammed the heel of his palm upward into the man's nose, forcing his bone straight into his brain. 

The mercenary went limp instantly, but Rheyes didn't just let him fall, he grabbed the man by his vest and slammed him face-first onto the floor, as his heavy boot came down on the back of his neck with force. 

Scarface panicked, reaching for his hip holster.

"Donati—!"

Rheyes didn't fire a single bullet, instead he closed the distance, letting his bare, bloody hand catch Scarface by the throat. 

The force of the impact carried them both backward, slamming Scarface wildly into the metal beside my chair.

Rheyes’s face was an inch away from his captor's. The gentle warmth, the sweet tone, the soft eyes that had looked at me in his study just hours ago were completely gone. 

"You touched her," Rheyes rasped, his voice now a terrifying growl that didn't sound human.

"Please—" Scarface choked out, his hands clawing uselessly at Rheyes's iron grip around his throat.

Rheyes didn't answer. He grabbed the man's wrist, twisting it until the joint snapped like a dry twig. 

He grabbed the man by his hair and smashed his face repeatedly against the steel pillar—once, twice, three times, until his teeth shattered and his bone gave way.

Yet, Rheyes didn't stop.

Even when Scarface went entirely limp, Rheyes kept slamming him against the pillar. Flesh tore. 

Fresh, dark blood sprayed across the beam, soaking Rheyes’s arms, splashing over his chest, and dripping down from his chin. 

He was the butcher and executioner, completely consumed by an unholy, bloodthirsty rage.

"Rheyes!" I sobbed, my tears finally breaking free and scalding my cheeks. 

The sheer, relentless gore made my chest heavy in horror.

 "Rheyes, stop! He's dead! Please, stop!"

He didn't hear me. He raised his fists, striking the corpse again and again, the sickening wet sound of scarred flesh filling the empty warehouse.

"Please! I'm begging you, Rheyes! Stop!" I screamed until my voice cracked, as the terrifying monster before me continued his brutal, endless slaughter.

The stench of fresh blood spread throughout the air, so heavy and thick it coated the back of my throat.

 My stomach churned violently. A wave of  nausea hitting me like a physical blow.

Unable to hold it back, I gagged, throwing up inside the bucket beside my chair.

The sound finally broke through his trance.

Rheyes froze, his bloody hand hovering in midair over the corpse. 

 Slowly, he let go, letting the body drop to the floor.

Silence filled the warehouse again.

With his chest heaving with heavy, ragged breaths, Rheyes stood in the middle of the massacre. 

Red droplets dripped from his knuckles onto the floor. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head to look at me.

My heart stopped. He carried a terrifying look in his eyes, so much that I couldn't recognize him. 

The man standing over the bodies wasn't my stepbrother who gave me extra steak from his plate or the one who has saved me. 

He was a cold, emotionless monster. 

He stepped toward my chair, his heavy boots leaving bloody footprints on the floor. 

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small blade, and cut through the ropes binding my wrists.

The moment the ties fell away, the overwhelming terror, the reek of blood, and the utter exhaustion crumpled on top of me. 

My body gave out completely, and I passed out into the dark.