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Papa.
Dario.
This will ruin them.
This will be the end for them.
As my protectors, they will do everything to save me.
What happens if they can’t?
The question is drowned out by the haze as I slip further into unconsciousness.
Chapter Four
Chiara
My chest heaves as I jolt into consciousness, waking with a gasp. My body still doesn’t move the way I want it to, and my limbs still feel like dead weight.
Blinking, I try to adjust to the dark room, but it’s not helping. I release a deep breath knowing that I’m no longer in the moving car.
As my head moves to one side, I feel the ache in my neck—the space where I felt that scratch—and it makes me wince. When I try to raise my hands to touch that sore spot, I realise that my wrists have been bound together.
A whimper escapes me, quiet and raw, as I try to pull against the restraint. It only digs even deeper into either one of my wrists, forcing my hands even tighter together. My breathing becomes uneven, the sharp gasps bouncing between the walls of this room.
It’s then that I hear it.
Footsteps.
The floor creaks beneath the sound of heavy shoes making their way towards me. The sound is measured and deliberate, and every step makes my stomach twist painfully harder, fear exploding in my chest as I squeeze my eyes shut.
I pray that this is just another one of my fucked up nightmares, but I’m not that lucky.
When I open my eyes again, the footsteps are closer, and louder too. Two shadows appear in the doorway of the room, both bodies broad as they tower above me, their presence suffocating me in this dark room.
Not one word is uttered as they step inside. Still dressed in their clothes from before—how many hours, or even days, has it been now?—they don’t stop moving until they’re standing right in front of me.
The one on the right reaches up first, his gloved hand lifting to tug the mask away from his face, and my heart stops.
It’s the same man from before…but it’s also not.
Their features are the same; high cheekbones, a strong nose, a sharp jaw, and full lips. His hair is cropped short, blond, and there’s a faint scar along his hairline.
My breathing stutters as I look away from him, and over at the man standing on the left.
When he pulls his mask off next, I recognise him.
I look between both men again, feeling bile rising in my throat.
Twins.
Identical.
They share the same dangerous aura too.
But there are some differences too, subtle ones. Like their scars, for example, and the areas where they’re pierced too.
The man standing on the left has a small lip ring, opposite to where the scar appears from, as well as a few different studs all along his ear.