2. The Betrayal

Elena's POV.

I watched in disbelief as Marcus strolled back into the apartment, holding a plastic bag with a bottle of some fancy drink peeking out. It was evening and there was a different kind of look on his face. For a second, I almost thought he looked… calm. Too calm.

"Here," he grunted, setting the bottle down on the rickety table in front of me. "Figured you'd want something cold after that… scene you caused." His voice was oddly smooth, almost friendly…a tone I hadn’t heard in years.

I looked from him to the bottle, suspicion bubbling up like bile in my throat. "What is this?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Since when do you buy me anything?”

Marcus forced a tight smile, though his eyes stayed cold and hard. "Oh, come on, Elena," he said with a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. "I just thought I’d do something nice for once. You can keep acting like a brat, or you can just enjoy the drink."

His words stung, but the mocking edge in his voice stung even more. He raised an eyebrow as if daring me to say no, and part of me wanted to throw it in his face. But there was something about the way he stood there, waiting, almost amused. My fingers tingled with nerves, but pride burned hotter. I wasn’t about to let him see me back down.

“Fine,” I snapped, snatching the bottle. I twisted off the cap, catching the faintest whiff of something metallic underneath the fruity scent. I pushed it out of my mind, took a deep swig, and made a show of wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

He watched me with an unsettling smirk, his eyes tracking every move I made. "Good, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I muttered, feeling my throat tighten, “if you’re trying to poison me.”

He let out a dark chuckle, the sound sending a shiver up my spine. "Oh, I wouldn't do something like that," he said, his voice slick with false innocence. "But then again, you always did like causing trouble, didn't you? All that fuss you made earlier…made things a lot harder for me."

A chill washed over me as I took a second, slower sip, trying to ignore the strange, sluggish warmth creeping through my veins. My vision began to blur around the edges, and my head felt heavier, like someone had placed weights behind my eyes.

I blinked hard, trying to clear the fog. "Marcus…" My voice came out slurred, weaker than I intended. The room tilted, spinning lazily, as if the walls themselves were melting away. I reached out, grabbing the edge of the table to steady myself, but the strength seemed to drain from my hands.

He just stood there, watching with an unreadable expression on his face. "You… you did something," I managed to stammer, my fingers going numb.

He leaned in close, his breath cold against my cheek as he whispered, “Consider it payment, dear sister. Enjoy the nap.”

The last thing I saw was his smirk, dark, victorious…as the world slipped into darkness, and I realized, too late, I’d walked right into his trap.

…

I woke up with a blinding headache, my temples pounding like hammers against my skull. The world spun as I tried to open my eyes, only to be hit by the cold sting of rain pelting my face. I shivered, feeling the sharp bite of wet ropes cutting into my wrists and ankles. I was tied up, lying on the ground like an animal set up for slaughter, drenched to the bone, every muscle in my body was aching.

It took a moment to realize I was lying outside, staring up at a massive mansion that stood over me. There were shadows from the lights on the front porch, and there were men dressed in black suits standing under the cover, away from the rain. They held enormous black dogs on leashes, and the beasts barked and snarled, their eyes fixed on me as if we were prey.

Beside me, I noticed Marcus, standing and soaked, but somehow not half as terrified as he should have been. He was yelling, his voice was hoarse but strong, trying to shout over the endless barking and the downpour. 

"Dante Moretti!" he called out, desperation laced in his tone, "I’m here! I don’t have your money, but I brought my sister! She can cook, clean… hell, she can even warm your bed if that’s what you want. Anything, just let me go!”

My eyes shot open, wide with shock. I could barely process what he was saying. The reality of it hit me like a punch in the face…he didn’t just drug me, didn’t just drag me to this place tied up like a sacrifice. 

No, he was offering me up like some bargaining chip, as if I were nothing more than currency to clear his debt. The betrayal twisted in my stomach like a knife, making me sick. I wanted to scream, to curse him, but the tape over my mouth muffled any sound, trapping my anger and horror inside.

"Moretti! Just take her!" Marcus kept shouting, his voice strained. "She’s… she’s good for anything you need. You want a maid? She’s yours. A plaything? She’ll do that too. Just let me off the hook, please, Mr. Moretti!"

The rain continued to pour, cold and merciless, as I lay there, helpless, listening to him debase me over and over. I wanted to close my eyes, to shut him out, to pretend this wasn’t happening. But then I saw movement from the mansion’s front entrance, a figure stepping out from the shadows, gliding into the light.

He was tall, his suit dark and perfectly fitted, shoulders broad, and every line of him had a dangerous authority that made my heart pound in my chest. His face was shadowed, but as he came closer, I caught glimpses; sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and eyes that held a coldness so intense it could freeze you where you stood. He radiated power, the kind that demanded respect without a single word.

Dante Moretti.

The air seemed to still as he came closer, his gaze moving from Marcus to me, unhurried, almost bored. He stopped, looking down at us, his expression unreadable. When he spoke, his voice was low and calm, each word soaked with menace. "You."

At once, Marcus crumbled, falling to his knees, groveling like a pathetic worm. "Mr. Moretti," he pleaded, his tone desperate. "Please, I don’t have the money, but I brought you something worth more than cash.” He gestured quickly toward me, his hands trembling. “My sister, Elena… she’s yours. You can use her however you want. She can work for you, or… or keep you company. Whatever you want her to do, she’ll do it.”

Dante’s gaze settled on me, his face hardening as he considered Marcus’s offer. A small smirk spread across his face, more sinister than amused, and he arched an eyebrow. "What makes you think a woman… your sister, no less… will atone for your debt?" He crossed his arms, unimpressed. "You owe me one million dollars, Marcus."

One million. My heart hammered so loudly I could barely hear the rain. What in the world had Marcus done to rack up a debt that massive? And how had he dragged me into this nightmare?

“Mr. Moretti, please,” Marcus stammered, his voice breaking. “She… she can serve you in so many ways. Look at her! She’ll be… she’ll be useful. I swear, she’ll do anything you ask.” He continued to gesture at me quickly, his voice cracking with desperation.

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, hot and bi

tter. I had never felt so humiliated, so betrayed in my life.