The hum of her car's engine was soothing, a rare moment of quiet in Natasha Rex's otherwise chaotic life. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and violet as she drove home from another grueling shift at the hospital. She replayed Matteo Moretti's cryptic warning in her head, trying to shake off the uneasy weight it carried.
The headlights from behind her appeared too close, jarring her out of her thoughts. Natasha glanced in the rearview mirror, her brow furrowing. The black SUV didn't just seem close—it was tailing her.
Her pulse quickened.
Natasha's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. She made a sharp turn down a quieter street, hoping to lose her unwanted company. The SUV followed.
No, no, no.
Her heart pounded as she reached for her phone, fumbling to dial 911, but before she could press the call button, another SUV cut her off from the front. The screech of brakes filled the air as her car skidded to a halt.
Panic flooded her chest as masked men emerged from both vehicles, moving toward her with terrifying precision. Natasha's instincts screamed at her to run, but before she could react, the car door was wrenched open, and rough hands yanked her out.
"Let go of me!" she screamed, thrashing wildly.
One of the men grunted, tightening his grip as he dragged her toward the waiting SUV. Her fists connected with his chest, her nails raking his skin through the fabric, but it didn't slow him down.
"Stop fighting, or this gets worse," a cold voice warned.
Natasha didn't stop. She bit down hard on the arm of the man holding her, earning a curse, but the others closed in, and within seconds, she was shoved into the back seat, the door slamming shut.
Darkness enveloped her as a blindfold was tied around her eyes. She felt the car lurch forward, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
---
When the blindfold was finally removed, Natasha blinked against the harsh light. Her surroundings were unfamiliar—an opulent room with dark, leather furniture, gilded mirrors, and a roaring fireplace. The air smelled faintly of tobacco and expensive cologne.
Sitting across from her, his gray eyes sharp and unyielding, was Matteo Moretti.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Natasha straightened in the chair, her wrists still bound. "I documented the truth. If you think you can intimidate me into changing that, you've wasted your time."
Matteo's jaw clenched as he stood, the motion swift and controlled. He loomed over her, his presence as suffocating as ever. "The truth?" He scoffed, his tone dripping with venom. "You've put a target on my brother's back. On my family's back."
"Your family should've thought of that before getting involved in whatever criminal underworld you run," Natasha shot back, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her throat.
In an instant, Matteo's hand slammed down on the armrest of her chair, his face inches from hers. "Watch your mouth," he hissed, his gray eyes darkening.
Natasha didn't flinch. "You can scare your enemies, Mr. Moretti. But I'm not one of them."
Silence hung between them, thick with tension. Matteo straightened, pacing the room like a predator circling its prey.
"You're reckless," he said finally, his tone quieter but no less threatening. "Brave, maybe, but stupid. Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position? To live without my family's enemies breathing down their necks?"
"Then let me go," Natasha challenged. "I'm not interested in your world."
Matteo stopped, turning to face her. His smirk returned, colder this time. "You think it's that simple?" He crouched before her, his gaze boring into hers. "You made it my business when you filed that report. You've seen too much. And now, you're mine to deal with."
Her stomach churned at his words, but she refused to let him see her fear. "If you think you can keep me here, you're delusional."
Matteo chuckled darkly. "We'll see about that."
He stood, motioning to one of the men standing by the door. "Take her to the guest room. And make sure she doesn't try anything stupid."
As the guards led her away, Natasha's mind raced. Matteo Moretti thought he could break her, but he was wrong. She'd survived worse than him, and she wasn't about to start bending now.
Not even to the devil himself.
--
The room they shoved her into was as luxurious as it was imprisoning. Dark velvet curtains hung heavy over the windows, and the bed was so large it felt like it belonged to a queen. But no amount of luxury could mask the fact that she was a prisoner.
Natasha wasted no time. She scoured the room for anything she could use—a weapon, a tool, anything to help her escape. She tugged at the window handles, but they were locked tight. The door, predictably, was bolted from the outside.
She clenched her fists, frustration bubbling under her skin. She wasn't going to let Matteo Moretti control her.
As the hours dragged on, Natasha studied the movements of the guards outside her door. Their footsteps echoed at regular intervals, and she realized there was a brief moment—no more than thirty seconds—where they left her side unguarded during their rounds.
It wasn't much, but it was enough.
---
When night fell, Natasha made her move. Using the handle of a brass candlestick she'd found, she wedged it into the door's latch, creating just enough of a gap to slip through when the guards left. Her heart pounded as she crept down the hallway, her bare feet silent against the marble floors.
The manor was a labyrinth, but she kept moving, relying on instinct to guide her. The sound of distant voices made her pause, her breath catching as she ducked into a nearby room. She pressed herself against the wall, waiting for the voices to fade.
"Almost there," she whispered to herself, edging toward a grand staircase she remembered seeing earlier. Freedom was just steps away.
But as she descended, her foot landed on a creaking floorboard.
"Where do you think you're going?"
The voice froze her in place. Deep, smooth, and dripping with authority—it was Matteo.
She spun around, her eyes wide, and found him standing at the top of the stairs, his arms crossed and a dangerous smirk tugging at his lips.
"I was just… taking a walk," she said, her voice steady despite the panic clawing at her chest.
Matteo's chuckle sent shivers down her spine. "A walk? At this hour? Don't insult my intelligence, bella."
Natasha took a step back, but Matteo descended the stairs with the grace of a predator, closing the distance between them effortlessly.
Before she could bolt, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. "Running won't get you anywhere," he said, his voice low and filled with warning.
"Let me go," she hissed, struggling against his grip.
But Matteo pulled her closer, his gray eyes locking onto hers. "Do you have any idea what could've happened if someone else had caught you? You're safer here than you are out there."
"Safe?" Natasha spat. "I'm your prisoner!"
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, his grip on her wrist slackened. But then, in one fluid motion, he pulled her toward him, their bodies colliding. Natasha gasped as her hands landed on his chest, the heat of his skin radiating through his shirt.
Matteo's eyes darkened, his gaze flickering to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. "You're only here because you don't understand the world you're playing with," he said, his voice softer now, almost regretful. "This isn't a game, Natasha. It's life or death."
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the space between them seemed to disappear. She felt his heartbeat under her palms, steady and unyielding, a sharp contrast to her own racing pulse.
"You think you're protecting me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I know I am," Matteo replied, his hand moving from her wrist to her waist. The gesture was meant to steady her, but the warmth of his touch sent a jolt through her.
The tension crackled like a live wire, neither of them daring to move. Natasha's eyes narrowed, her resolve hardening.
"You don't get to decide what's best for me," she said, her voice cutting through the silence.
And with that, she shoved him away, breaking the spell. Matteo stumbled back slightly, his expression unreadable.
"You're right," he said after a beat, his smirk returning but with a hint of something softer beneath it. "But you're not leaving. Not yet."
Before she could protest, Matteo called for the guards, who escorted her back to her room. This time, they doubled the security.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Natasha sank onto the bed, her heart still racing from the encounter. She didn't trust Matteo—not for a second—but there was something about him, something she couldn't ignore.
And it terrified her.
---