Chapter 288

ALINA

Santos stood above me, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stared down at me.

“You still think he’s fucking coming for you.”

I swallowed, refusing to look away.

“He is.”

“No,” he snapped, the word sharp and final. “He doesn’t even know where you are. He could tear the entire fucking city apart and still come up fucking empty.

And your still clinging to the fantasy that he’s going to save you.” His eyes locked onto mine.

“Sooner or later, you will yield. You will stop fighting. You will stop saying his name. And when that day comes, you’ll finally understand the only future left for you… is the one I allow.”

I held his gaze even though my pulse was hammering. “You keep saying that like it’s going to scare me,” I said quietly. “But the only person who sounds desperate right now… is you.”

His smile vanished. “You really think Alexander Dimitri is going to magically appear and save you?” His voice hardened.

“This isn’t a fairytale. The great Alexander Dimitri finally met a problem he can’t solve. And that problem is me.”

He gestured around the stone room as if the walls themselves proved his point.

“I won. You’re here. He has nothing.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Won? You actually believe that?”

“Yes,” he snapped. “I fucking won.”

He spread his arms slightly, gesturing around the room like the walls themselves were proof of his victory.

“Look at you. Look where you are. And look where he is — running around, tearing through the world trying to find you, not even knowing if he's getting closer or chasing ghosts.”

His expression hardened. “You still think he's some kind of hero?”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “You think he's different because people lower their voices when they say his name? Because grown men look over their shoulders when they hear Alexander Dimitri is coming?”

He shook his head. “You think fear makes him special?”

He stepped closer, his eyes burning with resentment. “You think he's some perfect man because he showed you affection? Because he gave you a few gentle words and made you feel like you were the only person in the world?”

His smile turned cold. “That's not love, Alina. That's just a better disguise.”

He leaned closer. “Don't confuse the way he makes you feel with who he really is. Monsters can be charming too.”

“No,” I said, steady despite the exhaustion in my voice. “He’s not special because people fear him. He’s special because we love each other. Because when he looks at me, I’m not a prize or a debt or a transaction. I’m just his.”

Santos’s mouth twisted into a cold, almost pitying smile.

“Love?” He spoke the word like it tasted foul. “In our world, love is a pretty lie people tell themselves so they can sleep at night. Compassion. Devotion. Forever. Soft, useless words from books that fall apart the second real power walks into the room.”

He leaned closer, eyes gleaming.

“And power is the only thing that has ever mattered.”

A slow, bitter smile spread across Santos's face.

"Love?" He let out a quiet, mocking laugh, as though I'd said something genuinely ridiculous. "Listen to yourself."

He shook his head slowly, almost pitying me.

"In our world, there is no such thing as love. No compassion. No forever. Those are fairy tales people tell themselves so they can sleep at night."

His eyes locked onto mine, cold and unwavering.

"The mafia isn't built on promises or happy endings. It's built on fear. Loyalty bought with blood. Respect earned through violence. Men don't survive because they're kind, Alina. They survive because they're willing to pull the trigger before the other bastard does."

He paced a slow circle in front of me, hands clasped behind his back.

"You think Alexander is different?" A humorless chuckle escaped him. "He's just better at dressing the monster. Expensive suits. Polished manners. A devoted husband. It's a convincing performance."

He stopped in front of me again.

"But strip away the tailored clothes and the expensive watches, and he's exactly what I am."

His smile sharpened. A killer." He leaned in, lowering his voice.

"The only difference between him and me is that he still lets you believe this fantasy that you're loved." He tapped a finger against his temple. "I don't insult your intelligence by pretending he's any different."

His expression settled into quiet certainty. "Power is the only currency that matters. Love fades. Beauty fades. Loyalty changes sides. Fear is the only thing that lasts."

He looked me up and down with absolute confidence. "And sooner or later... you'll learn that too."

A humorless laugh escaped him.

“Maybe he cares about you now. Maybe he actually believes all those pretty promises he made. But tell me something, what happens when time passes? When someone younger walks into his life? Someone who doesn’t come with your scars, your history, your complications?”

His smile turned cruel. “People like him always move on. That’s what powerful men do. They find something new to want, and everything they swore was forever suddenly becomes something they used to have.”

His expression twisted with a strange kind of pride, like his obsession was proof of devotion.

He pointed toward himself.

“I never hid behind fake promises or acted like I was some hero. I know exactly who I am.”

I didn’t even try to reply. My head was still hazy, the edges of everything soft and distant.

Suddenly he pulled out something from his pocket. For a second I didn't understand. My mind felt slow, fogged by whatever was still lingering in my system. My body felt heavy, disconnected. Then I saw the camera pointed at me.

'What are you doing..."

Santos smiled — the kind of smile that made my skin crawl.

With a fluid motion, he closed the small distance between us, his arm hooking around my waist and yanking me against him until my back was flush with his chest.

The phone remained steady in his other hand, aimed directly at my face. His free hand slid down my stomach, hooking into the fabric of my dress and yanking it up, exposing me to the cool air.

"What the fuck..Get your hands off me, you pervert!" I thrashed against his hold, my hands clawing at the arm banded like steel around my waist.

He ignored me completely, his grip on my waist tightening until I could barely breathe, pinning me more securely against him. His bare palm pressed flat against my pussy, fingers digging in possessively as he rubbed in slow, deliberate circles, forcing a shudder from my body.

“Smile,” he commanded, his voice low and thick with triumph as he captured the moment.

He let go of my waist and turned the phone around, studying the image for a long moment, tilting his head as if admiring his work. Then he held it out toward me, screen facing my direction.

“What do you think?” he asked, almost conversationally. “Should we send this to him? Let Alexander see exactly what happens when he can’t protect what he loves?”

“If you send that to him, you won't intimidate him. You'll sign your own death warrant. You’re not going to scare him. You’re going to unleash him. You have no idea what his rage looks like when it’s aimed at someone who hurt me. He won’t just come for you. He’ll tear through every person, every place, every secret you’ve ever had until there’s nothing left. That photo won’t make him give up. It will make him unstoppable.”

Santos’s smile faltered for half a second. I held his gaze even though my heart was hammering.

“And when he does… you’re going to wish you never touched me.”

“He’ll never find this place,” he said, almost laughing. “You can sit there acting high and mighty all you want, but the truth is simple — Alexander Dimitri has no idea where you are. No one does. Andif by some miracle he even gets close, you’ll already be my bitch..broken and used up.”

He leaned in further, his knees sinking into the grime beside me. I could smell him now — the cloying sweetness of a woody, expensive cologne mixed with the damp, closed-in air of the cellar.

The combination was a physical assault on my already roiling stomach. I turned my face away as another slow, heavy wave of dizziness rolled through me from the head trauma and the lingering effects of the drug.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice dropping. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

"Your scent is literally making me sick, you bastard. Congrats. Between the cheap power-trip cologne, and the general psychopath energy… you've managed to turn my stomach harder than the drug did."

Santos's expression darkened.

"Keep running that mouth," he said coldly, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl.

"It only makes me want to shut it up with my cock shoved so far down your throat you're choking on it." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Maybe then you'll learn what to do with that pretty little tongue instead of pissing me off."

I turned my head, forcing my eyes open to meet his, and let a slow, deliberate smile touch my lips.

"You think that's a threat?" I whispered, my voice raspy but steady.

"The only thing you'd be choking on is your own blood if you ever tried that. I'd bite it clean off before you got the chance to scream."

The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a terrifying blankness. For a split second, there was nothing, and that was scarier than anger. Then, his hand shot up from my waist and wrapped around my throat.

His mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

"You really are a vicious little bitch."

"Still fighting. Still running that smart mouth." He shook his head slowly. "You actually think that attitude is going to save you?"

His smile widened. "It won't. Every day you spend in here, you'll lose a little more strength. A little more hope. You'll keep telling yourself he's coming... until one morning you stop believing it."

With a sharp, brutal tug, he ripped it open. The sound of tearing cloth echoed in the silence, followed by the gasp I couldn’t suppress. The cold air hit my exposed skin, and I flinched.

His eyes gleamed with a predatory light as he stared down at the plain white bra I wore, his gaze making me feel dirtier than the floor I was lying on.

“Wow,” I rasped, my voice a hoarse, broken thing. “All this effort just to get a cheap thrill? You must be really desperate.”

His eyes snapped back to mine, the predatory glint replaced by a flicker of surprise.

“What did you say?”

“I said,” I continued, forcing the words out through the pain and the rising nausea,

“Is this how you always get women? By knocking them out and chaining them to a floor? Because I have to tell you, your technique needs some serious work. It’s not exactly romantic.”

His grip on my torn shirt tightened, his knuckles white. “You have a smart mouth. Im going to enjoy shutting it uo with my cock.."

A wave of disgust washed over me, as he licjed the side of my face...making me nauseous.

There was no stopping it. A violent, convulsive heave ripped through my body.

I threw up onto the floor between us—a thin, burning stream of mostly bile and the metallic taste of my own blood.

Some of it splashed across his polished leather shoes and the tailored cuff of his expensive trousers.

Santos jerked back with a sharp, guttural sound of pure, unadulterated disgust.

He stared down at the mess on his pants, then back at me, his face a mask of horrified revulsion.

“What the fuck—” he snarled, stumbling to his feet and staring down at the vomit splattered on his thousand-dollar suit.

The smell in the small, enclosed room was immediate and foul, a sour, acidic tang that mingled with the scent of blood and fear.

“You disgusting little—Fuck you,” he spat, his voice laced with a venom that was far more terrifying than his earlier calm.

“You just ruined my fucking mood.”

His hand moved in a blur, a backhanded slap that caught me across the already bruised side of my face.

The impact was a blinding explosion of white-hot pain, my head snapping to the side so hard I saw stars.

A fresh wave of nausea washed over me, but there was nothing left to give. I tasted blood, a fresh, coppery flood filling my mouth.

He loomed over me, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a cold, murderous rage.

“I swear to God, you’ve got a death wish,” he said, trembling with rage. “Look at me—look at what you’ve done. I’m going to have to fucking shower now you bitch.. When I get back, I’m going to finish this, and you’re going to wish you’d kept that smart little mouth shut.”

He turned on his heel and strode to the heavy wooden door.

I stayed where I was, trembling violently, the taste of bile and blood still thick in my mouth, the chains cold and unforgiving against my skin. The room was quiet again, the silence broken only by the ragged, uneven sound of my own breathing. A single, hot tear escaped and traced a path through the grime on my cheek.

Alexander… please hurry. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.