Chapter 83 FOOTAGE
“Do I know you?” Erica asked, crossing her legs slowly, deliberately. She’d been dragged into this fucking place, her hands bound at first, then cut loose the second they realized she wasn’t going to scream or beg.
“Did Rico send you?”
The man across from her just laughed, low, unhinged, the sound scraping against the bare concrete walls like nails on rusted iron.
Erica’s eyes darkened. She exhaled sharply, rolled a strand of hair around her finger, and waited.
The heavy door creaked open.
He stepped in.
Dressed in designer leather shoes-black, polished to a lethal shine. Dark jeans hugging lean legs. A fitted black T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, sleeves rolled to reveal his ripped forearms.
A backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder like he had just strolled out of a high-end boutique instead of a torture den.
Everything about him screamed money, power...
Mafia
Yet Erica rolled her eyes and tore her gaze away as he dropped into the chair opposite her, legs spread, elbows on the table, studying her like she was a painting he already owned.
“You’ve gotten prettier. Sexier.” His voice flavoured out like velvet.
Erica met his eyes and flashed a wide, dangerous smile.
“Of course I have to be pretty.”
She said it lightly, almost playfully. The guards lining the walls shifted uneasy. No one talked to Matteo like that. No one looked at him like he was just another inconvenience in her day.
Her gaze drifted upward. No cobwebs. No damp rot.
The warehouse had been gutted and rebuilt: clean concrete floors, high ceilings with cold LED strips, air thick with the metallic tang of gun oil and fresh paint.
Even the torture tools hung neatly on the far wall: hooks, pliers, blades, cattle prods, all gleaming, untouched, and waiting.
A slow smile curled her lips.
She pushed her chair back with a deliberate scrape and walked over. Her fingertips trailed along the edge of a curved dagger, almost loving.
“Are these for me?”
Matteo laughed again, this time softer, darker.
He still loved that boldness.
Erica had always had it, but even back then her fear leaked like cracked walls. She use to tremble when they were alone. Now?
“Ready?” she asked, lifting the dagger. Her fingertip slid along the razor edge.
Cut.
Her blood welled instantly- bright red her against pale skin. A single drop hit the table with a soft pat.
“Sharp,” she murmured.
Matteo rose.
“You don’t remember me… or are you pretending?”
Erica turned, still holding the blade.
“My past? I have nothing to do with it anymore. I buried it. I don’t want it resurfacing.”
She licked her lips slow,
Matteo closed the distance in heavy steps. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him.
“You’re mine, Erica. Mine to-”
“I’m not a property, Mr.”
She cut him off mid-sentence, her fingers clamping around his wrists. She pushed his hands off her waist with surprising strength.
His eyes flared-fury, yes, but also something dangerously close to delight.
“Intriguing.”
He snapped his fingers.
The door opened again.
Otelia strode in, briefcase in hand. Her eyes burned holes into Erica....pure, venomous hatred. The kind that promised slow, creative pain.
Erica’s lips curled upward in response.“So what’s today about?”
Otelia set the briefcase down. It clicked open.
One sheet of paper, scribbled with signatures and clearly a contract zeal.
Her lashes fluttered, something twisted hard in her gut.
God… what the fuck did Erica sign?" She thought, still putting in that confident smirk on.
Yet Matteo noticed the flicker. He reached for the paper, then for her chin, tilting her face up so she had to meet his gaze.
“By law…” His thumb brushed her lower lip. “And by contract…”
He leaned in close enough for her to smell the faint spice of his cologne.
“You’re my fiancée.”
Erica’s fist clenched at her side.
Great!
Just fucking great. Everyone was ruining everything.
Tsk.
Files and photographs lay scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. The office AC hissed cold air, raising goosebumps on her bare arms. Midnight had long passed, it was 12:47 a.m. now, but the overhead lights burned mercilessly bright.
Cassandra sat alone.
Black heels kicked off under the desk. Waffles cold on a paper plate. She tore off a piece anyway, shoved it in her mouth, chewed mechanically while her eyes scanned photo after photo.
Jolie and Emily missing case, she was in it.
Yet it felt like a deadend, the cameras were blank, no little mistake left at the crime scene.
The kind of case that should’ve been closed months ago, but since someone influential as Erica had her hands on it, it wouldn't.
To be honest, she loved it for exactly that reason.
Her thought still tried to when Erica had called, her voice was sharp and controlled, asking for a favor like they were old friends.
Cassandra bit her lower lip. That voice… it felt like something familiar, something buried deep.
But she snapped back to reality, as the door opened.
A fellow detective male, tired leaned towards her desk.
“Still on that case?”
Cassandra lifted her gaze. “No. Rico Moretti can wait. I’m on another case”
"Oh what case... didn't you like use to chase after Rico's Moretti case?" He asked and Cassandra heaved a sigh.
"Two female were taken from the hospital, I'm on that!" She replied
“That’s a dead end, Cas.”
She laughed, “That’s why I like it.”
He shook his head, set a fresh coffee on her desk and walked to the door.
“Don’t stay too late. Go home.”
The door clicked shut behind him and Cassandra’s smile faded.
Her fingers closed around the stolen key card she had lifted from his jacket earlier.
She had to get into his office, the forbidden lair in which even her couldn't get in.
She tied her hair into a tight ponytail, stood up, and walked yo the office.
His office was dark. She didn’t bother with the main light, just the small desk lamp.
She found it quickly: the forensic data-recovery drive, the one that pulled deleted files from the void.
She plugged it in and the computer whirred.
she took a sip of the coffee as the fragmented video began to stitch itself back together.
It was still grainy and broken. But much better than earlier.
Sh sighted two male nurses broad, muscled, moving with purpose
Then the feed stuttered.
The two more men didn't look the same anymore...the similar builds, surgical masks pulled low.
Cassandra scoffed.
They switched.
Another head appeared in the frame, a third figure, standing back, observing.
Her brows shot up, she leaned closer, zoomed in the motion.
That shirt. She knew that shirt.
Her breath caught. The camera angle shifted just enough to see the face.
Her eyes widened slowly. A gasp tore from her throat.
She trembled, her hand flew to her mouth, confusion and horror crashing together.
She grabbed her phone, dialed Erica number
“To busy, leave a voicemail.” Erica’s recorded voice: cool, and clipped was head.
Cassandra pressed her lips together.
“Erica, w-"
The office door flew open behind her.
She froze.