Chapter One

Angel

Two years had passed since the day I turned eighteen, and yet nothing had changed. The walls of our small apartment remained as thin as paper, the paint peeling like old memories that I wished I could forget. I stood by the doorway, watching my mother sprawled on the awful pea-green couch we'd gotten from the Salvation Army years ago when we'd moved in off the streets. Her body was limp from the remnants of her most recent high. The room smelled faintly of sweat and something more acrid, but I didn't flinch. This was nothing out of the ordinary.

Carla Rossi, the woman who'd brought me into this world claiming I was a promise whispered to her by an angel, was now a husk of the vibrant woman I only knew through fleeting memories. Her cheeks were gaunt, skin pale and stretched too tightly across her protruding bones. Her once-beautiful hair now hung in stringy strands, and her eyes were hollow, only sparking to life when the drugs coursed through her veins. But she was still my mother. Despite everything, despite the countless nights of coming home to find her like this, I loved her fiercely.

I knelt beside her and gently tugged the blanket over her frail body. She stirred, her chapped lips parting slightly, but her eyes remained closed. I went to the kitchen, filled a glass with cool water, and set it on the chipped side table beside the couch.

"I'll be back later, Mom," I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She murmured something unintelligible and turned away from me.

With a sigh, I stood, smoothing the wrinkles from my simple dress. My hair fell over my shoulders like a veil, the pale blonde locks reflecting the dim light filtering through the window. People always said I looked as angelic as my name — ironic, given the circumstances of my life. Maybe they saw something I couldn't. Maybe they wanted to believe that someone who grew up in this darkness could still be a beacon of light. I hoped that was true.

Grabbing my worn coat from the hook by the door, I left quietly, careful not to wake mother. The streets outside were busy, the city alive even at this hour, but I moved through it unnoticed. People avoided eye contact these days. The diner where I worked was a few blocks away, and the walk was always the same—cold, gray, and littered with trash and memories, both of which I wished I could bury. I shoved both hands into my pockets, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in already as I neared the fluorescent sign of the diner.

***

The shift was long. Too long.

By the end of it, my feet ached, and the muscles in my legs screamed for relief. I wiped the last table down, the rag rough against my skin, but I didn't complain. I never did. Complaining wasn't something I allowed myself. There were people who had it worse than I did. That was something I had learned early on. While Mom and I lived on next to nothing, at least we had a roof over our heads now.

When my shift finally ended, I was more than ready to collapse into bed. The walk home was slower this time, fatigue dragging at my steps. The dim light from our apartment window was still on when I arrived. Good. Mom was still there.

Pushing the door open, I expected to see her in the usual spot on the couch, the blanket pulled over her as if nothing had changed in the few hours I had been gone. But the couch was empty. For a moment, my stomach tightened. I called out softly, "Mom?"

No response.

A flicker of panic ignited in my chest. I glanced around, noticing that the glass of water was still untouched on the table. I took a deep breath, telling myself she was probably in the bedroom. Maybe she had woken up and decided to sleep there instead. But a noise—a muffled sound from down the hall—sent a shiver down my spine. It was coming from the bedroom.

My heart pounded as I moved toward the door, my hand shaking as I reached for the knob. The door creaked as I pushed it open. What I saw inside made my blood run cold.

Three men in dark clothing stood in the room, their presence suffocating. My mother was on her knees, her frail form trembling as one of the men hovered over her. His hand was wrapped around her wrist, holding her in place like she was some kind of possession.

"Stop!" The word tore from my throat before I could think.

The largest of the men turned to face me. His gaze cut through the dim light, and I knew instantly who he was.

Everyone knew…

The Devil—Drago Barone.

His reputation was a whispered terror in the streets, a man with no mercy, no heart. I had heard stories about the mafia boss—about the debts he collected, the lives he ruined. I had never thought I would meet him face-to-face.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. I had no idea what he was doing here, but the reality of the situation hit me like a blow to the head. I looked from him to my mother, and in that instant, I knew we were both as good as dead.

Drago's gaze swept over me, assessing. His eyes, dark and unreadable, lingered on my hair, my skin. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice smooth like velvet but laced with something dangerous.

I swallowed hard, feeling my throat tighten. "I'm her daughter…Angel…Christened Angela Maria."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. His lips curled into something that resembled amusement, but there was nothing kind about it. "You don't look Italian, Angela Maria," he said, his gaze lingering on my pale skin. "Who's your father?"

The question was like a slap, one I had no answer for. I had asked my mother that question a hundred times over the years, but she never told me.

"I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. My eyes flicked to my mother, who covered her face with both hands.

Drago stared at me for a moment, then glanced at my mother. His grip on her tightened. "Why would you try to save her? She owes more money than you can imagine. She's a lost cause."

I glanced at my mother, seeing the fear in her eyes as she looked up at me, the way her body trembled. She looked so small, so fragile. Despite all her flaws and addictions, she was still the only family I had.

"Because she's my mother," I said, my voice steady. "And I love her, even though she's made mistakes. Even though she's an addict, I wouldn't wish harm on her."

Drago's expression hardened, though there was something flickering in his eyes, something I couldn't quite place. "You're soft," he said, his tone almost mocking.

"Compassion isn't soft," I countered, my voice firmer now, surprising even myself. "It's strength. It's caring for someone even when it's hard."

A heavy silence hung in the room. The other men exchanged glances, but Drago's eyes remained locked on mine. I could feel the weight of his scrutiny, the tension in the air thickening. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he broke the silence.

"Grab her."

Panic surged through me as the men advanced. I struggled, pulling away, but their huge hands were like iron, holding me fast. "What are you doing?!" I cried out, fear rising in my chest.

Drago's voice was cold as he answered. "If you care about your mother so much, you'll come with me. She's free of her debt now. Consider it paid."

"No!" I thrashed against their hold, my heart racing. "What do you want with me?"

"You'll see," Drago said, a cruel smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

Before I could say another word, a bag was thrown over my head, and my world went dark.

The suffocating darkness pressed in on me as the bag covered my head, stealing away any remaining sense of control. My heart pounded furiously, panic tightening every muscle in my body. I could hear the muffled shuffling of footsteps around me, and the grip of the men holding me in place was unrelenting.

I tried to breathe, tried to calm the overwhelming terror coursing through my veins, but it was impossible. My mind raced through a thousand thoughts all at once—none of them comforting. Where was I being taken? What did Drago Barone want with me? How could this be happening?

The air inside the bag was stifling, making it hard to think clearly. I stumbled as they led me forward, and the hands gripping my arms only tightened, keeping me upright. The sounds of the apartment faded as we moved further away. My last desperate thought was of my mother. Had they hurt her? Was she truly free, or was that just another lie?

I couldn't tell where we were going, or how long we walked. My breaths became shallow, my head light from a mix of exhaustion and fear. I knew enough about Drago Barone's reputation to know that mercy was not in his nature. Whatever his plans for me were, I doubted they involved anything good.

Suddenly, I was shoved into what felt like the backseat of a vehicle. The leather beneath me was cool and unfamiliar. I could hear the engine hum to life, and then we were moving.

My mind raced. What should I do? Was there any chance of escape? The tight grip of fear kept me frozen in place. Even though I couldn't see the faces of the men on either side of me, I could feel the heavy weight of their presence.

In the silence of the ride, all I had left were my thoughts, and they kept spiraling back to my mother. The image of her on her knees, looking broken and desperate, burned into my mind. I had spent so much of my life caring for her, sacrificing everything to keep her afloat despite her addiction. And now, just like that, I was gone, and she was…what? Free? What would she do without me there to take care of her, make sure she was fed and bathed regularly?

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn't help. Weakness wouldn't help. I needed to stay calm, alert, and figure out what Drago wanted. He had to want something, or he wouldn't have taken me and kept me alive.

The car came to a halt. I heard the doors open and close, then the sound of footsteps outside. A door opened, and seconds later rough hands pulled me from the vehicle. My legs were unsteady as they dragged me out, but I forced myself to stand upright, refusing to be carried like a helpless victim.

The air was colder now, the sharp bite of the cold autumn night piercing through the thin fabric of my coat. They led me across a gravel path. I stumbled once, and a hand yanked me back to my feet, offering no words of comfort. Finally, we stopped, and the bag was pulled roughly from my head.

Blinking against the sudden light, I took in my surroundings. We were in front of a large, imposing mansion, its stone fa?ade cold and unwelcoming. The building loomed over us, bathed in the eerie glow of moonlight. It looked like something from a nightmare—grand and terrifying all at once. I shivered, and goosebumps broke out over my flesh.

"Welcome to your new home," one of the men sneered from beside me.

I didn't respond, my throat too tight to form words. The front door opened, and there, standing in the doorway, was Drago Barone, every bit as intimidating as he had been in my apartment, his dark eyes gleaming with something that sent a chill down my spine. He must have driven, or been driven separately to his estate to have arrived first.

"Bring her inside," he commanded the men who held me.

I was pushed forward, my feet dragging over the gravel as I was led into the mansion. The interior was just as grand as the exterior—high ceilings, expensive artwork, and an air of coldness and untouchability that mirrored the man who owned it. I barely had time to take it all in before we reached another door, and I was shoved inside.

The room was dark, save for a single light that illuminated the center. Drago stepped inside after me, his gaze locked on mine. He closed the door behind him with a quiet finality.

My heart raced as the silence stretched between us. I wanted to speak, to demand answers, but the words stuck in my throat. All I could do was stand there, waiting for him to make the first move.

He circled me slowly, like a predator assessing its prey. I could feel his eyes on me, sharp and unyielding.

"You're a curious little thing," he said finally, his voice low and calculated. "Most people would have left someone like your mother to rot in her own filth. But not you."

I swallowed hard, my hands trembling at my sides. "She's my mother," I said softly, finding my voice at last. "I couldn't just abandon her."

He stopped in front of me, tilting his head slightly. "And what about yourself?" he asked, reaching out and tracing my cheekbone with his fingertip. "You've thrown yourself into the fire to save her. Do you think she would do the same for you?"

I didn't have an answer for that. I wanted to believe that my mother loved me enough to protect me if the roles were reversed, but deep down, I wasn't sure. The addiction had taken so much from her—her strength, her judgment, and most of all, her ability to think of anyone but herself until it was too late.

Drago must have seen the hesitation in my eyes because his smirk deepened. "You don't know, do you? You don't know if she cares enough to save you. Yet here you are, willing to give up everything for her."

"She's still my mother," I said, my voice shaking. "I couldn't just leave her."

He leaned in closer, his dark eyes boring into mine. "Compassion is a weakness, Angel," he whispered. "It will be your downfall."

I held his gaze, refusing to back down despite the fear crawling up my spine. "I don't believe that. Caring isn't weak. It's what makes us human."

Drago straightened, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. "Perhaps," he said, his voice softening just a fraction. "But in my world, it's a liability."

I bristled at his words, but I knew he was right. His world was one of power and cruelty, where love and kindness had no place. But I wasn't from his world. I wasn't like him.

"What do you want with me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Drago didn't answer right away. He turned, walking over to a large leather armchair in the corner of the room. He sat down, crossing one leg over the other as he regarded me with the same cold scrutiny as before.

"You're going to stay here," he said finally. "You'll be useful to me in ways your mother never could be."

My blood ran cold at his words. Useful? In what way? I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to silence me.

"Your mother is free of her debt now," he said. "You should be grateful. I've given you a way to save her."

"At what cost?" I demanded, my voice trembling with anger.

Drago's eyes flashed dangerously. "You'll find out soon enough."

Before I could say anything else, the door opened behind me, and one of his men stepped inside. "Take her to her room," Drago commanded.

I was grabbed roughly by the arm and dragged out of the room. The last thing I saw before the door closed behind me was Drago's cold, calculating gaze, watching me as I was led away into the depths of his mansion, a pawn in whatever twisted game he was playing.

As the door to my new prison slammed shut, I realized with terrifying clarity that my life would never be the same.