The Devil Unleashed

The quiet morning shattered like glass when Matteo stormed into Dante's study. Dante was seated behind his large mahogany desk, flipping through a report with calculated precision, his brow furrowed in thought. But one look at Matteo's face—the panic etched into every line of it—set Dante's instincts ablaze.

"Dante" Matteo said, his voice strained, breathless. "It's Isabella. She's—she's gone."

The report in Dante's hand slipped to the desk as he slowly rose, his piercing gaze locking onto Matteo. "What do you mean, gone?" The words were deceptively calm, but the storm brewing beneath them was palpable.

Matteo swallowed hard, his voice faltering under the weight of what he had to say. "Alexander was found... hurt. He's at the hospital. Isabella was with him, but there's no sign of her."

Dante froze, the color draining from his face. For a fleeting moment, silence hung heavy in the room, a terrifying calm before the storm. And then, like a dam breaking, the devil inside him unleashed.

"WHAT?" Dante's voice thundered, shaking the very walls. His fists slammed onto the desk, scattering papers and shattering the glass of water beside him. "WHERE IS SHE?"

Matteo flinched but stood his ground. "We're trying to track her. There were no witnesses who saw her being taken.....no sign of vehicle, no evidence. We're working on it."

Dante's jaw clenched so hard it was a wonder his teeth didn't shatter. His chest heaved with barely restrained fury, his hands trembling as he ran them through his hair. The image of Isabella—his Isabella—being dragged away by someone burned into his mind, fueling the inferno roaring in his veins.

"Turn Milan upside down if you have to!" he barked, his voice raw and venomous. "I don't care how you do it. Find. My. Fucking. Wife."

Matteo nodded, already dialing his team, but Dante wasn't finished. His dark, commanding presence filled the room, suffocating, terrifying.

"I want every street, every alley, every goddamn corner of this city combed" he growled. "Every informant, every contact—activate them all. No one rests until she's found. And whoever dared to touch her…" His voice dropped to a chilling whisper, his eyes burning with unholy rage. "They will beg for death by the time I'm done with them."

Matteo nodded again, the gravity of Dante's words not lost on him. "Understood."

But Dante wasn't done. "Bring me Alexander" he demanded. "Now."

Moments later, Alexander was escorted into the study, his head bandaged, his face pale and shaken. Dante's eyes were like daggers, pinning him in place.

"Tell me everything" Dante commanded, his voice dangerously low. "From the moment you stepped out of the house to when you failed her."

Alexander flinched at the accusation but complied, recounting every detail. "We were at the market… everything was fine until two men came out of nowhere. They hit me—" He hesitated, shame washing over him. "I couldn't stop them. They took her, and I—"

Dante's fist slammed into the wall, cutting him off. "You couldn't stop them?" he hissed. "You had one job—to protect her! And you failed!" His voice cracked with fury and anguish.

"I'm sorry—" Alexander began, but Dante silenced him with a glare so fierce it could have frozen fire.

"Sorry?" Dante's voice was a growl. "SORRY DOESN'T BRING HER BACK!"

For hours, Dante paced the study like a caged animal, barking orders into his phone, his mind racing through every possibility. Contacts were called, alliances tested, and threats made. The entire underworld of Milan was mobilized under his command.

When Matteo returned with an update, Dante's sharp gaze snapped to him. "Well?"

"We have a lead" Matteo said. "The van was spotted heading toward the outskirts. We're narrowing it down."

Dante didn't wait for further explanation. He grabbed his coat and gun, his movements precise and purposeful. The devil inside him was fully unleashed now, and no one—not Matteo, not his men—dared to stand in his way.

As he headed for the door, his voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Whoever is behind this… they will pay. And I will make sure they remember my name for the rest of their miserable lives."

The storm brewing inside Dante was nothing short of apocalyptic. Every fiber of his being screamed for vengeance, for retribution. For Isabella.

As he climbed into the car, his mind replayed every moment with her—her laughter, her teasing, her innocence, her strength. She had become his world, his everything. And now, someone had dared to take her from him.

"They don't know what they've done" he muttered to himself, his voice cold and deadly. "They've unleashed hell."

The car roared to life, and with it, Dante's resolve hardened. Whoever had taken Isabella had just made the gravest mistake of their lives.

Because the devil was coming for them.

_

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_

Isabella's world spun as she regained consciousness, her head pounding and her body aching. Her wrists were tied to the arms of a cold metal chair, the rough rope cutting into her skin. The room was dimly lit, the faint hum of voices coming from the other side of a door. Her pulse quickened as snippets of their conversation filtered through the cracks

"She'll fetch a good price" one voice sneered, followed by a dark chuckle. "But first, we'll have our fun. Madam has allowed it too"

Horror gripped her, the meaning behind their words sinking in. Panic coursed through her veins, but amidst the chaos in her mind, one name echoed louder than any other.

Dante.

Tears welled up, but she swallowed her fear. She couldn't think about him—not now. She couldn't let them use her to get to him. Her heart ached at the thought of him in danger because of her.

Her wrists burned as she began rubbing the rope against the sharp edge of the chair's arm, the fibers biting into her skin with every movement. The pain was unbearable, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. Drops of blood stained her fingers, but she didn't care. Her survival instincts had kicked in.

Minutes felt like hours as the voices grew louder, closer. She froze when the door creaked open slightly, her breath catching in her throat. But then it slammed shut again, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.

She took the chance. With one final pull, the rope loosened, and her hands were free. She didn't waste a second, ignoring the sharp pain in her wrists and the ache in her body as she stumbled toward the door.