2- The Price of Silence

The car’s silence was suffocating, broken only by the faint hum of the engine as we sped down the road. My heart pounded so loudly in my chest that I was sure they could hear it. I had never been so aware of my own breathing—shallow, uneven, as I tried to keep it under control. But every time I glanced at *him*, at Dante Ricci, my pulse spiked again.

I wasn’t sure if it was fear or the cold, disinterested way he looked at me, like I wasn’t even worth the air I was breathing. His presence was suffocating, like a predator calmly watching its prey, waiting for the right moment to strike. My mind raced for answers, anything that could get me out of this situation. But I had nothing. No plan, no escape. Just the terror that was freezing my limbs in place.

“Where are you taking me?” My voice barely came out, trembling and fragile.

Dante’s eyes flickered toward me for a brief second before shifting back to the window. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

“I—I didn’t see anything,” I pressed, panic seeping into my voice now. “I swear. I don’t even know who you are. I won’t tell anyone, I—”

“Quiet,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His gaze settled on me again, colder this time, darker. “You talk too much.”

I shut my mouth instantly, the words dying on my tongue. My body tensed, and I instinctively pressed myself further into the seat, trying to create as much space as I could between us, even though I knew it was pointless.

The car turned sharply, and I caught a glimpse of the darkened streets outside. We weren’t heading in the direction of my home—that much I knew. The city lights faded, replaced by abandoned warehouses and narrow streets I didn’t recognize.

I swallowed the rising lump in my throat. *This isn’t happening.*

But it was. And I had no idea how to stop it.

---

The car slowed to a stop in front of a looming warehouse, its windows shattered and its exterior dark, like it hadn’t seen life in years. The driver got out first, opening the door for Dante. He stepped out without so much as a glance at me, his long coat sweeping the ground as he moved.

“Get out,” the driver grunted, yanking the door open on my side.

I hesitated for only a moment before scrambling out of the car, my legs shaking so badly that I had to grip the door for balance. The cold night air hit me like a wall, sharp and unforgiving, but I barely felt it over the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Dante was already walking toward the warehouse doors, the driver following closely behind. Neither of them even looked back at me, like they already knew I wouldn’t run. And they were right. My feet felt glued to the ground, fear rooting me in place.

“Move,” the driver barked, and I forced myself to follow, though every instinct in my body was screaming to turn and run. But where would I go? I didn’t know where I was. And even if I did manage to escape, they’d find me again. They always did.

As we stepped into the dark, cavernous interior of the warehouse, I was hit by the overwhelming smell of metal and dampness. The only light came from a few dim overhead lamps, casting long, eerie shadows that danced across the cracked concrete floor.

Dante stopped in the middle of the room, turning to face me. His eyes were sharp, piercing in the dim light, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I saw something flicker in them. Not anger, not annoyance—but something far worse.

Calculation.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me like a puzzle he was trying to solve. “Do you know why you’re here?”

I shook my head quickly, my throat too dry to speak.

“You made a mistake,” he continued, stepping closer, his voice low but steady, as if he were explaining something simple. “You saw something you shouldn’t have seen. And now, you’re a problem.”

A chill ran down my spine. “I—” My voice cracked, and I forced myself to speak louder. “I didn’t see anything. I didn’t even know—”

“Lying won’t save you,” Dante interrupted, his voice harsh. “Don’t insult my intelligence. You saw me kill a man.”

I froze, my mind reeling. His bluntness was jarring, like a slap to the face. He didn’t try to sugarcoat it, didn’t try to manipulate me. Just pure, cold truth. He had killed someone. And I had seen it.

He took another step closer, his presence looming over me like a shadow. “You’re going to tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

My breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t think. There was no reason he shouldn’t kill me, not in his world. I was a witness. A liability. And in the mafia world, liabilities didn’t last long.

“I… I won’t tell anyone,” I stammered, my voice barely audible. “I swear. I just want to go home.”

Dante’s lips curled into something resembling a smirk, but it was cold, devoid of humor. “You think it’s that simple?” His voice dropped lower, his eyes narrowing. “You think I can just let you go and pretend this never happened?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make him believe me. Because the truth was, I *didn’t* think it was that simple. I knew it wasn’t. But it was the only thing I could offer.

“I didn’t ask for this,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.

He watched me in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me forward, forcing me to meet his gaze. His grip was strong—too strong—and I winced, trying to pull away, but he didn’t let go.

“You don’t get to play the victim here,” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s your fault, not mine.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. Not in front of him. Not like this.

“What do you want from me?” I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of my fear.

Dante’s gaze softened for the briefest of moments, a flicker of something I couldn’t place—regret, maybe? Doubt? But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by the same cold indifference I had seen before.

“What I want,” he said slowly, his grip on my wrist tightening, “is to decide whether you’re worth keeping alive.”

My stomach dropped. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice. “Please... I swear I won’t say anything. I’ll disappear. You’ll never see me again.”

He released my wrist suddenly, and I stumbled back, my heart racing. Dante turned away from me, his hands slipping into the pockets of his coat as he paced slowly, his footsteps echoing in the empty warehouse.

“Here’s the problem,” he said, his voice calm again, like we were discussing the weather. “You’re weak. And in my world, weakness gets you killed.”

I froze, his words cutting through me like ice. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he said sharply, turning to face me again. “You think begging for your life will save you? Do you think that makes you strong?”

My chest tightened, and I bit my lip, my mind racing. I had no idea what to say, what to do. Every word felt like a trap, every movement like a mistake waiting to happen.

Dante’s gaze hardened, and he took a step toward me again, his voice low and dangerous. “Weak people don’t survive in my world, Elena. So you need to give me a reason why you’re worth more to me alive than dead.”

I looked up at him, my heart hammering in my chest. He wasn’t bluffing. He wasn’t playing games. This was life or death, and I was losing.

But I wasn’t ready to die. Not yet.