Kidnapping the Assassin: The Mafia Don’s Fatal Mistake

The Monster Unchained

Chapter 2

[Elara]

For three seconds, the world stopped spinning.

The basement, the cold steel biting into my wrists, the looming presence of the Mafia Don it all vanished. All I could see was the glossy photograph in his hand. Lily. Her pale, fragile face. The tubes keeping her lungs inflating.

A cold, heavy dread pooled in my stomach, toxic and thick.

I had spent five years turning myself into a monster. I had killed cartel bosses, corrupt politicians, and underworld kingpins. I bathed in blood, all to build an impenetrable wall of money and anonymity around that hospital room in Geneva.

Nobody knew about her. Nobody.

"How?" The word slipped out before I could stop it. My voice sounded hollow. Weak.

Cassian smiled. It wasn’t a victorious smile; it was the cruel, razor-sharp edge of a man who had finally found the soft underbelly of his enemy.

"The Guild cleans up your messes, but they keep receipts," he said smoothly, tossing the manila folder onto the metal table. "Thirty thousand dollars a month. Private security. Experimental neuro-treatments. You’re a very dedicated older sister, Elara."

He took a step closer, his dark eyes tracing the sudden tension in my jaw. He was studying me, analyzing the cracks in my armor.

"The doctors tell me she’s been in that coma for three years. A tragic hit-and-run," Cassian murmured. "It would be a real shame if her anonymous benefactor suddenly ran out of funds. Or if the hospital experienced an... unforeseen power failure."

Red-hot fury, blinding and absolute, snapped the tether of my self-control.

Pop.

With a violent, sickening crunch, I wrenched my right wrist downward, forcing the thumb joint out of its socket. White-hot agony shot up my forearm, but I didn't make a sound.

The steel cuff slid past my collapsed thumb, tearing the skin of my knuckles.

Before Cassian could even register the sound of the popping bone, my right hand was free. I grabbed the heavy iron chain connecting my left wrist to the ceiling and used it as a pivot. I swung my entire body weight forward, wrapping my legs around Cassian’s thick neck in a brutal scissor-lock.

He grunted in surprise as my momentum dragged him backward.

We crashed to the concrete floor in a tangle of limbs. I didn’t hesitate. I ignored the excruciating pain in my right hand, using my left hand still chained to the pipe above to maintain leverage as I squeezed my thighs tight around his throat, cutting off his carotid artery.

Kill him. Kill him before he makes the call to Geneva.

But Cassian Rossi wasn't an aging, fat mafia boss. He was young, vicious, and trained.

Instead of clawing uselessly at my legs, he planted his hands on the floor, surged upward with terrifying strength, and slammed us both against the concrete pillar behind me.

The air left my lungs in a violent whoosh.

The impact loosened my grip just enough. Cassian tore my legs away, flipping our positions in a fraction of a second.

Suddenly, I was pinned against the freezing pillar. His massive hands clamped down on my shoulders, holding me firmly in place. His chest was pressed flush against mine, rising and falling heavily.

We were close. Too close.

I could feel the heat radiating off his body, contrasting sharply with the icy dampness of the basement. His knee was wedged between my thighs to keep me from kicking out, and the sheer, overpowering dominance of his posture sent a dangerous, involuntary shiver down my spine.

"You little psychopath," Cassian snarled, his breath ghosting over my lips. His obsidian eyes were wild, dilated with adrenaline.

"Call off your men at the hospital," I hissed, struggling against his grip, my dislocated hand throbbing with a sickening pulse. "You touch one hair on her head, Rossi, and I won't just kill you. I’ll burn your entire syndicate to ash while you watch."

He leaned in, his nose almost brushing mine. "You're not in a position to make threats, Viper. You're chained in my basement."

"And you're breathing only because I haven't found a sharp enough piece of debris yet."

For a moment, neither of us moved. The air between us cracked with heavy, suffocating tension. It wasn't just hatred. It was the primal, electric clash of two apex predators realizing they were trapped in the same cage. His gaze flicked down to my lips for a fraction of a second an unconscious, microscopic movement before snapping back to my eyes.

He noticed the blood dripping from my right hand. He saw the mangled, swollen thumb.

"You dislocated your own joint without making a sound," he muttered, his tone shifting from anger to dark fascination.

"Like I said. I'm a professional."

Cassian opened his mouth to reply, but my trained ears caught something he didn't.

A faint, rhythmic thump from the ceiling above us. Footsteps. Fast. Tactical. Suppressed footsteps.

My blood ran cold.

"Rossi," I whispered, the venom instantly dropping from my voice.

"Don't try to change the subject"

"Shut up and listen," I hissed, freezing in his grip.

He frowned, his eyes narrowing at my sudden shift in demeanor. But he went perfectly still.

Thump. Thump. Squeak.

The sound of military-grade rubber soles on the hardwood floors upstairs. And then, a muffled, wet thwack. A body hitting the floor.

Cassian’s head snapped up toward the ceiling. The Don finally realized what was happening.

"Your men," I said quietly, watching the realization dawn on his handsome face. "They don't wear tactical gear in the house, do they?"

Before Cassian could answer, the single lightbulb in the basement flickered, sparked, and died.

We were plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness.

And then, the heavy steel door at the top of the stairs blew off its hinges.