Chapter 3 : Behind the Door

POV: Vittorio Del Carlo. One year ago.

I have overseen countless transactions in my life, but the proposal from the Vázquez family was pathetic. Tomas Vázquez was drowning in debt, hunted by creditors, and desperate. He offered his own twenty-three-year-old daughter, Elena, as direct payment in exchange for the Del Carlo syndicate's protection.

Initially, the offer did not interest me. As the head of a massive empire with a legacy built on blood and steel, I could have my choice of any woman. I viewed his plea as a waste of my time. But then Tomas nervously slid her picture across my dark mahogany desk.

I froze. Her dark brown eyes stared back at me through the glossy photo. She possessed a rare, clean innocence that pulled me in instantly, locking onto my attention in a way I hadn't anticipated. My pride and possessive nature took over. I was not going to let a woman like her belong to anyone else. It was time to secure my legacy anyway, and she was perfect.

"Prepare the paperwork," I told him, keeping my voice devoid of emotion. "Your family is under my protection."

That weekend, I drove my luxury sedan up to the sprawling Vázquez estate, ready to claim what was mine. I expected a welcoming arrangement, perhaps a formal dinner. Instead, when I stepped out of the vehicle, I found Tomas and his two grown sons, Ramon and Diego, standing on the porch. They were pale, shivering with fear.

I did not care for pleasantries. "Where is she?" I demanded, my voice cold.

Ramon, the older brother, swallowed hard. "She... she isn't..." He stammered, his words tripping over each other in sheer panic.

"Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?" I growled, resting my hand on my hip.

The younger brother, Diego, stepped forward. Unlike his shaking family, his posture was rigid, his gaze steady. "She's gone," he said flatly.

A dark chuckle rumbled in my chest. I pulled my weapon from my waistband, enjoying the sharp gasp that escaped Tomas's throat. I liked the smell of their terror, but I hated my time being wasted.

"Tomas," I purred, slowly twirling the heavy gun in my hand. "Do you think you can make a fool out of Vittorio Del Carlo?"

Tomas collapsed to his knees on the gravel, weeping and begging for his life. "Please, we will find her! We will bring her to you!"

Diego stood tall, refusing to break eye contact. "I will bring her back to you myself," he promised.

I studied him. His lack of fear in the face of death was rare. He had the kind of grit I needed in my organization. I slowly shifted the barrel of my gun, pointing it directly at Diego's chest.

"You are coming with me instead," I decided. I looked down at the sobbing father. "You can have your son back when you find my bride."

Before anyone could protest, I tossed the heavy car keys to Diego. "Drive."

The young man caught them, a flicker of resolve crossing his face as he marched to the driver’s side.

***

POV: Vittorio Del Carlo. Present day.

Those wide, innocent brown eyes have haunted my thoughts for the past twelve months. Finding her today in that filthy, rain-slicked alleyway was a fluke. Yet, there she was.

Her soft lips had parted in shock when she looked at me. It was clear she had no idea who I was, oblivious to our history or the contract binding her to me. My mind raced. Why did I let her walk away? I had never shown mercy to anyone, yet I had let my runaway bride slip through my fingers in a momentary lapse of judgment.

I cursed my weakness. I could not let this go.

I stormed back out of my estate, my boots clicking against the marble floor as determination pushed me forward.

"Capo!" Diego called out, jogging across the manicured lawn toward my car.

I ignored him, waving a dismissive hand without looking back. I got into the driver's seat and slammed the door. I was not about to let her protective brother know that I had just found his missing sister. Not until she was safely under my roof.

***

POV: Elena Vázquez. Present day.

"Shit," I whispered, staring down at the mess on my kitchen floor.

Shards of glass glittered under the dim yellow light, surrounded by a dark pool of spilled red wine. I had set the glass too close to the edge of the counter, my hands shaking too much to keep a steady grip. I couldn't even bring myself to clean it up.

For the last two hours, a heavy, suffocating paranoia had wrapped itself tightly around my chest. Living alone in this sprawling, uncaring city only made the isolation worse. There was no one to call, no one to tell me I was safe.

I had already emptied one bottle of wine, and I was well into my second. It was the only way to quiet the screaming in my head, but even the alcohol couldn't help me sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face.

The man from the alley. The cold, handsome stranger with the dark tattoos and the smoking gun.

What if he had followed me? He had killed a man right in front of me, disposing of the body without a single ounce of remorse. Even though he had let me run, the fear kept clawing at my throat. Maybe he was just playing a game. Maybe he was waiting in the shadows outside my building, biding his time until I let my guard down to finish me off.

I tried to breathe, trying to convince myself I was being ridiculous. If he wanted me dead, he would have shot me right there next to the dumpster. He wouldn't waste his time tracking me to a cheap apartment.

Then, a sharp, heavy knock shattered the silence of my room.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Nobody knocked on my door. Everyone I knew texted or called before coming over. My boyfriend, Varo, was out of town, and I had no friends in this neighborhood.

I stared at the entryway, my body locked in place.

Then, the metal door handle began to turn. It rotated slowly, deliberately, with a sickening click.

My stomach dropped. A cold wave of dread washed over me as the realization hit. In my frantic rush to hide inside earlier, I had forgotten to slide the deadbolt into place. The door was unlocked.

Adrenaline surged through my veins, hot and demanding. I didn't think. I lunged forward, throwing my entire body weight against the heavy wood just as the door began to swing inward.

I slammed my shoulder against the panel, desperate to force it back into the frame and slide the lock. But the moment I pushed, the door shoved back.

The person on the other side was a solid wall of muscle. With a single, heavy shove, they began to force their way inside, overriding my desperate strength as if I were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.