Eyes in the Dark

The room Bella was kept in smelled of concrete and cold metal.

No windows.
No sense of time.

A single naked bulb hung overhead, humming softly, as if it knew something she didn’t.

Her wrists were bound behind the chair. Not sloppy. Professional. Tight enough to hurt if she tested them, loose enough to remind her that whoever had done this wasn’t afraid of her trying.

So she didn’t.

Bella sat perfectly still.

That was always the mistake people made with her. Assuming stillness meant surrender.

She counted her breaths instead. Measured the sound of the light. The echo of distant movement through walls too thick to give anything away. Whoever had put her here knew what they were doing. This wasn’t panic. This was control.

Somewhere else in the city, Alessandro had already been found alive. The Valentis moved fast when one of their own was hurt. He’d been pulled from the wreckage, stabilized, rushed to safety.

Protected.

Bella had not been so lucky.

Footsteps echoed outside the door.

Unhurried. Confident.

Not a guard.

The door opened.

The man who entered was not the one she expected.

Bella’s eyes narrowed instantly.

“You,” she said calmly. Too calmly. “You’re not the one who ordered the hit.”

The man smiled as he closed the door behind him. He was older than his brother. Sharper somehow. Less polished. A predator who didn’t bother pretending to be a statesman.

“Good,” he said. “You notice details. My brother always said you were smarter than most Valentis.”

Her stomach tightened.

“Your brother,” she repeated. “Don Carlo Moretti.”

“Yes.” He took his time, circling her slowly, shoes scraping softly against the concrete. “Or rather… former Don Moretti.”

Bella lifted her chin. “Former?”

“He stepped down.”

The words felt wrong the moment they landed.

Bella studied his face, searching for cracks. For lies. “He stepped down,” she echoed. “Or you removed him?”

That smile widened. Satisfied. Almost proud.

“Smart girl,” he said softly. “You do know who you’re dealing with.”

Her skin prickled. Instinct screamed, not fear, but recognition. This man didn’t posture. Didn’t threaten. Didn’t need to.

“So,” Bella said evenly, “why do I have the honor of being tied to a chair in a concrete box?”

He chuckled and finally stopped in front of her. “Straight to the point. I like that.”

He leaned against the table, folding his arms. Relaxed. Certain. “The Morettis are strong. Always have been. But strength means nothing when two families keep choking your expansion.”

“The Valentis and the Santoros,” Bella said without hesitation.

“Exactly.”

She met his gaze. “So you kidnapped me to force my family into submission.”

“Partly.”

Her eyes sharpened. “And the Santoros?”

That made him smile again. Slower this time. Calculated.

“Ah,” he said. “That’s where you become truly interesting.”

Bella’s pulse jumped. She hated that he noticed.

“As far as I know,” he continued casually, “you mean something to at least one Santoro.”

The room seemed to tilt, just slightly.

Bella kept her voice steady. “You’re guessing.”

“I don’t guess,” he replied. “I collect information.”

Her skin crawled.

“What do you think you know?” she asked.

He tilted his head, studying her like a chess piece already in motion. “I think that if I leave you here long enough, we’ll find out whether I’m wrong.”

Bella slowed her breathing deliberately. She would not give him the satisfaction. Panic was a currency she refused to spend.

“You’re expecting someone,” she said. “A rescue.”

“I’m expecting a reaction,” he corrected. “From both sides.”

“And if it doesn’t come?”

He shrugged lightly. “Then I still have leverage. Dead or alive, you destabilize your family. Alive, you’re more useful.”

Bella smiled then.

Cold. Controlled.

“You really think you’re the first man to try using me as a weapon?”

“No,” he said. “Just the first one without illusions.”

She leaned back against the chair as much as the restraints allowed, ignoring the bite at her wrists. “My father won’t bend.”

“I don’t need him to,” Don Silvio replied. “Pressure travels. Brothers. Sons.”

A pause.

“Lovers.”

That last word was deliberate.

Bella’s jaw tightened despite herself.

He noticed.

“Patience,” he said gently. “Soon enough, we’ll see who comes for you first.”

He turned toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle.

“Oh,” he added, glancing back at her, “if you’re wondering what happened to my brother… let’s just say softness has no place at the head of a family like ours.”

The door closed.

The light hummed.

Bella sat alone, wrists burning now, circulation returning in sharp needles. Her mind raced faster than her pulse, already mapping possibilities, timing, outcomes.

Somewhere out there, Alessandro was alive and safe.

Somewhere else, Marco was hunting.

And somewhere she didn’t want to think about, Luca Santoro might already be moving.

Don Silvio had said he was patient.

Bella Valenti smiled to herself in the dark.

So was she.

At the agreed location, Luca stepped out of the shadows slowly, hands visible.

Marco was already there.

“Any closer,” Marco said, “and I shoot.”

Luca stopped.

“Fair.”

Marco studied him like a problem he didn’t want to solve. He didn’t lower the gun.

“If this is a trap—”

“It’s not.”

“If she gets hurt—”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“You don’t get to promise that.”

“I know,” Luca said. “I get to try.”

Marco’s eyes flickered with something dangerous. Rage. Fear. Guilt. Love. All the things that made men stupid.

“You betray me,” Marco said, “and I will personally make sure you don’t die quickly.”

Luca nodded once. “Understood.”

They stood there, enemies aligned by necessity, the air thick with consequences neither could escape.

“For the record,” Marco added, “when this is over—”

“You’ll hate me again,” Luca finished. “As you should.”

Marco hesitated. Just a fraction.

“She never told us what happened between you,” he said quietly.

Luca looked away. His jaw tightened.

“She doesn’t have to.”

Marco clenched his jaw.

“Let’s move,” he said. “Before I change my mind.”

Luca turned toward the night, already planning the next steps, already calculating risk and loss.

They didn’t plan it like allies.

They planned it like two predators circling the same kill, fully aware the other could turn on them the second the job was done.

The warehouse by the docks was quiet in the way places were quiet right before bodies started hitting the floor.

Marco crouched near the rusted loading bay door, weapon dismantled and reassembled twice already. Not nerves. Focus. The kind that shaved thought down to bone.

Luca stood a few meters away, back to a concrete pillar, eyes on the perimeter. He’d mapped the place in his head the moment Marco shared the intel. Entry points. Blind spots. Probabilities. Moretti habits never really changed. They just pretended they did.

“Three external guards,” Luca said quietly. “Two rotating. One stationary by the rear access.”

Marco didn’t look at him. “Camera coverage?”

“Old system. Analog. I looped it ten minutes ago.”

That earned Luca a brief glance.

“You move fast,” Marco said.

“I move motivated,” Luca replied.

Rain began to fall. Light. Steady. The kind that swallowed sound and softened footsteps.

Marco checked his watch. “She’s inside. Basement level. East side.”

Luca nodded once. His jaw tightened just barely.

“No hero moves,” Marco said. “You break formation, I don’t cover you.”

“I won’t.”

“And Santoro,” Marco added, voice hard, “this doesn’t change anything.”

“I know,” Luca said. “It just changes tonight.”

They moved.

Marco took the left flank, slipping through shadow like the estate-trained ghost he was. Luca mirrored him on the right, quieter than he had any right to be for a man built like a weapon.

The first guard never saw Marco coming.

A clean strike. Throat. Caught. Lowered. Silent.

The second guard turned too late.

Luca fired once. Suppressed. Precise. The body dropped before sound could form.

They didn’t look at each other.

They didn’t need to.

Gunfire erupted inside seconds later.

Moretti men poured from corridors, shouting, scrambling, confused by the sudden collapse of their control.

Marco moved like fury given structure. Fire. Roll. Cover. Fire again. Every shot deliberate.

Luca advanced with him, back-to-back now, covering angles Marco didn’t need to think about. They moved like men who had trained together for years instead of circling each other like enemies.

A bullet clipped Luca’s shoulder.

He didn’t slow.

Marco noticed anyway.

“Still functional?” he snapped.

“Yes,” Luca replied. Then, drier, “Don’t get sentimental.”

Marco almost smiled.

Almost.

They reached the stairwell.

Moretti reinforcements tried to hold the choke point.

Bad decision.

Marco lobbed a flash. Luca followed with controlled fire. When the smoke cleared, the path was open.

Basement door.

Locked.

Luca didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward and kicked it in.