Chapter 4 Sixty-Eight Floors of Fear

Elena's POV

Three days passed in the locked room.

Or maybe it was four. Time felt strange when you couldn't leave. When every day looked exactly the same.

I woke up. Ate the food they brought. Stared out the window. Waited for Luca to visit. Went to sleep. Repeat.

The food came three times a day. Someone knocked on the door. I stepped back. They unlocked it. Left a tray on the table. Then left without speaking.

I never saw who it was. They were too fast.

The food was good. Really good.

On the second day, they brought clothes. Expensive clothes. Designer brands I'd seen in store windows but never bought.

Jeans that fit perfectly. Even pajamas. All in my size.

How did they know my size? Had they measured me while I was unconscious that first night?

The thought creeped me out.

But I wore the clothes anyway. Because mine from that night were dirty. Because I needed something clean.

The bathroom had everything too. Shampoo, conditioner, soap that smelled really nice, toothbrush and toothpaste.

Like they'd thought of everything I might need.

This place had everything except freedom.

Luca came every day.

Usually in the morning. Sometimes afternoon. He was always alone and always in an expensive suit.

He'd walk in. Stand by the window or sit in the chair. Ask me questions.

The first time, I refused to answer. Just sat on the bed. Silent. Glaring at him.

He didn't get angry. Just waited. Patient.

Finally, he spoke.

"You can make this easy or hard, Elena. But either way, we're going to talk. So you might as well cooperate."

"Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because the more I know about you, the sooner I can decide if you're a threat. And the sooner I decide you're not a threat, the sooner you can leave."

That got my attention.

"You'll let me go?"

"Eventually. When I'm sure you won't run to the police. When I'm sure you're not working for anyone."

Not working for anyone. Like the FBI.

My heart skipped. Did he suspect something?

No. He couldn't know. I'd been so careful.

"I'm not working for anyone," I said. Trying to sound honest.

"I'm just an accountant. I work at a small firm. I pay my taxes. I've never even had a parking ticket."

"Then you have nothing to hide."

"I'm not hiding anything. I'm just scared."

That part was true at least.

So I started answering his questions. Carefully. Giving him enough but not enough to give myself away.

He asked about my job. I told him about the fake accounting firm I'd made up.

He asked where I lived. I gave him my real address. No point lying about that. He could find it easily enough.

He asked about my family.

That one was harder.

"My parents are dead," I said. Which was true. My father died when I was twelve. My mother died from cancer five years ago.

"Siblings?"

I hesitated.

"No," I said finally.

Luca tilted his head studying me.

"You paused. Why?"

"Because I had a brother. But he died three years ago."

Not a complete lie. I thought Marco was dead. Until I saw him in that alley.

"I'm sorry," Luca said.

The words surprised me. I looked up at him.

He sounded genuine. Like he actually meant it.

"What was his name?" he asked.

"Marco."

Another pause. Luca's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Marco," he repeated.

"Like the man I killed."

My stomach dropped. Such a stupid move. Why did I say his real name?

"It's a common name," I said quickly.

"Lots of people are named Marco."

"True." He kept watching me.

"How did he die? Your brother."

"I don't know. He just... disappeared one day. Left for work and never came home. The police said he probably left town. Wanted to start over somewhere. But I know he didn't. He wouldn't do that without telling me."

All true. Except now I knew where he went. He faked his death. Joined the mafia. Got himself killed for real.

Luca was quiet for a moment. Then nodded.

"That must have been difficult."

"It was."

He stood up. Walked to the door.

"Thank you for answering my questions, Elena."

"Can I ask you something?"

He stopped. Turned back.

"What?"

"You keep saying you've seen me before. That you know my face. Where? Where could you have seen me?"

He frowned. Like the question bothered him.

"I don't know. But I will figure it out. I always do."

Then he left.

That became the pattern everyday. Questions, answers. Him trying to remember. Me trying to hide the truth.

On the third day, I asked him about Marco Ricci. The man he killed.

"What did he do? You said he stole money and betrayed you. But why?"

Luca sat in the chair by the window. Looking out at the city.

"Greed. That's what it always comes down to. He worked for me for two years. Started small. Running errands. Moving packages. He was good. Smart. So I promoted him. Gave him more responsibility."

"What kind of responsibility?"

"He handled money. Made sure it got from one point to another. Made sure it was clean when it arrived."

Money laundering. He was talking about money laundering.

"And he stole from you?"

"Fifty million dollars. Over six months. Moving it into his own accounts."

Fifty million. Marco stole fifty million dollars.

I felt sick.

"How did you find out?"

"Because I notice everything. Every transaction. Every transfer. I tracked them back to him."

"So you killed him."

"Not right away. First, I gave him a chance to explain. To return the money. To make things right."

"And?"

"He ran. Went to my enemies. Tried to sell them information about my operations. Names. Locations. Routes. Everything."

My brother. My brother was a traitor. A thief. Everything Luca said was true.

"Did he give them the information?"

"Some. Before I stopped him. Because of what he told them, three of my men were ambushed. Killed. Good men. Men with families."

I looked down at my hands. Didn't know what to say.

Marco got people killed. Got himself killed.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly.

Luca looked surprised.

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because those men didn't deserve to die. Because they had families. Because what he did was wrong."

"Most people would focus on what I did. Killing him."

"What you did was wrong too. But I understand why you did it."

And I did. God help me, I did understand.

If someone betrayed me. Stole from me. Got my people killed. Would I want them dead?

Maybe. Probably.

The thought scared me.

Luca stood up. Walked to where I sat on the bed.

He crouched down. Eye level with me.

"You're not what I expected, Elena."

"What did you expect?"

"Crying. Screaming. Begging to be let go. Most people break after a few days."

"I did cry. I did beg. It didn't work."

"So you adapted. Started cooperating. Started accepting your situation."

"I'm a survivor. I do what I have to do to stay alive."

Something changed in his expression. Respect maybe.

"Smart."

He stood up again. Headed for the door.

"Luca," I called out. Using his name for the first time.

He stopped. Looked back.

"Yeah?"

"You have rules, don't you? About who you hurt. Who you kill."

"I do."

"What are they?"

He studied me for a long moment. Like he was deciding whether to answer.

"I don't hurt innocent people. I don't deal in drugs or human trafficking. I don't kill anyone who doesn't deserve it. And I always, always keep my word."

"Even to someone like me? A prisoner?"

"Especially to someone like you. You're here because you saw something. Not because you did something. There's a difference."

"So you'll really let me go? When you're sure I'm not a threat?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to believe me. But I'll prove it to you eventually."

He left. The lock clicked behind him.

I sat on the bed. Thinking about what he'd said.

Luca De Santis. The Blood King. The most feared criminal in the city.

Had rules. He didn't hurt innocents.

It didn't make sense. Killers weren't supposed to have honor. Criminals weren't supposed to have morals.

But Luca did. In his own twisted way.

He was smart, controlled.

Everything you'd expect from someone who ran a massive criminal organization.

But he was also... not what I expected.

He wasn't a mindless thug. Not cruel for the sake of being cruel.

He had reasons for everything he did.

It made him more dangerous somehow. Because I was starting to see him as a person. Not just a monster.

And that was bad. Very bad.

Because I was FBI. My job was to bring people like him down. To put them in prison. To stop them from hurting people.

I couldn't start sympathizing with him. Couldn't start understanding him.

But I was. And I didn't know how to stop.

I lay back on the bed. Stared at the ceiling.

Four days in this room. Four days of learning about the man who killed my brother.

And somewhere along the way, I'd stopped thinking of him as just a killer.

Started thinking of him as Luca.

That was dangerous. Maybe more dangerous than anything else.

But I was trapped here. Trapped with him.

And despite everything. Despite Marco. Despite the FBI. Despite knowing what he was.

I was starting to see him differently.

Starting to see the person behind the monster.

And I didn't know what that meant for me.

Or for my mission.

Or for any of this.

All I knew was that everything was more complicated than I thought.

And getting more complicated every single day.