From Tortured Wife To Mafia Queen

Daria POV

The heavy steel door creaked open.

Harsh, white light flooded in, searing my retinas and blinding me.

I tried to lift my head, but my neck felt too fragile, as if it could no longer support the weight of my skull.

I was still strapped to the chair, but the jumper cables were gone.

My wrists were raw, the skin peeled back to the dermis where I had fought against the leather restraints.

I looked down at my stomach.

It was bruised, a mottled canvas of purple and blue.

"No," I whimpered, the sound barely escaping my throat.

Clemmie walked in, followed by two men in scrubs.

They weren't doctors.

They looked like butchers in sterile drag, men who dismantled bodies instead of healing them.

"Load her up," Clemmie ordered, idly checking her manicure. "Dr. Gates is waiting at the clinic. We have a tight window for the transplant."

"Kaeden..." I rasped, my voice like sandpaper. "Where is Kaeden?"

Clemmie laughed.

It was a dry, hollow sound, devoid of any real humor.

"He's mourning, sweetie. He's in the chapel, praying for your soul. He thinks you had a stroke during the interrogation. A tragic accident."

She leaned down, her face twisting into a vicious sneer.

"He couldn't watch you die. He's too weak. But I'm not."

The men grabbed the chair.

One of them unbuckled my legs.

I tried to kick, but my limbs were useless jelly.

They hauled me up.

My knees buckled instantly, and I hit the concrete floor hard.

"Careful!" Clemmie hissed. "Don't bruise the merchandise."

They hoisted me up and dragged me into the hallway.

It was a long, concrete tunnel, smelling of damp and rust.

I saw a shadow at the end of the hall.

A man.

He was leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette.

He was huge.

Broad shoulders blocked out the exit sign, casting a long silhouette across the floor.

He wasn't one of Kaeden's usual guards.

He was darker. Something far worse.

Alois Rivas.

The Ghost.

He was an Enforcer for the inner circle, a man who allegedly cut out a rival's tongue for interrupting his breakfast.

He pushed off the wall as we approached.

The men dragging me stopped abruptly.

"Mr. Rivas," one of them said, his voice trembling. "We have orders from the Capo."

Alois didn't look at them.

He looked at me.

His eyes were black, bottomless pits that seemed to swallow the light.

He saw the blood on my lip.

He saw the burns on my arms.

He saw the way I cradled my stomach.

"This isn't business," Alois said. His voice was like gravel grinding together.

"It's family matters," Clemmie stepped forward, trying to summon her authority. "Kaeden ordered this. Step aside, Alois."

Alois dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his boot with a slow, deliberate twist.

"Kaeden is a boy playing with matches," Alois said. "And you..."

He looked at Clemmie with pure, unadulterated disgust.

"...you are a disease."

"Kill him!" Clemmie shrieked to the men in scrubs.

They reached for their waistbands.

Bad move.

Alois moved faster than a man his size should be able to.

Two shots rang out.

Silenced. Phut. Phut.

The men in scrubs dropped to the floor, neat, dark holes in their foreheads.

Clemmie screamed and scrambled backward, tripping over her own heels.

I started to fall, but strong arms caught me before I hit the ground.

Alois held me against his chest.

He smelled of gunpowder and rain.

"I've got you," he rumbled against my ear, the vibration deep and steady.

"My baby," I sobbed into his coat, clutching the rough fabric. "They hurt my baby."

"I know," he said.

He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me toward the exit.

We burst out into the parking garage.

Black SUVs were blocking the ramp.

Kaeden's men.

Marcus Thorne, Kaeden's right hand, stepped out of the lead vehicle.

He raised his gun.

Alois didn't stop walking.

He stared Thorne down.

"She's innocent, Marcus," Alois called out, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "This is a hit. A personal hit. Not sanctioned by the Commission."

Thorne looked at me.

He saw the torture marks.

He looked at the empty doorway where Clemmie was likely hiding.

Thorne lowered his gun.

He stepped aside.

"I didn't see anything," Thorne said, turning his back to us.

Alois nodded once.

He put me in the passenger seat of his car.

"Stay with me, Daria," he ordered as he slid into the driver's seat.

"Where are we going?" I whispered, darkness creeping into the edges of my vision.

"To hell," he said, revving the engine. "And back."