Into the Wolf's Den
The city was a graveyard of shadows. Elena's car rolled down the abandoned street, the headlights cutting through the fog like knives. Her hands clutched the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles whitened. Every mile that passed tightened the noose around her chest.
She had left Isabella safe in her bed, tucked beneath layers of warmth, her soft breath steady in sleep. Lucian's guards had patrolled the mansion as usual, unaware that the mistress of the house was slipping past them. Elena had never lied so brazenly in her life.
Now, with every turn of the tires, she felt the walls of morality collapsing. She wasn't just betraying Lucian's trust—she was walking straight into hell.
Her mother's voice echoed in her ears. "Elena, help me…"
That sound had burrowed into her bones.
She pulled up outside the warehouse, the address Dante had given. The building loomed like a carcass, its windows shattered, its brick walls tagged with graffiti. A single light glowed above the steel door.
Elena swallowed hard and stepped out, her heels clicking against the cracked pavement. The night air stank of rust and oil. She pulled her coat tighter, her body trembling with equal parts fear and fury.
The door groaned open before she touched it. Two of Dante's men stood waiting, their faces expressionless beneath the glow. One of them gestured sharply.
"Inside."
Her pulse roared in her ears, but Elena forced herself forward.
---
The interior was worse than she imagined. The warehouse reeked of damp wood and old blood. Chains dangled from the rafters, swaying faintly with the draft. The floor was littered with broken crates, cigarette butts, and shards of glass.
At the center of the cavernous space sat her mother—bound, gagged, her eyes wide with terror. Elena stumbled forward, tears burning her eyes.
"Mama!"
She dropped to her knees, trying to reach her, but a hand clamped down on her arm, yanking her back.
Dante's voice slid through the air, smooth and mocking. "Careful, Elena. You wouldn't want to trip in front of your daughter's grandmother, would you?"
Elena turned. Dante emerged from the shadows like a serpent, dressed in a black tailored suit that caught the dim light. His smile was the kind that froze blood.
Her heart pounded. "Let her go."
Dante chuckled. "Straight to demands? You've grown bold living with Moretti. But boldness doesn't win games, my dear. Sacrifice does."
He circled her slowly, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Tell me… did Lucian know you were coming here? Or did you sneak out like a guilty little wife?"
Elena's jaw clenched. "He doesn't know. And he doesn't need to. This is between us."
Dante's smile widened. "Oh, excellent answer. Exactly what I wanted to hear."
He snapped his fingers. Two men dragged her mother forward, forcing her into the center of the room. Elena surged to her feet, but another guard shoved her back down.
Her mother's muffled sobs tore at Elena's heart. She met Dante's gaze, fire sparking in her eyes. "I'm here. You said you wanted me. Let her go. She has nothing to do with this."
Dante tilted his head, studying her like a specimen. "That's where you're wrong. Family is everything, Elena. Yours is your weakness. Just as Lucian's weakness is you."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Do you know what it's like, watching him tear through my empire? Watching him strip away years of power with nothing but rage in his veins? He loves you so much he's willing to risk it all. That kind of devotion…" Dante's smile twisted. "It's intoxicating. Almost makes me jealous."
Elena glared at him. "If you hurt my mother, Lucian will hunt you down and burn you alive."
Dante's eyes darkened. He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. "He'll never get the chance. Because while he sleeps in his fortress, you're here. Alone."
---
Back at the mansion, Lucian sat in his study, pouring over reports from his lieutenants. Maps sprawled across the desk, red markers stabbing into Dante's remaining strongholds. He should have been focused, but something gnawed at him.
Restlessness. A whisper in his gut that something was off.
He pushed back from the desk and strode into the hall. The guards snapped to attention, but he barely noticed them. His steps carried him toward the nursery.
The door creaked softly as he opened it. Isabella stirred faintly in her crib but did not wake. Lucian's eyes softened at the sight of her, but his relief evaporated when he noticed the empty bed beside her.
"Elena?" he whispered.
The sheets were cold.
A chill spread through his chest. He turned sharply. "Where is she?" he barked at the nearest guard.
The man blinked in confusion. "Sir, the mistress hasn't left—"
Lucian's fist slammed into the wall, splintering wood. "Find her. NOW."
The entire house erupted into motion. Guards scattered, radios crackled, and engines roared to life outside.
But Lucian already knew. His instincts screamed the truth. Elena hadn't been taken. She had gone.
And there was only one man who could lure her out.
---
Back in the warehouse, Dante crouched before Elena's mother, removing the gag just enough to let her speak.
"Please," the woman sobbed, her voice hoarse. "Don't hurt my daughter. Don't hurt my grandchild…"
Elena's heart shattered. She lunged forward, but the guards restrained her again.
Dante's eyes glittered with cruel delight. "Do you hear that, Elena? Even in her fear, she begs for you. For the little girl sleeping in her golden crib. What a precious chain you've wrapped around Lucian's throat."
Elena spat the words like venom. "You'll never win. Lucian will destroy you."
Dante rose to his full height, towering over her. "Perhaps. But when he does, he'll find nothing but ashes where you once stood."
He snapped his fingers. A guard pressed a knife to her mother's throat.
Elena screamed, her body straining against the hands that held her. "STOP! I'll do anything, Dante! Just—don't hurt her!"
Dante's smile was cold, triumphant. "Ah. There it is. The sacrifice I was waiting for."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Tonight, you'll make a choice that will break Lucian Moretti. And I will savor every moment of it."
---
Far across the city, Lucian's car tore through the streets, his men trailing in a convoy. His phone buzzed with scrambled signals, half-traces of a call. He recognized the number instantly.
Dante.
Lucian's grip on the wheel tightened until the leather cracked. His eyes burned with the fury of a man who had nothing left to lose.
"Elena," he muttered, the word both a prayer and a curse.
And for the first time in his reign, Lucian Moretti feared he might already be too late.