Into The Rival's Arms: The Decoy's Escape

Elena Vance POV

The van smelled like rust and old blood.

I lay on the metal floor, shivering in my wet dress. My hands were zip-tied behind my back. The darkness was absolute, but the sounds were worse. The tires crunched over gravel, signaling we had left the paved roads of the Hamptons. We were heading somewhere forgotten.

Dante had not just cast me aside. He had disposed of me like rot.

The vehicle stopped with a jerk that sent my shoulder slamming into the wall. The doors flew open. Rough hands grabbed my ankles and dragged me out.

I hit the dirt hard.

The air here was thick with cigarette smoke and the metallic tang of violence. I knew where I was. Everyone in the family knew about The Pit. It was where the Moretti family disposed of problems that didn't warrant a bullet but didn't deserve a trial.

"Get up," a voice growled.

I was hauled to my feet. My legs were trembling, not just from the cold, but from the terrifying realization that I was going to die tonight.

They pushed me through a heavy steel door. The noise hit me like a physical blow-roaring, cheering, and the sickening thud of flesh on flesh.

We walked down a concrete corridor lined with cages. I saw eyes staring out from the shadows. Men who had betrayed the Don. Women who had seen too much.

We reached the main arena. It was a dirt ring surrounded by chain-link fencing. Floodlights buzzed overhead, illuminating the bloodstained earth.

Up in the VIP box, behind thick glass, I saw them.

Dante sat on a velvet throne. He looked bored. He was swirling a glass of whiskey, his eyes scanning the crowd with detached disinterest.

Sofia sat on his lap. She was laughing, pointing at the ring. She looked like a queen watching a jester prepare for execution.

The guard shoved me through the gate. I stumbled into the center of the ring.

A hush fell over the crowd. They weren't used to seeing a woman in a cocktail dress, dripping wet, looking like a broken doll.

The Pit Boss stepped up to the microphone.

"Fresh meat for the grinder!" he announced. "Courtesy of Underboss Moretti!"

The crowd roared.

I looked up at the glass box. I locked eyes with Dante.

Save me, my eyes begged. You loved me once. You held me when I had nightmares. You told me I was safe.

Dante leaned forward. He pressed a button on the intercom. His voice boomed over the speakers, smooth and indifferent.

"One million on the house fighter," he said.

My heart didn't break. It disintegrated.

He wasn't just watching me die. He was betting on it.

The gate on the other side of the ring opened.

A woman stepped out. She was pure muscle, her knuckles taped, her eyes void of humanity. She looked at me like I was a stain she needed to scrub out.

I backed up until my spine hit the cold chain-link fence.

Dante raised his glass in a mock toast.

"Begin," he commanded.