Laurel P.O.V
The door sealed behind me with a sound too soft to be merciful.
No echo. No warning. Just the quiet finality of something that was not planned to open again.
I stood there for a long moment, my tied hands trembling, my breath shallow, my body refusing to believe I was truly alone. The room glowed with soft amber light, carefully placed lamps casting warmth over velvet curtains and polished floors. It was beautiful in the way coffins are crafted with care, designed to make the end feel gentle.
Luxury meant nothing when there was nowhere to run.
I took a step forward. Then another.
The bed was enormous, dressed in dark silk that shimmered like oil under light. I brushed my fingers against it without meaning to, as if touching something soft could convince my body I was safe. My pulse hammered too loudly. I was afraid it could be heard through the walls.
Sundown.
The word echoed in my skull like a countdown I couldn't stop.
I sank onto the edge of the bed and stared at my hands. Rope marks burned into my wrists, evidence of how easily power wrapped around flesh. I tried to slow my breathing the way I used to during exams, during panic attacks back when fear had normal reasons.
This fear had a name.
ALPHA.
I closed my eyes.
Richardo's voice replayed in my head, colder now, stripped of every illusion I had built around it. I protect what I own.
Not who I love.
Not who I care about.
What.
A possession could be discarded.
A possession could be traded.
A possession could be erased to keep a throne standing.
The room felt smaller the longer I sat there. The air thickened, pressing against my chest. Somewhere beyond the walls, I could hear movement like footsteps, murmured voices, doors opening and closing with purpose. Life continuing. Decisions are being made.
About me.
I stood up abruptly and paced, counting steps, searching for anything I might have missed. Panels. Seams. A miracle. My fingers traced the walls, the curtains, the lamps. Nothing. Everything was seamless. Perfect.
Designed.
I laughed once—short, broken, almost hysterical.
Of course it was.
Richardo didn't leave loose ends. They buried them in silk.
Time stretched. Minutes felt like hours. Every sound made my heart leap until I realised the worst sound was no sound at all. No guards posted outside. No threats were shouted. Just waiting.
Waiting was worse than violence.
My thoughts betrayed me then.
I thought of Richardo's eyes when he looked at me last night. The way his voice softened without permission. The way his hands had steadied instead of being restrained.
I hated myself for remembering that.
I hated myself for wishing it meant something.
I wrapped my arms around myself and slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor,my knees pulled to my chest. If this was the end, I refused to face it standing. I refused to let them see me beg again.
But fear is stubborn.
It claws its way up your throat when you least expect it.
What if he comes back?
What if this is another test?
What if he hesitates?
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Hope was dangerous.
Hope was how people like Richardo survived.
And how people like me died.
A sound broke the silence.
Not footsteps.
A door. Somewhere far away. Then voices in Italian, low and urgent. I couldn't make out the words, but I felt the tension shift in the air, like a storm changing direction.
My breath caught.
Was this it?
I stood again, my legs weak, my heart slamming so hard it felt like it was trying to escape before they could take it. I forced myself to straighten my shoulders, to lift my chin.
If I was going to be erased, I would not disappear quietly.
The light flickered once.
Just once.
My stomach dropped.
Footsteps approached this time—measured, unhurried. Someone stopped outside the door. I could feel the presence through the wood, heavy and deliberate.
Power standing still.
I thought of the Don's voice. Calm. Absolute.
Why isn't she dead yet?
Tears burned my eyes, but I didn't let them fall. Not yet.
The handle didn't move.
Seconds passed.
Then more.
Whoever stood there…was waiting.
And I realised, with a sick clarity that stole the air from my lungs—
This wasn't about killing me.
It was about seeing whether Richardo would come.
The door remained closed.
And that hurt more than anything else.
____
By sundown, the air itself felt sentenced.
The room they kept me in had no windows, only a clock I couldn't see but could feel ticking inside my chest. Every second stretched thin, brittle, ready to snap. I had already cried myself empty. What remained was silence. Acceptance dressed up as calm.
Then the door lock turned.
I flinched so hard my bones ached.
I didn't pray.
I only looked up.
The door opened and Abigail stepped in, dressed in black as she had already attended my funeral, like death wearing heels—composed, cold, unavoidable. Her gaze swept over me once, sharp and assessing as if checking whether I was still useful.
"Get up" She said. "You're leaving the country tonight. By boat"
The words didn't register at first. Leaving. Country. Tonight.
She stepped closer and sliced the ropes off my wrists with a small blade. My hands were untied so suddenly it hurt.
The ropes fell away like they had never mattered, like my life hadn't been balanced on them hours ago.
The sudden freedom burned worse than the restraints ever had. Blood rushed back into my hands painfully, like my body didn't trust the idea of survival either.
"Move" Abigail ordered.
She didn't give me time to ask questions. She never did.
We slipped through corridors that felt unfamiliar even though I had memorised every shadow in this house.
Hidden corridors. Narrow paths. Doors I had never seen despite days of captivity. The mansion peeled itself open like a monster revealing its ribs, and for the first time, I realised how much of it was designed for secrets.
She led me through a narrow yard door hidden behind overgrown hedges. The night swallowed us whole—cool, damp and thick with secrecy.
That was when I heard Richardo's voice.
Low. Controlled. Dangerous.
I froze.
Abigail caught my arm, her fingers biting into my skin in warning, but it was too late.
I had already turned my head.
The voices came from the side building, every syllable sharpened to cut. I edged closer without meaning to, my heart pounding so loud, like it recognised him before my mind did.
Abigail's grip tightened painfully around my arm, but I barely felt it.
"I told you" Richardo said, calm but edged with steel, "her execution was handled"
Another voice answered. "With no witnesses? Convenient"
A man scoffed. "Handled how? Nobody has surfaced"
"You want proof?" Richardo replied.
Silence followed. Heavy. Testing.
Another voice cut in. Older. Colder. "You've refused three deals today, Richardo"
"That's not a coincidence" A third voice said.
"They weren't worth my time"
"They were worth her"
My stomach dropped.
"She was never your business" Richardo replied.
"And now she is" The man snapped. "Your weakness has become expensive"
I swallowed hard.
My stomach twisted violently as the truth began to surface,not all at once, but in sharp, painful pieces.
Execution. Burned. Ghost.
They thought I was dead.
No.
They were being told I was dead.
Richardo wasn't handing me over.
He was erasing me.
"You think faking her death will end this?" One of the men asked. "If she breathes, we'll know"
"I didn't burn evidence" Richardo said. "I burned leverage"
"And if Alpha demands confirmation?" The voice pressed. "What will you tell him?"
Richardo paused.
The pause terrified me more than anything he had said.
"I'll tell him" Richardo said finally, "that she no longer exists"
My chest burned.
He was saving me.
But not the way I imagined.
Not with mercy.
With strategy.
Abigail yanked me back hard. "Enough" She hissed. "If you want to live, you didn't hear that"
My head spun as she shoved me into a waiting car.
I couldn't stop myself.
"Why are you doing this?" I whispered, my voice cracking. "I thought you wanted me dead"
She didn't look at me. "Getting you away from death doesn't mean you've gotten my trust"
My throat tightened. "Then why is Richardo suddenly helping me? He said he was never going to help me again"
Abigail turned the key in the ignition, her jaw hardening. "You have no time for chit-chat. Get in the car or get killed"
I almost laughed. Almost.
Why does every sentence in the mafia world end in death?
The car sped off before I could answer.
---
The port was dead.
Not quiet,but dead.
The kind of place where sound felt intrusive and every shadow carried memory.
No voices. No engines. No distant laughter. Just water slapping against concrete and the hollow echo of metal somewhere far away. The moon hung low, pale and watchful, like it knew something I didn't.
Abigail parked near a construction site, killed the engine, and waited until the silence swallowed us whole.
We walked to the water.
Each step felt like crossing an invisible border.
A fishing boat waited.
A man emerged from it slowly, his silhouette was sharp against the dim lights. Abigail leaned close and whispered something into his ear. His eyes flicked to me—cold, weighing, dismissive.
Then he nodded.
That was it.
No discussion. No reassurance.
We boarded.
The engine started, low and steady, and the boat slipped away from land like it had never belonged there.
"Why do you have to come along?" I asked finally.
"I'm only carrying out orders" Abigail replied.
That answer didn't comfort me.
It terrified me.
Thirty minutes passed in a fragile, unnatural calm.
The sea stretched endlessly, black and indifferent.
Then—
A gunshot cracked the night.
I jumped so violently I nearly screamed.
"Stay still" Abigail said sharply. "Do not come out no matter what happens"
She stepped onto the deck.
I crept toward the window, my heart pounding so violently I felt sick.
Another boat had pulled up alongside ours.
Five men stood aboard it.
Heavy. Armed. Watching.
"Consigliere!" One of them shouted. "Where is she?"
The word struck me like a blade.
Consigliere?
"I know you hid her" Another voice said smoothly. "Tell me where, and this stays civil"
"She's dead" Abigail replied without blinking.
Laughter followed. Ugly and disbelieving.
"Search the boat" Someone commanded. "Bring her dead or alive"
My blood turned to ice.
I looked around desperately until I spotted a narrow, twisted space between metal panels barely wide enough to breathe. I forced myself inside,my skin scraping painfully as I pushed deeper. Pain exploded down my arm as I wedged myself deeper, refusing to scream.
Boots stomped. Hands searched. Voices cursed.
They came inside.
Getting close.
Someone paused near my hiding place.
I held my breath until my lungs burned.
Then footsteps retreated few minutes later.
"She's not here" One of them finally said.
Abigail's voice cut through the tension. "Do you still suspect me?"
A man stepped closer to her. "Consigliere, I respect your games. But if I find out she lives, you won't like the price"
The other boat pulled away.
Silence returned.
Abigail stepped back inside.
Abigail stepped inside and scanned the space until her eyes found mine. "Impressive"
She stared at my hiding place,her eyes narrowing. "I never expected you to be so skilled so quickly"
"Please" I whispered, my body shaking. "Help me out,i'm stuck"
"No"
Pain screamed through my limbs as minutes stretched endlessly.
"It's safer for you there" She said calmly.
Minutes passed.
Pain screamed through my body.
Eventually,mercifully she pulled me free.
I collapsed, shaking.
Silence followed.
Then I asked, "Who was shot earlier?"
"No one"
"They called you Consigliere"
"What does Consigliere mean?" I asked again. "Don't you work for Richardo?"
She didn't reply.
"Why were you called Consigliere? Are you the boss?"
She waited. Then finally: "Trusted advisor to the Don"
My heart sank with hope flared weakly. "So you have the right to change their minds. Tell them I'm not a spy"
She sighed,Her expression hardened. "They're not only after your life because you're a spy"
My chest tightened.
"Then why?" I asked.
"They're afraid" She continued. "Richardo has changed"
"…Because of me?"
"If our enemies discover his weakness" Abigail said, "He falls and we're finished. The Dons want it eliminated"
My voice trembled. "So I'm the weakness"
Silence confirmed it.
"Is Richardo…in love?"
She laughed quietly. "He has a heart of stone. Love doesn't change men like him"
The boat sailed on.
And I stared at the dark water, knowing one terrible truth.
I was alive.
I had escaped death.
But I was already dead to the world.
And I had entered something far worse.
I was no longer a woman.
I was a weakness.
And in the mafia world, weaknesses are hunted.
And whatever waited for me across that sea…would be worse.