MasukTime didn’t just slow down; it shattered.
The razor-sharp edge of the lamp glass was an inch from his jugular. I could see the reflection of the silver shard in his wide, icy blue eyes. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. I wanted to slice him. I wanted to make this monster bleed for what he was doing to Dr. Evans. But Lorenzo De Luca wasn’t a regular man. He was a trained apex predator. In a fraction of a second, his lethal reflexes took over. He didn't flinch backward. Instead, he lunged forward, intentionally narrowing the distance so my arm couldn't get the proper leverage for a fatal strike. His massive, gloved left hand clutched my right wrist like a steel bear trap, halting the glass mere millimeters from his skin. The point of the shard lightly grazed his throat, leaving a thin, bead of crimson that began to trickle down his collar. "Boss!" the scarred guard roared, a chorus of heavy pistols instantly cocking in the dark room. Three red laser sights snapped directly onto my forehead and chest. "Hold your fire!" Lorenzo barked, his voice a low, vibrating growl that rattled my teeth. He didn't look at his men. His eyes were locked onto mine, burning with a terrifying mixture of lethal fury and dark, twisted fascination. His grip on my wrist tightened, grinding the bones together until my fingers went numb and the bloody shard of glass slipped from my hand, clattering uselessly onto the floorboards. "You really are a piece of work, Alina," Lorenzo whispered, his breath hot and ragged against my lips. He was pinning my body completely flat against his solid chest, his weight completely crushing me into the mattress. "You almost had me." "I should have killed you," I spit out, coughing as his heavy frame restricted my lungs. "You're a psychopath." Lorenzo let out a dark, breathless chuckle that sent a violent shiver down my spine. "Maybe. But I'm a living psychopath. And you just officially traded your status from a useful witness to an active combatant." He violently yanked my hands behind my back again, using his own heavy silk tie to bind my wrists together so tightly I winced. He shoved me back onto the bed, stepping away as he wiped the single drop of blood from his neck with his thumb. He looked down at his stained skin, then back at me. "Put the doctor in the vehicle," Lorenzo commanded, his voice returning to that chilling, emotionless baritone. "He’s too valuable to kill on a rug. We'll extract the ledger's location from him at the warehouse." "No! Leave him alone!" I screamed, thrifting my legs out, trying to kick at the guards as they violently hoisted Dr. Evans’s limp, groaning body off the floor. "Alina... don't look..." Dr. Evans wheezed, his head sagging as they dragged him out of the room like a sack of garbage. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind them, leaving only Lorenzo and me in the room. The silence that followed was suffocating. Lorenzo walked slowly toward the door, his hand resting on the brass handle. He paused, turning his head slightly to look at me over his shoulder. The moonlight caught the sharp edge of his jaw and the stark white bandage on his nose. "Get some rest, little mouse," Lorenzo murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerous, dark promise. "Because tomorrow at dawn, you are going to watch me break him. And if he doesn't talk... you're next." Click. The deadbolt slid back into place. I was left in the pitch black, my wrists bound tighter than before, surrounded by the metallic scent of Dr. Evans's fresh blood on the floor. Tomorrow, they were going to torture the only person who had ever looked out for me. And I had exactly six hours to figure out how to stop it.The shattered glass lay forgotten at my feet.“Say that again,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.The guard didn’t look at me this time. He looked at Lorenzo, waiting for permission that came in the form of a single, terse nod.“The man we pulled off sublevel three was carrying a burner phone with a contact list,” the guard said. “Three numbers, all routed through shell accounts. One of them traces back to a private security firm that’s been drawing a salary from an offshore account under the name Arthur Moretti for five years running.”The room tilted. I gripped the arm of the chair to keep from sliding out of it entirely.“That’s not possible,” I said. “He’s a mechanic. He fixes cars. He drinks cheap beer and yells at the television during football season. He is not—” My voice cracked. “He is not a man who hires mercenaries to shoot up a mafia estate.”“He is exactly that man,” Lorenzo said, quiet and final, “and has been for longer than you’ve been paying rent on that apartment I
Marco was gone within the hour, escorted out by two guards Lorenzo trusted enough to send after his sister. The gunfire in the cellar had stopped completely, replaced by the low murmur of cleanup crews and the distant slam of a van door somewhere above ground.I sat on the edge of a leather armchair in Lorenzo's private study, my knees pulled to my chest, still shaking from the adrenaline that had nowhere left to go."Drink," Lorenzo said, pressing a glass of amber liquid into my hand. He didn't wait to see if I obeyed. He never did."I don't drink whiskey.""You do tonight." He crouched in front of me, and for the first time since the alley, he looked tired. Not weak. Never weak. But human, in a way the tailored suits and cold baritone usually buried.I took a sip. It burned all the way down, and somehow that was the first thing all night that felt honest."You could have died in that stairwell," he said. It wasn't concern, exactly. It was closer to an accusation."So could you." I s
The dark swallowed the corridor whole. Lorenzo’s hand left mine so fast the brass key nearly slipped from my fingers before I closed my fist around it on instinct, shoving it deep into the waistband of my sweatpants in the same motion I’d used to hide the map. “Stay behind me,” he said, and the playful, needling edge that had lived in his voice all week was gone. This was the man from the alley. Cold. Precise. Lethal. “Boss, sublevel three, they’re already—” The radio cut to static mid-sentence. “Two rifles, now,” Lorenzo barked at the guards flanking us. One pressed a sidearm into his hand without question; the other grabbed my arm and hauled me back against the wall beside the storage unit, angling his own body between me and the corridor like a human shield. Muzzle flashes lit the far end of the hallway in stuttering strobes, gunfire cracking off the concrete in short, controlled bursts. Not wild. Trained. Whoever this was, they weren’t a street gang. “Rossi family,” Lor
“Give it to me, Alina,” he commanded softly, his blue eyes turning dark, the playful edge instantly vanishing.I yanked the book back against my chest. “It’s poetry, Lorenzo. Unless you’re scared of a sonnet.”“I’m scared of nothing.” His hand closed over mine, not violent, just absolute. “Which is exactly why I know you’re lying.”He pried my fingers back one at a time, patient, like he had all the time in the world and my resistance was simply a formality he was choosing to enjoy. The book came free. The folded paper slipped loose from between the pages and fluttered toward the rug.I lunged for it.So did he.Our hands collided over the paper, his palm crushing mine flat against the Persian rug, his whole body dropping down over me in the process. For one suspended second neither of us moved. His face hovered inches above mine, his breath ragged, his dark hair falling loose over his forehead for the first time since I’d met him — no longer the composed devil in a tailored suit, jus
If Lorenzo De Luca expected me to sit in a corner, weep, and look beautiful for his brooding pleasure, he had severely miscalculated.By day three of my official estate house arrest, the initial paralyzing terror had settled into a sharp, vibrating irritation. Yes, I was a hostage. Yes, my supervisor's life hung in the balance. But working twelve-hour shifts standing over a boiling industrial dishwasher teaches you one vital skill: how to handle arrogant men who think they own the room.The heavy oak door to my room was no longer deadbolted during the day. As long as I didn't approach the massive glass perimeter windows or the heavy iron gates outside, I was allowed to roam the residential wing.Naturally, my first stop was the kitchen."Who allowed you in here?" a sharp, heavily accented voice barked the moment my bare feet hit the pristine white marble floor of the estate’s kitchen.A middle-aged man in a spotless white chef’s uniform stood behind an island, holding a terrifyingly s
The heavy oak door didn't open again for the rest of the night.I sat on the edge of the mattress, my wrists burning under the tight grip of Lorenzo’s silk tie. The metallic scent of Dr. Evans’s blood still lingered in the air, a horrifying reminder of the countdown hanging over my head. Six hours until dawn. Six hours until Lorenzo carried out his threat to break the only person who had ever looked out for me.When the first morning light finally filtered through the bulletproof glass, the heavy deadbolt clicked open.I braced myself, expecting the scarred giant or a squad of guards to drag me to a execution warehouse. Instead, Lorenzo walked in alone.He had changed into a fresh white shirt, completely devoid of bloodstains, and the stark white bandage across his nose made his icy glare look even more menacing. He carried a heavy silver tray, which he set down on the pristine wooden nightstand with a quiet click.On the tray sat a single glass of water and a steaming bowl of cheap,







