L'Angelo della Morte | A Mafia Romance

♛26 ⥄ ❝ Devil's Lair ❞

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You are broken on the floor, and you're crying — crying.

~ Isak Danielson

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The shadows came alive. Faceless men in black stormed out, guns raised. Guns aimed at me. Yelling. Words I couldn't make out were shouted at me.

The balcony above became flooded with them and my eyes darted around the room in search of Vittorio.

I stumbled backward only to back myself into a man behind me. His hands grabbed my shoulders but before I could even scream I was thrown behind him.

He stood tall in front of me and I watched him snap the neck of a masked man in the same uniform that Romeo wore.

Dante.

His gun whipped across the temple of another man, his knee making contact with his stomach. The man fell to his knees but was soon replaced with a crowd.

Whimpers split my lips.

Dante was impossibly outnumbered. Every time a man fell in front of him, two replaced him. Blood coated his chin, his lips busted and his suit jacket was torn and bloodied.

Four men wrung his arms behind him and forced him to the ground, securing his wrists in a set of handcuffs.

I fumbled with the slit in my dress, my fingertips grasping at the handle of the small knife. Two men closed the distance between us. One locked a hand around my arm and yanked me towards him.

I grit my teeth and sunk the knife into his arm. He let go with an agonized groan, but before I could backtrack, his closed fist slammed across my jaw.

I fell back, my head hit the marble floor with a thud, and my vision darkened.

𓆩♛𓆪

I groaned.

Pain spiked through my skull at the smallest turn of my head and the light that seeped through my closed lids didn't help.

I licked my lips and winced at the metallic taste that filled my entire mouth. "Fuck," I hissed, bringing a trembling hand to my head.

"I second that," a hoarse voice agreed.

I forced my eyes open – the first thing I saw was the wooden floor that my cheek was pressed against. Pushing myself up a little, I managed to peer at the person next to me.

Rizzo sat against a white wall, his legs bent and his cuffed wrists resting on his knees. He'd been stripped of his suit jacket and his hair was matted by blood. A trail ran down the side of his face, starting at his hairline. His lips were swollen and covered in dry blood.

Despite his injuries, his face held the same grumpy frown I'd gotten used to.

"Nice place," Dante muttered, lifting his hands to gesture towards the rest of the room. The chains keeping him restrained rattled. His handcuffs had been replaced with a thicker set. Two chains trailed behind him, secured to the wall he sat against. "At least he's got taste."

I glanced in the general direction he'd gestured. It wasn't the penthouse I'd known from my years in his captivity, but a penthouse nonetheless. It had dark wooden floors and flawless white walls. The front door seemed miles away, tucked beside the open kitchen.