Chapter 2

Author's POV

Alessio Moretti moved through the warehouse like a shadow that swallowed the light, his presence pressing down on the air like a storm about to break. The men around him stilled, their heads bowing in silent acknowledgment of who—what—he was.

Power. Control. Death wrapped in a tailored suit.

At the far end of the room, Lucas stood waiting. Stiff. Alert. The moment Alessio reached him, he dipped his head slightly.

"Lucifer."

Alessio's lips barely moved. "How are you, baby brother?" The words were almost gentle, but there was nothing soft about them.

"I'm good, Brother." Lucas spoke carefully, choosing each word as if the wrong one might slice him open.

"And yet..." Alessio's gaze flicked toward the door. "Seems like you failed the only job you had."

A muscle in Lucas's jaw ticked. "I'm sorry, Lucifer." His voice was tight, controlled. "The girl keeps saying she doesn't know him."

A pause. A long, suffocating silence.

Alessio tilted his head slightly. "Useless." The word wasn't loud, but it might as well have been a gunshot.

Lucas said nothing. There was nothing to say.

"Is she in this room?"

Lucas nodded and pushed the door open.

The scent of blood hit Alessio first.

Thick. Metallic. It clung to the air, curling into his lungs like smoke. The room was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the cold concrete floor, but the figure tied to the chair was impossible to miss.

She was small, fragile-looking, but even through the mess of tangled hair and torn clothing, he could see it—

She was still fighting.

Her breathing was ragged, her shoulders trembling, but the second his footsteps echoed against the floor, she flinched.

Alessio exhaled slowly, watching the way her body tensed. Waiting. Bracing.

Good.

He moved forward, slow and deliberate, like a predator who knew his prey had nowhere left to run.

Then, in a voice as smooth as silk but sharp enough to cut, he asked,

"What is your name?"

She hesitated.

Just for a second.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper—**small, soft, broken—**she spoke.

"Angel D'Souza."

Her name. A plea. A confession. A final breath before the fall.

Alessio's POV

I froze.

It wasn't just her voice—it was the way it felt. Soft. Angelic. Fragile in a way that curled around something deep in my chest, something I had long since buried.

But I wasn't a man who let emotions dictate his actions.

I took another step forward, pulling out my knife. The dim light glinted off the blade as I turned it between my fingers. Cold. Sharp. Merciless.

"And do you know who Alessandro King is?" My voice was void of warmth, of anything remotely human.

Her breath hitched. "No." A whisper. Weak. Defeated.

But I could hear it. The quiet tremor. The unshed fear. The silent plea.

Tears slipped down her face, leaving faint trails on her bloodstained skin. Something inside me twisted, but I ignored it.

I lifted the knife, trailing the edge toward her face. She flinched, her breath catching, but I didn't cut her. Instead, I used the blade to push her tangled hair aside, revealing the damage underneath.

And for the first time in years, I forgot how to breathe.

She was beautiful. Too beautiful. Even with the deep gash on her forehead, even with her swollen cheeks, even with her lips split and bleeding—she looked like something carved from heaven.

Anger. It burned through my veins, sharp and unrelenting.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to focus.

She is not your concern.

I crouched slightly, my gaze locking onto hers. Green. Wide. Drowning in pain and tears.

"I will ask you one more time," I said, my voice low, controlled, "Do you know Alessandro King?"

Her lips trembled as she squeezed her eyes shut. Another tear slipped down, trailing over the bruises on her cheek.

"No."

I inhaled deeply. Lies? Or truth?

I turned to Lucas. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

Good.

I stepped toward him, lowering my voice so only he could hear.

"No one touches her until I say otherwise."

Lucas hesitated. Just for a moment. But then he nodded.

"Yes, Lucifer."

I cast one last glance at the girl—the broken thing tied to the chair, the one who looked like she belonged in a dream, not a nightmare.

Then I walked out of the room, pulling out my phone.

"Get me a picture of Alessandro King's daughter."