His Angel: A Dark Mafia Romance (Dark Sovereign Book 10)

I sit on the cold floor in the safe room, the silence pressing against me like a living thing, so thick and heavy it smothers every sound from the outside world.

The walls are soundproof, a tomb of steel and concrete, and the absence of noise is eerie and suffocating, leaving me alone with the chaos in my head.

I clutch the inhaler Isaia gave me, my fingers trembling as I grip it like a lifeline, my chest tight with fear, my breaths shallow and ragged despite the medicine.

Tears stream down my face, and I don’t bother to wipe them away, my body shaking with sobs as I curl into myself, my knees drawn up to my chest, my heart pounding so hard it hurts.

I’m scared out of my fucking mind, the terror a living beast inside me, clawing at my insides, and all I can do is pray, my lips moving silently as I beg God, the universe, anyone who will listen, to keep Isaia safe, to bring him back to me, to let him be okay.

My mind spirals, the fear taking hold, and I think of a world without him, a life where I’d have to wake up every day knowing he’s gone, knowing I’ll never feel his arms around me, never hear his voice call me “baby girl,” never see that crooked smile that makes my heart race.

The thought kills me, steals my breath, breaks my soul into a thousand jagged pieces, and I sob harder, my chest heaving as the pain of it rips through me, a grief so deep it feels like I’m drowning.

I can’t live without him. I can’t. The idea of a future without Isaia is a black void, an endless ache that would hollow me out until there’s nothing left. There’s just no I’d survive that reality. It’s frightening, chilling, and even the thought is enough to freeze my blood.

Pressing my hands to my face, my tears soak my palms, my body trembling as I whisper his name, a desperate prayer, a plea for him to come back to me, to be okay, to survive this nightmare.

I think of his eyes, those piercing brown irises that see me, really see me, and the way he kissed me before he left, the desperation in his touch, the promise of forever in his words, and I can’t lose that. I can’t lose him, not after everything, not after I’ve finally found a love that feels like home.

The silence stretches on, an eternity in this metal cage, and I rock back and forth, my sobs ebbing and flowing as anxiety spikes and retreats. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. It’s an endless loop of negative and positive thoughts, driving me out of my goddamn mind.

I stand and start pacing. The radio is on the floor, and it taunts me. An hour or two. How long has it been? There’s no way of telling. This room doesn’t have a clock; there aren’t any windows. So how the fuck am I supposed to know when it’s time to use that thing?

You won’t need to use it, because he’s coming back for you.

I clutch the inhaler tighter, my fingers going white with the grip. The panic builds like a storm in my chest, a hurricane of terror that I can’t stop, and I shake with the force of it, my breaths ragged and uneven as I fight for air.

The thought of losing him, the unbearable weight of it, makes my heart seize, my soul fracture, bleeds me from the inside out.

My cries echo in the silence, broken gasps, and the chill of the room seeps into my bones, relentless, uncaring, and the thought of him gone forever is a knife twisting in my gut, carving a hollow where my heart should be, a void that would swallow me whole.

I whisper his name again, a mantra, a desperate hope, a wish, a plea, clutching at it like a drowning woman with a piece of driftwood.

My mind spins out of control—what if he’s hurt, what if he’s dead, what if there’s nothing left of him but a memory, a ghost haunting the empty spaces of my life?

My legs give out, and I sink to the floor, crumpled and shaking, the inhaler slipping from my fingers. I press my face into my knees, trying to muffle my cries, trying to hold myself together as everything inside me shatters, and I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t do anything but fall to pieces.

I hear a faint click, the sound of the door unlocking, and my heart leaps. A surge of hope floods through me as I scramble to my feet, my legs shaky as I run toward the door.

“Isaia!” I cry, my heart leaping with hope, my body surging forward, and just as I reach the door, it swings open with a sudden force that makes me gasp.

For a moment, a fleeting, aching moment, I think it’s him.

Only…it’s not.

Two men dressed in black, shadows against the stark brightness of the hallway, grab me and yank me forward with a force that makes me stumble, my knees buckling, my breath catching in a choked sob.

Something rough and dark is pulled over my head, a sack that reeks of sweat and gunpowder, the acrid scent filling my nose, making me gag as it plunges me into darkness.

I scream, my voice muffled against the fabric, and I fight, kicking and thrashing, my fists pounding against the arms holding me, my curses raw and furious as I struggle, my fear spiking into pure panic, my heart racing as I’m hauled out of the safe room, my body dragged up the stairs, my feet scraping against the steps.

“Let me go!”

I’m hauled out of the safe room, dragged up the stairs, my feet scraping against the steps. I keep trying to fight, my nails scratching against one of their arms, but it does nothing.

Their hands are mechanical, unrelenting, as they haul me, my body jerking with each step, my breath coming in short, raw bursts.

I can’t see anything through the sack, and the darkness is absolute, disorienting. I’m drowning in it, my mind spinning, my heart a frantic staccato in my chest as it pounds with fear, with desperation, with the agony of not knowing what’s happening or where they’re taking me.

I’m going to die, I think, and the thought seizes me, a crushing weight I can’t escape, that I can’t fight, that I can’t breathe against. These men are going to kill me. They’re going to kill Isaia.

No, no, no, I can’t let that happen.

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

I kick out harder, my foot connecting with something solid, but hands wrap around my ankles, and I’m lifted off the floor, carried by pairs of strong arms.

They keep moving, and I keep thrashing, my screams bruised and battered against the inside of the sack, against the inside of my head.

The air changes, and I realize we’re outside, the atmosphere shifting around me, immediate, palpable. The sound hits me next, the whir of chopper blades, so loud like they’re carving the sky open, the furious slice of them vibrating in my skull.

I’m set on my feet, and I gasp with the shock of it, the wind from the rotors so strong it pierces through me. I try to jerk free, try to run, fighting harder than I ever have in my life. But their grip is iron, and I’m sobbing as I’m forced into the chopper, a ragged, desperate sound ripped from my throat.

One of them shoves my face down onto the metal floor, his knee grinding into my back, his weight crushing the air from my lungs, pinning me there as I thrash wildly, as I fight against him with every last ounce of strength I have, my body jerking violently, the pain of it bruising, shocking. My arms are twisted behind me, restrained with something so tight it makes my skin burn.

My head spins, my stomach lurches, and I feel like I’m going to be sick, the movement of the chopper disorienting as it rises and sways as if the whole world is tilting with it, and I can’t tell which way is up, which way is down, which way will lead to the end of me.

The knee in my back adds unbearable pressure. I gasp and sputter, my sobs explosive, desperate, as I swallow down the urge to vomit as I try to breathe.

I never stop fighting, never stop flailing, trying to throw them off, trying to free myself, my mind racing, adrenaline surging with terror, with the awful unknown of what they’re going to do to me, my sanity slipping as I fight against the horror of it, the helplessness of it, the hopelessness of it.

The chopper banks hard, and I slide against the metal floor, the sack twisting around my head, the sound of Isaia’s name ripped from my throat by the wind. They’re barking out orders, their voices a low snarl lost in the whir of the blades.

Another surge of panic tears through me and triggers a burst of energy, and I wrench against the restraints even harder, and this time my feet kick at something hard, a voice crying out, “Bitch!”

Pain explodes in a white-hot flash, my face slamming against the metal floor with a force so violent I think I might black out. The shock of it is jarring, head-splitting, and my skull feels like it’s cracking open.

I taste blood on my tongue. The metallic taste spreads through my mouth like poison, and I gag against it. Thick. Coppery.

My ears fill with static, a high-pitched ringing that drowns out everything else, my body going numb, my limbs weighing me down like lead. I can’t fight anymore; my thoughts are scattered, and my mind is a rush of blurring fog and confusion. It’s like I’m slipping in and out of consciousness, adrenaline fading.

I can feel the quick, sharp jolts of movement as the chopper surges through the air, and I’m pretty sure I hear someone say, “We’ve got her, sir.”

I have no idea how much time passes, how many times I’ve passed out—if I’ve passed out. Everything is surreal, like none of this is really happening.

It’s a dream.

I need to wake up

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

There’s a jarring thud beneath me, the hard slam of metal against the ground, and the shock shoots through my spine. The chopper lands, and the impact knocks my head against the floor, my bones rattling with the force of it. The world is shaking, and I try to brace myself when I’m being yanked up and pulled out, dragged into open air.

The sack over my head is suddenly removed, and the light stabs at me. It’s so intense I have to blink a few times to adjust. We’re on a…we’re on a boat. A yacht. The deck lies sprawled out before me.

I squint up at the men on either side of me, their grip iron on my elbows as they force me to walk. “Let go of me!”

They don’t. Their faces remain impassive, uncaring, fingers biting into my flesh.

I twist myself, jerking my arm up, and sink my teeth into the nearest one’s arm, biting down hard until I taste blood. He howls, releasing his grasp, and I use the moment to grab his gun, my fingers slippery on the metal, fumbling for control as I lunge forward.

The gun goes off, a deafening crack as it discharges, one of the men in front of me falling to the ground, screaming as he holds his knee. For a single moment, I don’t move, watching the blood spurt from his leg, but there’s movement, a shadow, and I cut my aim in that direction.

“Stay the fuck away from me!”

“Everly?”noveldrama

I freeze, every muscle locking tight, the gun shaking in my hands as that voice cuts through the chaos, a voice I know, a voice I buried, a voice that can’t be real.

My blood turns to ice, my breath catching in my throat, and I feel the world tilt, the chopper’s hum fading to a dull roar as my mind reels, refusing to believe what I’m hearing.

He steps out of the shadows, his silhouette emerging into the dim light, and I gasp, choking on a breath as my heart stutters, staring at his face, a face I mourned, a face I loved, a face I thought I’d never see again.

I shake my head, the gun slipping in my grip, my voice a broken whisper as I stumble back, my legs barely holding me up, the reality of him hitting me like a tidal wave, shattering everything I thought I knew.

“It can’t be… no.” My voice cracks as I stare at him in disbelief.

“It’s me, Everly.”

The gun falls from my hands, clattering to the ground, tears blurring his image. “Anthony?”