Betrayed by Blood

***Milena***

I squeezed my phone against my chest and bolted out the door, my pulse thundering in my ears. Silvano’s ragged, panicked voice played on a continuous, torturous loop in my mind. He was violently attacked. He was bleeding heavily. He was paralyzed. Those frantic words drove a spike of sheer terror straight into my heart, overriding every ounce of righteous anger I had felt just moments before.

I rushed toward the taxi stand at the end of the street, ignoring the biting night air whipping against my tear-stained face.

I threw myself into the backseat, rattling off the directions to the grim, uncompleted building Silvano had described. "Please, you have to hurry."

The forty-five-minute ride felt like an endless nightmare. I sat on the edge of the worn leather seat, my hands locked tightly together in my lap. I burst into a string of silent, desperate prayers, begging whatever higher power was listening to keep my brother alive. My knuckles turned white from the strain. He was a parasite who drained me dry, but he was the only family I had left in this miserable world. I could not let him die alone in some godforsaken ditch.

The taxi finally swerved into the dilapidated industrial district. The tires screeched to a halt at the edge of the designated coordinates. I threw a crumpled bill over the center console and scrambled out of the car before the vehicle could even come to a full stop, abandoning any thought of getting my change.

I sprinted into the dark, abandoned alley. The air was thick and foul, hitting my nose with the pungent stench of stale urine and choking gasoline fumes. I coughed, my chest heaving as I navigated the treacherous, debris-littered path. Flickering burning barrels provided the only source of light, casting long, menacing shadows against the cracked, graffiti-stained concrete walls.

"Silvano! Silvano, where are you?" I screamed into the gloom, panic lacing every syllable.

I rounded a sharp corner, my shoes sliding on loose gravel, and came to a dead halt.

Four imposing men in sharp black suits stood in a loose semicircle. The orange flames reflected ominously off their polished shoes and stony, ruthless faces. Kneeling on the cracked ground right in front of them, with his head bowed low, was my brother.

I braced myself for the gruesome sight of his battered, broken body. I prepared to see the heavy bleeding he had cried about over the phone. But as my eyes adjusted to the flickering firelight, the frantic rhythm of my heart stuttered.

There was no blood. His clothes were barely dirty. I dropped my anxious gaze to his legs—the same legs he swore he could no longer feel—and watched the muscles bunch normally as he shifted his weight.

Silvano scrambled to his feet with an ominous, sick delight, pointing a steady finger right at me. "That's her. I told you she'd come."

My breath hitched in my throat. My brain short-circuited as I stared at the healthy, unhurt man standing in front of me.

The ringleader stepped forward, a dark, oppressive aura rolling off him. His heavy shoes crunched against the broken glass littering the pavement. "Well, well, well. How nice of you to join the party."

I took a slow, trembling step backward, the sheer magnitude of Silvano's betrayal clawing at my throat. "Silvano, what is going on?"

My back slammed into something solid like a brick outhouse. I jerked my head around to find two massive, bald goons towering over me. Their thick, heavily tattooed necks and deep scowls sent a fresh wave of shivers down my spine. Before my mind could even process the danger, they lunged forward. Their meaty hands clamped down on my arms like iron vises, hoisting me into the air.

I kicked my legs out in a blind panic, but they held me suspended effortlessly. They hauled me forward and dumped me onto my feet right in front of the cruel ringleader.

He stepped in uncomfortably close. His rough fingers dug into my jaw, forcing my head up. He tilted my face from side to side, his malicious eyes appraising every inch of my body like a cheap item on a display rack. A dubious, gold-toothed grin stretched across his face. "She appears to be in good condition. I might just consider your offer, Silvano. Our Chinese buyers will definitely pay a fortune for this beauty."

The words hit me like a physical blow to the stomach.

"Buyers?" I gasped out in a shaky voice.

My tear-filled, panicked eyes darted to my brother. I silently demanded an explanation. I begged him to look at me, to say this was some kind of twisted joke.

Silvano callously and cowardly averted his gaze. "She should be more than enough to cover my debt. Just take her. I no longer owe you. Do we have a deal?"

The cruelty brimming in his eyes shattered whatever fragile illusion of family I had left clinging to my heart.

I stared at him in utter shock. Hot tears spilled over my lashes and tracked down my cold cheeks. The crushing realization hit me so hard my knees went weak. I should have known the moment he called that he was bad news. But like a fool, I had walked straight into his trap. He had lured me here to sell me to human traffickers just to clear his own gambling debts.

The ringleader released my jaw and gave a satisfied nod to his muscle. "Come on, boys. Let's move."

The bald goons clamped onto my arms again with bone-bruising force. Pure survival instinct exploded in my chest. I struggled fiercely against their grips, twisting my torso to break free. "Let go of me! Silvano! Silvano, please!"

Silvano shoved his hands into his pockets, his tone devoid of an ounce of remorse. "I'm sorry, Milena, but I gotta save myself."

I threw my weight backward, fighting tooth and nail, refusing to take another step toward the dark exit. "You cannot do this to me!"

One of the goons grunted in annoyance and shoved me hard. I stumbled forward, my feet tangling together, nearly landing face-first onto the dirty concrete.

A rugged, commanding baritone cut through the chaotic commotion. "Why don't you let go of the lady?"

The sound was like a physical weight settling over the alley, drowning out the crackle of the burning barrels. A stunned, uniform silence fell over my violent captors. The bald men froze mid-step, their brutal grip on my arms faltering as they exchanged wide-eyed looks of terror.

I turned my head toward the deep shadows near the alley entrance. The rhythmic, measured click of leather heels echoed against the concrete walls.

A meticulously dressed man in a pristine gray suit emerged from the darkness. He carried himself with a predatory grace, one hand tucked into his pants pocket, while the other held a lit cigarette between his lips. The glowing ember illuminated a sharply contoured jawline and striking, dangerous features. Flanking him on all sides were at least a dozen imposing, heavily armed men in black. Every single one of them radiated an aura of lethal intent that spoke volumes.

One of the bald men holding me whispered, his voice laced with dread. "It's the wraith."

The chill racing down my spine intensified. These massive goons who had seemed untouchable moments ago were now trembling.

The man in the gray suit stopped a few feet away. His army of guards halted in perfect synchronization right behind him. He plucked the cigarette from his lips, dropped it onto the cracked floor, and crushed the embers beneath the heel of his polished shoe.

The ringleader swallowed, trying to maintain his composure as a nervous smirk twitched at his mouth. "If it isn't Rafael Valenti."

The man in the gray suit replied, his voice smooth but lacking any humor. "I see you still have no respect for women."

The ringleader forced the smirk to stay in place, though sweat began to bead on his forehead. "There are no genders when it comes to business."

Rafael's lips twitched upward into a cold, dangerous smile. "Business, huh?"

The ringleader tilted his head toward Silvano. "You know I have mad respect for you, Mr. Valenti. And I also know messing with women and children is not your style, but you need to sit this one out. Her brother over there owes us €170,000."

Rafael Valenti turned his head. He assessed Silvano from head to toe. The scrutiny was suffocating, heavy with an unspoken threat that made my brother shrink back like a frightened rat.

Rafael turned his attention back to the ringleader and delivered a shocking proposition that caught me off guard. "How about I pay back what he owes you and I take the girl with me?"

My wide, terrified eyes snapped in his direction. His dark, unreadable gaze locked onto mine.

The name. The face. The whispered alias among the terrified goons. The horrifying reality of his true identity finally hit me like a runaway freight train.

This man standing before me was not some ordinary savior. This was Rafael Valenti. The billionaire CEO of the Valenti Corporation and the undisputed Don of the Luna Ombra mafia syndicate.

I had seen his face plastered across luxury magazines and read about his exploits in the darkest corners of the city's tabloids. He was a ruthless, walking paradox. He ignored every rule of civility and wore evil like a handcrafted veil, yet he was impeccably decked in the finest luxury money could buy. Taking a life was as instinctual to him as breathing. He killed with the same casual ease he used to light a cigarette—a flick of the wrist, a pull of the trigger, and it was game over. He was notorious for bringing bloody death directly to the doorsteps of his enemies, earning him the terrifying moniker of The Wraith. There was a well-known street legend that when The Wraith calls your name, no god could save you.

He killed without a second thought. And now, he was offering to buy me.

I swallowed inaudibly. My face turned ashen pale with pure fear as his intense gaze lingered on me.

This... can't be good.