Chapter 4 Shackled
ELARA
Cold dragged me awake.
It wasn’t the kind you could shake off by moving. It pressed into my skin, crept along my spine, settled deep in my bones. I sucked in a breath and tasted damp air and iron.
Darkness.
Not shadows. Not low light. Nothing at all.
I lay still, listening.
No traffic. No voices. No music. Just my breathing too fast and the heavy thud of my heart.
One.
Two.
Three.
Panic edged closer, quiet and patient.
I shifted. My palms scraped against something rough, unyielding. Concrete.
The room tilted as I pushed myself upright. My vision swam, black sparks bursting behind my eyes. I froze, teeth clenched, waiting for it to pass.
When it did, I saw it.
A red dot.
Blinking.
High on the wall.
A camera.
Something inside me sank not fear exactly, but the weight of certainty. I wasn’t alone. I was just unseen.
My hands went to my pockets. Empty. I checked again, slower this time, as if the phone might appear if I was careful enough.
Nothing.
My pulse spiked. I forced air into my lungs, steadying myself before panic could spiral. My hand drifted to my stomach, fingers flattening there without thought.
Four months.
The hunger came then sharp, twisting low in my belly. I swallowed, ignoring it. Ignoring the cold. Ignoring the tremor in my hands.
“How could you do this to me?”
The words echoed weakly, swallowed by the dark.
Sandro’s face surfaced in my mind. Calm.
Remote. Those eyes that never revealed what he was thinking. Five years ago, I had believed there was something human beneath the violence. That love could reach him.
I love you.
The memory burned.
I had been young. Careless. Certain that honesty couldn’t be used against me.
I’d escaped him once. Built a life far from Naples. Far from blood and power and men who spoke in promises they never meant to keep.
Yet here I was.
My stomach growled again. Louder this time. I wrapped my arms around myself, rocking slightly, trying to quiet it. Trying not to count the hours. Trying not to think about how long this could last.
“I’m pregnant,” I said, lifting my face toward the red light. My voice came out rough. Bare.
“Please.”
The word tasted wrong.
I had never begged.
Protection had always been automatic Adrian’s doing. Sandro’s vow. He had called me sister. Sworn no one would ever touch me.
Mafia promises were smoke.
They vanished the moment you reached for them.
“I just need food,” I said. My voice cracked despite myself. “And water.”
Silence.
The camera didn’t blink faster. Didn’t move.
The chill crept higher, crawling up my spine. I pushed myself to my feet, legs shaking, and took one careful step forward.
Metal snapped tight around my ankle.
The sound was sharp. Final.
“No,” I breathed.
My gaze followed the chain thick iron links disappearing into the wall.
Shackled.
My knees buckled. I hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. A sob tore free before I could stop it. Hunger clawed viciously now, my head pounding, sweat slicking my skin despite the cold.
I couldn’t pass out.
I pressed my hand over my stomach, fingers splayed protectively.
Stay awake.
Darkness crept in anyway.
Cold water slammed into my face.
I gasped, choking, eyes flying open as harsh light flooded the room. My head rang as shapes sharpened into focus.
Two men.
And between them Sandro.
He didn’t speak.
His face was empty. Not angry. Not amused. As if I were something placed in front of him rather than someone he knew. One of his men stepped forward and let a tray drop onto the floor.
Fruit.
Water.
I lunged.
I didn’t think. I didn’t care. My hands shook as I grabbed the food, biting into it like it might vanish. Juice ran down my wrists. I drank until my throat burned, until the roaring in my ears dulled.
Only then did I feel it.
His gaze.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and looked up slowly.
“Why?” My voice barely held together. “Why are you doing this to me?”
He stepped closer.
The air shifted with him, heavy and suffocating. My body locked, every nerve screaming as he crouched and caught my chin, forcing my face up.
His eyes were flat. Unreadable.
I tried to turn away.
He didn’t let me.
“Daniel.”
The name cut deep.
My breath stuttered. “What about him?” I whispered. “What did you do to my husband?”
That slow curve of his mouth made my stomach drop.
“You want to know?”
He straightened and nodded once. One of his men left the room. The seconds stretched until he returned with a bag.
My body started to shake.
Sandro took it.
Turned it over.
The contents spilled onto the floor.
I screamed.
The sound ripped out of me as my legs folded, the world narrowing to the shape at my feet.
“My husband,” I sobbed. “You killed my husband.”
Tears burned down my face. Sandro stepped closer and grabbed my chin again harder this time, pain flashing sharp and bright.
“I didn’t kill him alone,” he said calmly.
His other hand moved.
Rested on my stomach.
Something inside me shattered.
“His child will follow him.”
“No,” I whispered. “What do you mean?”
He stood.
The chain unlocked with a dull click.
Hands seized my arms, hauling me to my feet.
“Where are you taking me?” I cried. “Please please!”
No one answered.
They dragged me toward the door, my heart hammering, my thoughts splintering.
All I knew was this
I had to live.
For my child.
And whatever Sandro De Luca planned next,
it would not end with chains alone.
