All Chapters of Submitting To The Devil - The Devil's Snare - Book Two : Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

Bianca For a long, suffocating moment, I wish my mind could whisk me away from this boat, away from the stifling confines of this room and the weight of Niko's presence beside me. But I can't escape Derek's relentless messages, each one punctuated by the words: Tick, Tock. With every notification, my heart plummets like a stone. I glance at Niko, his peaceful face framed by tousled hair, and I grapple with my next move. Should I awaken him so we can confront whatever waits beyond our fragile sanctuary? But then I remember the wound on his shoulder, a brutal reminder of the danger he's faced—because of me. A wave of guilt crashes over me, heavy and unrelenting. He's sleeping because he's lost blood, and he's injured. How far in a fight would he get? I chastise myself for feeling this way, knowing I must carry this burden alone, but deep down, I know I'm about to breach the trust Niko and I have created, even if it is fragile. In the back of my mind, I'm painfully aware that it is fo

Continued: Maybe I'm a fool for contemplating leaving this, but there's a network of people here who possess the resources we require. I might even gather crucial information while I'm pulling in favours from the boaters I've befriended on my stays here. Only then can Itrulyweigh our options and make an informed decision regarding the safety of the three of us. So, I leave with a renewed sense of urgency filling me. I leave the boat just fine. It seems quiet around us, and I'm happy to report that there's no one is waiting outside to jump me. I walk the docks, heading down the end on the left where one of my friends, Ant, works. He's sitting on the deck beside the boat he sails for one of the lesser-known mafia families. His smile is almost instant, and his greeting is just as enthusiastic. "Sven, my old friend," he greets me in his Italian drawl. He greets me with a handshake and then goes back to lining his fishing rod. "Ant," I smile. "Not working?" "No, no. It's my

Niko I wake up feeling disoriented, my head pounding like a relentless drum, and my mouth parched as if sand had settled on my tongue. A deep, throbbing ache spreads from my shoulder through my chest and down my back, intensifying with every shallow breath I struggle to take. The gunshot wounds feel like a heavy weight, making it almost impossible to fill my lungs completely; I'm left gasping for air, frustration coiling in my gut. Instead of immediately opening my eyes, I linger in the warm cocoon of sleep, allowing the comforting thought of Bianca's presence to envelop me like a soft blanket. She should be near, close enough that I can almost feel her warmth, a fragile barrier against the harsh reality of our dim, wooden boatshed—a place that feels both claustrophobic and sacred, offering us refuge from the looming dangers outside. As I extend my arm, yearning to draw her close, I find nothing but the cool, empty bed sheets slipping through my fingers like wisps of mist—chilli

Bianca "Move," Franko pulled me from Benji's relative safe hold, forcing me to walk between them as Derek led the way through the overgrown greenery that had me tripping every few steps. I remember this from before, when we hiked inland. Thoughts began to swirl in my mind, echoing the jovial resonance of my father's voice during that journey. I can vividly recall coming to the door, nearly camouflaged, its surface melding seamlessly with the surrounding backdrop as if it were an intrinsic part of the scenery rather than a passageway to hell and back. I will the images to go away, not wanting to see that night, not wanting to relive it again so soon after the last time. But the further we walk, the more I see. The more I remember. The uneaten meal paved the way for me to be taken to the bedroom, a room equipped for a girl. Pretty dresses hung from a rail, and perfumes remained unopened on the side. The room was warm in pinks and golds yet felt oddly untouched. His hand's

Niko Mopelli rushes to Sven, his heart racing as he conducts the essential primary checks. His gaze zeroes in on an injection site on Sven's arm—stark evidence of something troubling. While Mopelli suspects that the brutal beating Sven endured might have left him feeling dazed and disoriented, he can't shake the unsettling feeling that it's more than just that. There's an eerie stillness about Sven, a profound non-responsiveness that hints at something deeper lurking beneath the surface of his veins. He was drugged, and he believes that was to cause him to either not remember the beating or to slow us down in going after Bianca. "You next," he orders, his tone leaving no room for dissent as he gestures for me to settle into the worn armchair nestled in the dim corner of the room. The fabric feels rough against my skin, a stark contrast to the throbbing pain beneath the bandages. With deliberate care, he pulls back the soft gauze that Sven had wrapped around my wound, exposing