★★Mariella's POV★★



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It's been hours since Thing 1 and Thing 2 left me hanging on that damn cliffhanger. I don't even know how long I've been here or what time it is. My head is leaned back against the chair and I'm staring up at the flickering light above me, watching it blink like it's mocking me. I swear I'm going crazy in here. It feels like some twisted detention camp for runaway daughters who've pissed off the wrong people.

Oh... Papa.

My chest tightens as I think about him. How devastated he must feel, wondering why I didn't come home. I've never failed to make it back before. But this time, I'm not sure I ever will.

A tear slips down my cheek, hot and heavy, and then another, until they're falling freely. Before I know it, I'm crying softly, trying to keep my sobs under control. God, I miss home. I even miss my annoying brothers and their stupid comments. The thought makes me chuckle bitterly, but it's shaky, breaking under the weight of everything I'm feeling.

I sniff, trying to steady my breathing, but I can't. My chest heaves, and it feels like I'm unraveling thread by thread. I'm falling apart.

I'm going to end up just like my mom—killed and forgotten, left all alone.

I don't want to be alone.

I want my mama.

The thought breaks something deep inside me, and before I can stop myself, a memory washes over me. Her. Sitting at the edge of my bed, her soft hands brushing my hair back as I lay there, pretending to sleep. I'd never close my eyes until she sang to me. She always knew that.

And then, without realizing it, I start to hum. The tune is faint, wavering at first, but it steadies as I let the memory take over. The words come next, soft and broken in my raspy voice:

"Dormi, piccina, sotto le stelle, (Sleep, little one, under the stars,) La luna veglia, dolce e bella. (The moon watches over, sweet and fair.) Chiudi gli occhi, sogna il mare, (Close your eyes, dream of the sea,) Un mondo di luce ti farà volare. (A world of light will let you fly free.)"

My voice cracks, but I keep going, my throat tightening with every word.

"Dormi, tesoro, sogna il domani,(Sleep, my treasure, dream of tomorrow,) Col vento gentile che sfiora le mani. (With a gentle wind that brushes your hands.) La mamma è qui, non temere mai, (Mama is here, fear not at all,) Nel tuo cuore sarò, ovunque andrai. (In your heart, I'll be, wherever you go.)"

The room feels quieter than ever when the last note falls away. My chest aches, the weight of the words pressing down on me. But singing it, even in this godforsaken place, makes me feel like she's here with me, just for a moment.

"Mama," I whisper, tears slipping silently down my cheeks. My voice wavers as I speak to the empty room. "I'm still trying, okay? I'm still fighting. I just... I miss you."

The silence stretches on, heavy and unyielding. But I keep her song alive in my mind, repeating it like a prayer.

Like a promise.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, growing louder with each passing second. I shot upright, my body rigid, and quickly wiped my tears on my shoulder. My chest heaved as I sucked in shaky breaths, desperate to compose myself. They couldn't know I'd been crying. I knew my eyes were probably red and swollen, but at this point—screw it.

A deep, harsh voice drifted from beyond the door, speaking in rapid French. I couldn't make out the words, but the tone alone was enough to make my stomach twist. Shadows shifted under the doorframe, moving deliberately, like predators circling their prey. The door creaked, then swung open, flooding the dim room with light so bright I squinted against it.

Before I could adjust, the door slammed shut with a deafening boom. The walls seemed to shudder from the impact, and my heart stuttered in my chest. The air shifted instantly—thick, heavy, suffocating. I didn't dare look up. Something deep inside me screamed that if I did, something terrible would happen.

The silence was unbearable, a pressing weight that made my entire body go rigid. My skin prickled with goosebumps as I sat frozen, my eyes locked on the floor. It felt like the room itself was holding its breath, waiting. But I could feel him—his presence—looming over me, staring. His gaze was scorching, burning into me like fire licking at my skin.

The tension stretched on forever, or maybe just seconds. My heart was hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Suddenly, before I could even react, his hand shot out. Fingers like iron wrapped around my throat, squeezing—not enough to cut off my air, but enough to make it clear that he could.

My head snapped up, his rough grip forcing me to meet his eyes. They were dark, nearly black, and filled with something cold and unrelenting. His face was a mask of power and control, his features carved in stone.

The room spun slightly as his presence overwhelmed me, his hand steady, unyielding. My breaths came shallow and ragged, the chill of fear spreading through me like ice. Yet, I refused to show weakness.

Not again. Not now.

He leaned in closer, his voice low and dangerous, a whisper that seemed to echo in the oppressive silence. "Look at me." he commanded, as if daring me to disobey.

And I do.

I look straight into his eyes, and they're nothing but empty voids—cold, lifeless, like black holes pulling in everything around them. There's no flicker of humanity, no spark of emotion. Just endless darkness, deep and unsettling. It's as if I'm staring into the abyss itself, the kind of gaze that makes the air around me feel thick, suffocating. Those eyes are the kind of scary that makes you feel like you're already dead, trapped in the gaze of a creature that's nothing but a shell of a man.

His hand stayed firmly around my throat, keeping me pinned, his grip a reminder of how easily he could crush me. His face hovered close, his eyes boring into mine with a glare so cold it felt like it could slice through me. But as I studied him, something about his features stopped me.

Those eyes... they were familiar.

Dark, nearly black, and full of hatred—yet there was something there, a thread of resemblance. My mind raced back to the brown-haired guy who was here just hours ago. Could it be? Were they related?

Brothers, maybe?

But this man... his eyes weren't just dark; they were consumed. They weren't human anymore. No, they looked like they belonged to someone possessed by something far worse than anger or hatred. They were the eyes of someone who'd let a demon in—or maybe, he was the demon himself.

The Devil wearing a human face.

His glare intensified, seething with disgust, his lip curling as if my very presence repulsed him. Without warning, he slapped me hard, the force of it ringing in my ears, my head snapping to the side. The sting hit so fast I barely had time to react before my hair was tangled in my face, the disarray of it almost mocking me. I gasped, the taste of blood flooding my mouth as I bit down on my lip, fighting the sharp, metallic sting. The force of the slap left my face burning, the taste of my own blood thick on my tongue as I tried to steady myself.

He took a step back, his eyes never leaving me, still heavy with disdain. Slowly, he leaned his back against the wall, his posture deceptively casual as he slid his hands into his pockets. But his gaze stayed locked on me, sharp and unrelenting, like he was studying prey he'd already decided wasn't worth his effort.

I think.

His voice dropped low, rough, and laced with pure menace. "Who the fuck are you... to ruin my fucking business?" The words hit like a physical blow, each one slicing through the air, leaving a cold, suffocating silence in their wake. A shiver crawled down my spine, the weight of his threat pressing against me. My breath caught in my throat, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer, locking my gaze on him, defiant despite the fear gnawing at the edges of my mind.

I couldn't look at him. I just couldn't.

The silence hung thick in the air, suffocating, before he exhaled sharply, his frustration palpable. Then, in a sudden, jarring movement, he pushed himself off the wall and walked behind me. I heard the sound of a bucket clanging, then the unmistakable slosh of water.

Before I could even react, he was in front of me again. He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a key, and for a moment, I think he's going to release me. My body tenses, anticipating freedom. But as he unlocks the cuffs, I realize it's not for that. The chains loosen just enough for me to move, but my wrists and legs are still bound, a prisoner in every sense.

Before I can even process what's happening, he grips my hair with a cruel, unforgiving hold and drags me toward a large tub of water filled with ice. My heart races in panic as I try to resist, but it's no use. He slams me into the freezing water with a brutal force, and before I can even think of regret, he holds me under, the cold shock biting into my skin.

The seconds feel like an eternity. I can't breathe, can't move, can barely think. My chest tightens, my lungs screaming for air, but he doesn't let up. Finally, he pulls me out, and I gasp for air, desperate to fill my lungs.

But he's not done.

"Ready to talk?" he asks, his voice chilling, almost casual.

I can't answer, the air still burning in my throat, my body trembling from the cold, but before I can even gather myself, he shoves me back under. The icy water fills my mouth, my throat, suffocating me as I struggle. He holds me there for what feels like forever, longer each time, until my mind starts to blur, my body begging for relief.

I'm drowning in the fear, in the pain, and in the realization that I have no choice. He's not going to stop until I break.

Finally, when the cold and the terror have worn down the last of my resistance, I manage to gasp out a strangled breath and whisper, "Mariella... Mariella De Angelis."

It's the only thing I can give him, the only thing that can stop this relentless nightmare.

I suck in a breath, trying to steady myself, but the pressure of his hands, the weight of his gaze, is making it impossible to focus. I hate the weakness crawling up my spine, but I push it down. His cold fury is a constant presence, a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode.

He pulls me out of the water one last time, my body convulsing from the shock, unable to find any rhythm to my breathing. I'm drenched, shivering violently, my limbs weak and trembling, but he doesn't care. With a rough yank, he drags me back toward the chair, and before I can even catch my balance, he slams me down onto it, the metal digging into my back. I almost slide off the edge, my arms still cuffed, but he grabs my hair again, forcing my head back as if to remind me of his control.

His face looms over me, his breath steady but dangerous. There's nothing warm in his gaze, nothing human—just cold, calculating malice. His hands grip my shoulders, squeezing hard enough to bruise, as he leans in closer, his voice dark and menacing.

"Tell me why you're here, Mariella. Tell me what the hell your intentions were," he spits, each word dripping with venom. His eyes burn into mine, unblinking, daring me to lie, to resist. "You think you can just walk in and fuck with my operation? Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"

I feel the pressure of his hands, the weight of his presence. It's suffocating. There's no escape, no mercy, just this relentless force that makes my skin crawl. The air feels thick, like it's pressing in on me from all sides, every breath heavier than the last. His voice drops lower, if that's even possible, turning to a deadly whisper.

"You won't be leaving here until I know exactly who sent you, and what the fuck you think you can get away with. You've already made a mess of things, and I don't take kindly to that." His fingers tighten, and I wince. "So, you better start talking, because if you don't, I'll make you wish you never walked through that door."

The room is deathly silent, save for the sound of my shallow breaths, the fear clawing its way up my throat. My mind races—every word, every lie I could tell—but none of them seem to matter. He's going to break me, whether I speak or not. His grip tightens, and I feel the pressure building, suffocating, like he's squeezing the truth out of me with his bare hands.

"Who the hell are you working for, huh?" He snarls, his tone threatening, his patience already running thin. "And what exactly was your plan when you walked in here?"

I can't help but feel it—this overwhelming weight of inevitability. He's not just playing with me. He's preparing to make me suffer for whatever answers he doesn't get.

"I was sent here to collect payment... and finish the job," I manage to choke out, each word a struggle, but I refuse to let him break me completely. My body is shaking, but my mind is sharp. I've been in worse situations.

I've handled worse.

He stares at me, and for a moment, I think I see a flicker of disbelief in his eyes. But then it's gone—replaced by raw, blistering rage. The look in his eyes shifts, darkening like a storm cloud about to burst. His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tightening as he takes a step back.

He lets out a sharp breath, his fist slamming down onto the edge of the table with a deafening crack. "You think you can just waltz in here, play your little game, and walk out of here unscathed? You have no fucking idea what you're up against, Mariella," he spits, the venom in his voice making my blood run cold. His words hit me like physical blows.

I can feel my chest tighten with the weight of his anger, the air between us thickening with tension. I swallow, trying to hold my ground.

But then, in one swift movement, he steps forward, getting right in my face. I can feel his breath on my skin, feel the heat radiating off his body. His eyes are inches from mine now—unrelenting, a terrifying void. The world around us seems to slow as his gaze locks onto mine, and everything else fades away. His pupils are wide, consumed by pure fury, but there's something else there, something darker, deeper—a madness swirling beneath the surface that sends a chill straight down my spine.

"Do you have any fucking idea what you've just done?" His voice is low, harsh—an icy whisper that makes every nerve in my body tense. I can almost feel his anger pulsing, pressing against me like a physical weight. "I should have killed you the moment you walked in, and now you're telling me you were here just for payment? You think this is some business transaction? You think you can just leave without consequences?"

His hands shoot out, gripping the sides of my face with a force that leaves me breathless. His thumb brushes across my cheek in an almost brutal way, like he's searching for any sign of weakness. I see his face more clearly now, every sharp edge, every hardened line that tells the story of a man who's been broken, rebuilt, and left with nothing but rage.

The silence between us is suffocating, as if the air itself is holding its breath. His voice is barely audible, almost a growl. "You're a fucking fool if you think you're walking out of here."

I can see it in his eyes now—pure, unfiltered anger, as if he's ready to destroy everything in his path to get what he wants. And the worst part? I know he could do it. I know he has the power to end me without a second thought.

But I won't break. Not yet.

I stared at him, my gaze flicking from his cold, unreadable eyes to the smirk that twisted his features. There was something about that smirk, something familiar. My mind raced, trying to place it. Then, like a jolt to my brain, it hit me—hard. I remembered the look, the smirk, from that night. That night at the club. The way he had stared down at me, just like he was now, with that same cold confidence, that same predatory grin.

I remembered everything about that night. His touch, his warmth, the faint scent of cologne that lingered in my memory. It all came rushing back in a flood—his presence, the way he made everything feel so dangerous, so electric. My heart skipped a beat, my chest tightening with realization.

I looked back up into his eyes, and I saw it—it was him. The same eyes, the same intensity, the same darkness. I couldn't believe it, but it was undeniable. He was the one from the club.

And now, well, here we were.

As he leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving mine, they slowly made their way down to my lips, the subtle twitch of his grin almost predatory. Instinctively, I licked my bottom lip, cursing myself as the action left me feeling exposed.

What the hell am I doing? Why would I do that?

I mentally cursed myself, knowing that I had just made a huge mistake, but the frustration inside me couldn't be contained. In a split second, my instinct took over, and without thinking, I slammed my forehead into his face. The sharp, painful impact sent a shockwave through my skull, and I winced, feeling the pressure pulse against my brain.

The moment I staggered back, trying to recover, I realized that I had just set off something far worse than I'd anticipated. A chilling sound sliced through the tension in the room—the unmistakable scrape of metal being drawn, the cold whisper of danger.

Before I could react, he moved with terrifying speed, grabbing his gun and pointing it directly at my forehead. The muzzle pressed hard against my skin, sending a jolt of cold panic through my veins. I froze, my heartbeat thudding in my chest like a war drum. The world seemed to slow, narrowing down to nothing but that gun, the metallic taste of fear filling my mouth.

His eyes locked onto mine, a fire burning within them—rage, but also something deeper. Something darker. And as I looked up at him, I saw the subtle tremor in his hand, the way the gun shook just slightly—like he was struggling to keep it together, to control the storm raging inside him.

I could feel the tension crackling between us, thick and suffocating, as if everything hinged on that one moment. His breath was steady, but his eyes... those eyes—they were wild, full of fire and fury, and I could feel them tearing into me, stripping away any illusion of control I had left.

I swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at me to move, to get away, but I couldn't. I was locked in place, caught between a man who was as dangerous as he was unpredictable, and the cold, unforgiving barrel of a gun. The tremor in his hand was the only thing stopping him from pulling the trigger.

And for that one moment, as time seemed to freeze, I realized something I hadn't before: He was just as fucked up as I was. But he had control. And I was the one who was teetering on the edge.

This was it. This was where I would die.

I closed my eyes, bracing for the inevitable, the weight of fear suffocating me. The familiar heat of tears welled up, slipping down my cheeks. I didn't even try to stop them.

Then- BANG.

The deafening sound of the gunshot shattered the silence, a thunderous crack that echoed through my skull and reverberated in the pit of my stomach.

Oh, no.

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WHATT!!

IS SHE DEAD?!

*Favorite fruit?* (did i ask that??)

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡