Page 28 of Unworthy Ties
Gabriella
W aking up after being chloroformed wasn’t like waking from sleep.
It was like drowning in reverse. Consciousness came in fragments, hazy and unreliable, as if I were clawing my way up through heavy water only to sink back down again.
Sounds were warped and distant, swirling around me in a disorienting echo.
Muffled voices, the hum of an engine would slip through the cracks before vanishing.
My body didn’t feel like my own, numb and sluggish, but my mind burned with the stubborn awareness that something was very, very wrong.
Flashes of memory flickered like dying embers as I struggled against the disorienting fog that wrapped around me.
A man pulling me into a van, putting a cloth over my mouth and the acrid scent of chemicals.
I fought against the unconsciousness that threatened to drag me under again, forcing my eyes to flutter open.
I wasn’t sure if it was my natural surroundings or the chloroform, but everything was very dark.
Only a stream of light cut through the black, a blade of pale illumination that seemed to pulse with an eerie rhythm.
Shadows danced along the walls, twisting and contorting as if alive, and I realized I was in a confined space.
A strangled scream tore from my throat, raw and ragged.
My voice came out weaker than I expected, cracking in the heavy, stale air.
Panic clawed at my chest as the confined darkness pressed in from all sides, every shadow seeming to stretch closer.
My arms flailed instinctively, though they felt leaden and unresponsive, and I pressed my face into the faint sliver of light, gasping for a sense of orientation.
The fear, half-dulled by the lingering fog of chloroform, made my heart hammer erratically, each beat a frantic plea for escape.
The light flickered, momentarily revealing the contours of my prison.
Rusty metal walls were lined with a thick layer of grime that spoke of neglect and despair.
I strained to listen, my breath hitching as I picked up on the faint sound of a generator thrumming somewhere nearby, a mechanical heartbeat that felt more like a taunt than a comfort.
I screamed again, desperation clawing at my throat. The sound echoed ominously, swallowed by the darkness. Silence followed, thick and suffocating, as if the shadowy corners of the room were conspiring to muffle my cries.
Shit. I had really fucked things up, hadn’t I?
If I hadn’t thrown that stupid tantrum and just stayed in the penthouse, maybe I wouldn’t be here, trapped in this suffocating box.
The regret coiled around me, and hot tears pooled in my eyes.
The tears streamed down my cheeks, mingling with the salt of terror.
Each drop was a reminder of my helplessness, and I swallowed hard against the rising tide of despair.
After lying there for what felt like an eternity, but might have only been minutes, I decided I needed my therapist. I lifted a shaky hand and drew a picture of Giuseppe on the grime of the metal on the top of the box.
“I really messed it up this time,” I whispered to the drawn figure.
His button eyes felt pitifully inadequate for the comfort I needed, but it was all I had.
My chest tightened, a mix of fear and guilt coiling around my ribs, and I hugged my knees closer, wishing the world would let me breathe again.
“Things were going so well,” I continued. “We were having such a good time together. And I—I…” My voice faltered, the words I wanted to say lodged somewhere between my chest and my throat. The truth hovered there, heavy and fragile, but I couldn’t let it escape.
Giuseppe’s steel eyes stared back at me, silent and unwavering, as if urging me to hold on, to survive, even when my courage failed me.
“I don’t know if I can,” I said, letting out a choked sob. “How is Rocco even supposed to find me here?”
I didn’t even know where “here” was. The silence pressed in tighter, and I was forced to confront the gnawing dread that had nestled deep in my gut. My breath came in shallow gasps, each one a reminder of my vulnerability, the weight of my isolation wrapping around me like a vice.
After whispering to Giuseppe’s drawing, I pressed my forehead against the metal surface, letting the familiar comfort of his imagined presence ground me.
Then, I sat in silence, praying Rocco would magically rescue me.
When I heard a low creaking sound from somewhere beyond my immediate confines, my heart skipped a beat.
It was followed by a faint rustle, like the dragging of feet across a floor.
I strained to listen, every nerve ending electrified with fear.
The rustling grew louder, each sound punctuated by the soft shuffle of footsteps, slow and deliberate. My heart raced, a frantic animal trapped in a cage, while I held my breath, straining to discern the source of the disturbance.
The rustling grew louder, deliberate and methodical, each step sending a spike of fear straight through me.
My pulse thundered in my ears as I pressed myself against the far wall of the crate, heart hammering like a drum.
The shadow that fell across the sliver of light confirmed my worst fear—this wasn’t a rescuer. It was him. My captor.
The faint scrape of metal against metal made my stomach twist. The door of the crate groaned as it was forced open, and a man leaned inside. My breath hitched, every instinct screaming to run, though there was nowhere to go.
His figure loomed like a nightmare, a hulking silhouette framed by the dim light behind him. I couldn’t make out his features clearly, but there was something unmistakably predatory in the way he moved—slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment.
“Who-who are you?” I asked, trying to sound brave when I was anything but.
He didn’t answer, instead grabbing me by the collar of my shirt and pulling me out of the crate.
The world spun as he hoisted me to my feet, the confined darkness of the crate replaced by a building’s dim, stale interior.
My arms flailed, heart hammering like a drum, but his grip was iron, unyielding.
The air was thick with the scent of oil and rubber, and the low hum of the engine vibrated through the floor beneath me.
I tried to wrench free, but every motion seemed to fuel his tightening hold. My voice caught in my throat, panic bubbling over as the reality sank in: I was completely at his mercy.
“S-stop!” I said, but the word came out as a desperate whimper. He leaned closer, and I caught a glimpse of his face. It was hard, angular, and his eyes were as cold as the steel surrounding us. A cruel smile twisted his lips, twisting my stomach into knots.
“Stop,” he echoed, the word dripping with mockery.
He let the word hang between us like a challenge, his grip tightening just enough to remind me I wasn’t imagining my helplessness.
My knees threatened to buckle, and I swallowed hard, trying to keep my fear from spilling over.
The dim light caught the glint in his eyes, sharp and unyielding, and I knew pleading wouldn’t earn me mercy.
The man dragged me down a corridor with an unsettling calm, pulling me past warped doors and peeling walls that seemed to whisper secrets of despair.
The generator’s drone faded into the background, replaced by a sinister silence that felt alive, wrapping around us like a living creature hungry for my fear.
He stopped at a door before knocking three times with an unsettling rhythm, each knock echoing like a heartbeat in the stillness. I could feel a cold sweat trickling down my spine, the chill creeping through my limbs as he turned to look at me with that same predatory grin.
“Time to meet the boss,” he said, voice low and rasping, and with that, the door creaked open.
When I didn’t walk in, he shoved me into the room, the sudden shift of my surroundings causing me to stumble and fall forward onto the cold, hard floor. I scrambled to push myself up, my hands trembling as they met the gritty surface.
“Nice to see you again, Gabriella.”
A man that looked extremely familiar stood with a casual confidence, leaning back against a large desk cluttered with papers and an assortment of sinister-looking tools. The dim light illuminated his face, and I struggled to recall where I had met him before.
“Oh,” he let out a dark chuckle. “Do you not remember me?”
A wave of recognition washed over me, cold and suffocating. It was the man who worked for the Salvaggio family that I had met at the gala. Salvatore Romano, his presence flooded my senses with an overwhelming sense of dread.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered. I knew Maximo Salvaggio and Rocco were friends; surely he would let me out of this place.
“Rocco has been causing quite some problems,” he said, as if reading my mind. “I had to take… action.”
“Action?” I echoed, my voice barely audible, trembling despite my best effort to steady it.
As Salvatore Romano stepped closer, his gaze piercing through me with an intensity that made my skin crawl, I realized the gravity of the situation I found myself in. The air in the room grew heavy with unspoken threats, his words hanging between us like a tangible force.
“Rocco has been digging into matters he shouldn’t, and there must be consequences.”
I braced myself, my mind racing with possibilities of what these consequences could entail. I knew I was in over my head, entangled in a web of dangerous alliances and betrayals that I never intended to be a part of.