3. The Spitfire's First Glimpse Of Hell

Elena's POV.

Marcus’s desperate voice was still shouting, pleading as if his life depended on it…which, I supposed, it did.

"Please, Mr. Moretti," he choked out, soaked and shaking. "Take her. She can be… she can be anything you need her to be. Just please… please…"

“Enough!” Dante’s voice roared through the rain, a cold command that made everyone freeze. Marcus shut his mouth instantly, staring at Dante like a cornered rat, trembling as he waited for his verdict. My heart raced; for a second, I dared to hope. Maybe this man would laugh in Marcus's face, give him a final warning, and let me go.

But then Dante’s gaze fell on me again, and my stomach knotted. He looked me up and down, with his eyes dark and calculating. Every second stretched out as he silently sized me up, the power he wielded radiating like a dark cloud. My skin crawled under his piercing stare, every instinct screaming at me to run. As if I could.

And then, as abruptly as it started, the rain stopped. Like some twisted signal, the sky cleared, leaving me cold and drenched, shivering in the sudden stillness.

Dante’s lips finally curled into the faintest trace of a smirk. “I’ll take the girl.”

My heart sank, crashing through the pit of my stomach. Marcus, the coward, sagged in relief, practically sobbing, “Thank you… thank you…” He turned to me, and his face twisted into something smug, satisfied. “Goodbye, little sister.”

Goodbye? The words struck me harder than any of the insults he’d thrown at me. He was leaving me. Like I was a problem he’d happily dumped at the feet of the devil himself. I felt hot tears well up, spilling over as I glared daggers at him, wishing my mouth wasn’t taped so I could let loose every curse that burned in my throat.

Dante motioned to his men, who stepped forward, grabbing me with hard grips, lifting my still-bound body as if I weighed nothing. Marcus cast me one last look, a small, crooked smile, and then, like the coward he was, turned and ran into the night, leaving me behind without a second thought.

If my mouth had been free, I’d have cursed him with every ounce of hatred in my soul. But all I could do was glare, my silent rage meeting Dante’s cool, unfeeling gaze as his men dragged me toward the mansion.

At that moment, I felt my heart harden. I didn’t know what awaited me here, but whatever happened, I swore I’d find a way to make Marcus pay.

…

The inside of the mansion was colder than the rain outside, the air thick with tension and the sickly scent of leather and cigar smoke. They shoved me into a chair, the rough rope biting into my wrists, binding them tightly behind me. My body ached from the cold, from being dragged and tossed like a ragdoll, but none of that prepared me for the man who stood in front of me, Dante Moretti.

He barely acknowledged me at first. His gaze swept over me like I was a piece of property, something Marcus had bartered away. His eyes were dark, calculating. Finally, he spoke, his tone bored and low. “What’s your name?”

I swallowed, feeling the weight of his gaze pinning me down. My brother had done this to me, handed me over like I was some payment he could brush off. Fury and fear fought within me, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, even if it was all I had left.

“Elena,” I said, with a forced smirk, though my heart raced. “You planning on getting it embroidered on my leash?”

For a second, his eyebrow lifted, just barely. A flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. “Smart mouth,” he muttered, more to himself than to me, like he was already accessing how to break me down.

A loud commotion sounded from the hallway, and I turned, catching a glimpse of a man stumbling inside, his clothes torn and his face pale with terror. He was thrown to the ground, right in front of Dante, his hands pressed together in a desperate plea.

“Please, Mr. Moretti,” the man stammered, his voice cracking as he groveled at Dante’s feet. “It was a mistake…a slip-up, I swear. It won’t happen again.”

Dante’s face hardened, a cold smirk creeping across his lips. He stepped closer, crouching down so he was at the man’s eye level. “A mistake?” His voice was dangerously soft. “Do you really think mistakes are something I tolerate?”

The man’s lip quivered, his words coming out in broken gasps. “Please… please, give me one more chance.”

Dante straightened, pulling a gun from his jacket pocket in one fluid, practiced motion. “One more chance?” He tilted his head, a cold smile spreading across his face. “Fine.” He aimed the gun squarely between the man’s eyes, pausing just long enough for the poor fool to realize what was coming.

“Here’s your chance,” he sneered, his voice was filled with mockery, and then he pulled the trigger.

The crack of the gunshot tore through the room, and my entire body went rigid as something warm and thick splattered across my face. 

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even process the sight of the man slumping forward, his blood pooling around him. My stomach twisted violently, and I tried to shrink into the chair, but the ropes held me tight, keeping me locked in place, forced to stare at the horror right in front of me.

Dante didn’t flinch. He just sighed, slipping the gun back into his pocket like it was nothing more than a pen. Then he turned, his eyes landing back on me, dark and unfeeling, as if he hadn’t just blown a man’s brains out at my feet.

I could feel the blood cooling on my skin, sticky and nauseating, and I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat. My whole body shook, the thought of what had just happened sinking in with sickening clarity. I was trapped, alone, and my only escape had just been abandoned by the one person I’d once called family.

Dante’s lips twisted into that same cold smile as he watched me, his eyes filled with something cruel. I knew he could see the fear plastered on my face,

the raw, exposed shock. And he didn’t mind it one bit.