CHAPTER 3

They grabbed me like I was nothing more than a rag doll, slinging me over their shoulders as if I weighed nothing. I fought with everything I had, kicking, clawing, biting, but they didn’t even flinch. It was like they were made out of steel.

“Take her to the first basement,” the devil said coldly.

Basement? My heart pounded. “How is this my fault? You tried to harass me! I was just defending myself!” My words spilled out, frantic and desperate.

They ignored me, dragging me down a dimly lit corridor. When we reached the basement, they shoved me inside with no warning. I stumbled, landing hard on the damp, grimy floor. I scrambled to my feet and bolted toward the iron gate, but it slammed shut before I could reach it.

“Let me out!” I yelled, but I knew it was useless. Screaming will weaken me and that is the last thing I want.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to gaze around my surroundings. The stench hit me first—a nauseating mix of blood and decay that clung to the air. I gagged, trying to suppress the bile rising in my throat.

The room was barely lit, a single bulb flickering above. There was a rusted flashlight on the floor. I picked it up with trembling hands and turned it on. The dim beam illuminated only a few feet ahead of me, casting eerie shadows across the walls.

Then I heard it.

A faint, broken whimper.

My heart skipped. I froze, every muscle in my body locking up as I strained to listen. The sound came again, fragile and pitiful, like a wounded animal.

“Hello?” I whispered, my voice shaking.

Slowly, I followed the sound. Each step felt like it would lead me straight into a nightmare—and I wasn’t wrong.

When the flashlight’s beam finally landed on the source of the noise, my legs gave out beneath me. I collapsed to the floor, my hand flying to my mouth as a scream clawed at my throat but refused to escape.

The only way I could identify the gender was her long, matted hair and exposed chest. She was tied to a chair, her body slumped forward. Her face was unrecognizable—disfigured, swollen, smeared with dried blood. Her fingers… or what remained of them… had been severed at the knuckles.

Scattered around her chair were skeletons. Human skeleton.

The flashlight slipped from my hands, clattering to the ground. My chest heaved as I tried to breathe. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision, but I blinked them away. I couldn’t afford to fall apart—not here, not now.

I staggered backward, my stomach twisting violently. Bile rose in my throat, refusing to be forced back down, and before I could stop it, I emptied everything I had eaten.

*****************

The stench of decay from the rotting corpse and the single meal I was thrown daily was enough to remind me that four days had passed since I was dragged into this prison.

The only semblance of decency in this place was the small, filthy toilet in the corner. Beyond that, it was pure, unrelenting hell.

At times, I was in total darkness, with no light, no sound, and no way to know if it was day or night. Sometimes the lights would flicker on, blinding me for a few seconds before everything went pitch black again, making me dizzy and disoriented. I’d hear strange noises—footsteps, whispers, or distorted voices, but when I tried to focus, everything would go quiet again, leaving me unsure if it was real. He was torturing me mentally, they wanted me insane.

I heard footsteps. My head snapped up, and I scrambled to my feet. The food tray slid through the small opening as usual.

“Please,” I croaked, pressing my face against the metal gate. “Please… tell him I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever he wants. Just get me out of her, this stench is killing me.” I have never pleaded in my entire life, but here I have begged more times than I could count.

No answer. The footsteps faded, leaving me alone again.

I sank to the floor, hopelessness crushing me.

After what felt like a long time, I heard footsteps again. They stopped in front of the gate, and soon after, I heard the metal creak as if it was struggling to be opened. My heart raced as I quickly glanced at the gate, and alas, it swung open.

“Come out,” a huge scarred man ordered.

I obeyed without hesitation, stumbling out of the cell. My knees buckled, but I caught myself before I fell.

“One sound out of you, and I’ll throw you back in there,” his tone laced with threat, “Follow me.”

I nodded quickly, keeping my head down as I trailed behind him.

When we reached the familiar room upstairs, he stopped.

“Go in. Clean yourself up. There’s food and clothes inside. You’ve got twenty minutes.”

I turned to him, “What country am I in?”

He paused, his sharp eyes narrowing as he creased his forehead. His expression shifted into something between disbelief and irritation, the kind of look that said, ‘Are you seriously asking me this?’

“Last time I..”

“Italy,” he cut me off.

Before I could process his answer, he clicked the door open.

“Go,” he ordered.

I hesitated, I turned back and entered.

The door clicked shut behind me. There was a timer on the table and for a moment, I just stood there, disoriented.

Italy?! First, I was in Russia, and now I’m being auctioned off as some Don’s daughter in Italy? I clasped my hair in frustration, my mind racing. Were they blind? Couldn’t they tell I wasn’t Catalina?

I let out a shaky sigh, “Or… is she my doppelgänger?” The thought sent a shiver down my spine as I knitted my brows.

This wasn’t adding up. Something was wrong—terribly wrong. And I needed answers. The Devil himself owed me an explanation. Whatever this twisted game was, I couldn’t risk my life playing along.

I glanced at the timer. I had fifteen minutes left.

I rushed to the bathroom.

The hot water cascading over my skin felt like a blessing and a curse, stinging my wounds but washing away the filth. When I was done, I wrapped myself in the towel and returned to the bedroom.

A clean outfit was folded neatly on the bed. I dressed quickly, not daring to waste a second. A simple beige turtleneck and black pants.

After finishing the meal they’d left for me, I settled on the bed, pulled my legs close to my chest, and stared at the timer.

Ten seconds

Five….

Two….

One….

The door swung open, but instead of the scarred man, it was him.

The devil himself.

The door clicked shut and the knob twisted. Someone outside had locked the door.

My eyes dropped to his hand, and my stomach churned when I saw what he was holding—a collar and a rope. It wasn’t like any normal collar I’d seen before. It looked more advanced with buttons around it.

I instinctively shifted back on the bed, “what is that for?” I asked, trying to keep my trembling voice stable.

His eyes darkened, “Stay exactly where you are,” he said, his tone calm but laced with menace. “Move an inch, and you’ll regret it.”

But I wasn’t going to let him use that thing on me. Not without a fight. Ignoring his warning, I shifted back again, desperate to put space between us.

The moment I moved, his hand shot out and grabbed my ankle. I screamed as he yanked me toward him with a force that sent me sprawling against the mattress.

I thrashed wildly, clawing at his arms, biting, kicking—anything to break free from his iron grip. But it was useless. He didn’t flinch.

“You’re only making it worse for yourself,” he said coldly, his face devoid of emotions, “Because you don’t know when to shut up and listen.”

His words froze me, and I stopped struggling, my chest heaved as I glared up at him.

He stood up from me, “Good,” he said calmly. His eyes raked over me, making my blood run cold. “Now, take off your clothes.”

My heart stopped for a second. “What?”

His expression hardened, any trace of patience gone. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Alzna.”