Lucia’s POV
The damp cellar swallowed the slow scrape of boots against concrete.
Salvatore Greco stopped in front of the cages, running his thumb slowly along the old scar down his cheek, twirling the blade between his fingers as if this were nothing more than a way to pass a dull evening. His presence pressed down on the room, thick with cruelty, the stink of gun oil and mildew hanging in the dark.
“Don Ferraro,” he drawled, tilting his head. “Time to choose again. Who do we pick this round?”
Bruno stiffened.
His eyes flicked toward Adriana on instinct.
She was pale, trembling in the iron cage across from mine, her fingers wrapped around the bars as if they were her last lifeline. When she looked at him, her eyes shone with desperate hope, glossy with unshed tears. She had made herself small, fragile, pitiful, every inch of it laid out for him to see.
“I choose Adriana!” Bruno shouted without hesitation.
His voice rang through the cellar, sharp and resolute.
The answer landed like a blade to my chest.
Salvatore chuckled, plainly entertained. He unlocked one of the cages, but not hers. Rough hands seized me and shoved me deeper into the other cage. The iron door slammed shut with a deafening clang, sealing me inside a narrow, suffocating space.
The darkness closed in instantly.
Cold metal pressed against my back, my knees drawn tightly to my chest as my breathing turned shallow and uneven. Panic surged as the cramped space triggered the familiar terror clawing up my throat.
I curled into the corner, my entire body trembling.
“Bruno…” My voice broke as I whispered his name, barely louder than a breath.
But outside, he didn’t hear me.
All I could hear was Adriana’s sobbing, her soft cries filling the cellar while Bruno murmured reassurances to her. His tone was gentle, soothing, nothing like the cold command he had used on me.
Time stretched.
Only after what felt like an eternity did he finally remember I existed.
“Name your price,” Bruno said impatiently, his voice hardening. “Don’t hurt Lucia again.”
Salvatore burst out laughing.
“One hundred million,” he said cheerfully. “Enough to buy one life. So, Don Ferraro, which one do you want to walk out of here?”
The question lingered for less than a second.
“Buy Adriana back,” Bruno replied sharply. “Don’t touch her.”
He almost barked the words, as if even a moment’s delay might cost her.
I leaned weakly against the cold bars as Adriana’s cage was unlocked. The ropes fell away from her wrists, and she collapsed forward, dramatic to the last. Bruno rushed to catch her, pulling her into his arms as though she were made of glass.
She clung to him, sobbing into his chest.
I was too exhausted even to laugh.
Bruno lifted her carefully, then finally looked toward me. His expression was complicated, a mixture of guilt and obligation, as if he were granting me some kind of mercy.
“Lucia,” he said stiffly. “Your sister is fragile. I’ll take her first. Wait here. I’ll wire the money and come back for you.”
Wait here.
As if this cellar weren’t already a grave.
He didn’t wait for my answer. Without another glance he carried Adriana out, her arms locked around his neck.
The sound of their footsteps faded into the dark.
Salvatore crouched in front of my cage and kicked my leg lightly through the bars, the way a man tests a trapped animal.
“Your man’s real devoted to her,” he sneered. “Guess blood don’t count for much with him.”
My chest burned as I coughed, the metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth. I wiped it away with the back of my hand and forced myself to sit straighter, meeting his gaze without flinching.
“How much,” I asked calmly, “would it cost to save my life?”
The man paused.
“I’ll pay double whatever she offered,” I continued evenly. “Name your price.”
His eyes gleamed. His thumb drifted back to the scar, slower now.
For a moment the pretense dropped. The act was no longer worth keeping.
“Your sister wants you dead,” he admitted bluntly. “But we don’t care about that. We care about money.”
I already knew.
My hands trembled as I pulled out my cracked phone. The screen flickered, but it still worked. I dialed a number from memory and spoke quietly, every word steady despite the chaos raging inside me.
“Move two hundred million. Now.”
Minutes later the freelancers checked their accounts. Satisfied, they unlocked the cage and cut the restraints from my wrists.
I walked out without looking back.
Outside, the night air filled my lungs, sharp and cold, grounding me. I flagged the first cab I saw and gave the airport address without hesitation.
I didn’t stop shaking until I reached the terminal.
Right before boarding, my phone buzzed.
One billion appeared in my account.
A message followed.
[Ferraro took the bait. Two days from now their cash chain freezes. Every laundering artery they run gets cut.]
I stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then, slowly, a faint smile curved my lips. Beneath it, I pressed my thumb once to the thin scar on my wrist, the only inheritance my family ever gave me.
Under the cold glow of the terminal lights, I finally lifted my head.
My revenge had officially begun.
