Chapter 59: Whispers from the Underground

The night outside was heavy and endless, the kind that seemed to swallow every bit of light. The SUV sped through the darkness, headlights flashing past the occasional streetlamp before everything fell back into shadow again. Eliana sat in the backseat, her hands behind her back, were pulled tight in the zip ties until her slender wrists burned. Her chest ached with every wild beat of her heart, disbelief crashing over her like waves she couldn’t escape. She stared at the broad shoulders of the two men in front—silent, unshaken, as if they were nothing more than stone figures meant to guard her prison. None of this felt real. Jason? The man she had once pictured a future with, who had held her face and whispered about forever—was he really behind this? She’d forgiven his arrogance, his selfish streak, even his betrayal with Sarai, her so-called best friend. But this? It couldn’t be. He was spoiled, yes, narcissistic even, but kidnapping? This was a new low, a plunge into darkness she never imagined he’d take. Her throat tightened. She thought she knew the limits of his cruelty. Clearly, she’d been wrong. "Jason wouldn’t do this," Eliana whispered, her head shaking as though the motion itself could undo the nightmare she was trapped in. Her voice cracked, caught somewhere between denial and fury. Her honey eyes glistened, tears threatening but refusing to fall, burning instead as if they were fire behind her lashes. She shifted desperately in her seat, the plastic bite of the restraints digging deeper as she fought against them. Her curls, usually free and soft, were plastered against her damp skin, sticking to the warm brown of her face after the struggle. "He can’t... he wouldn’t stoop this low. This has to be a mistake." Her voice rose, breaking now under the weight of fear. She twisted again, her words spilling out raw, almost frantic. "Let me go! Please—just let me go!" The driver, a hulking figure with a jagged scar snaking across his cheek like a lightning bolt frozen in time, kept his eyes fixed on the road, his massive hands gripping the wheel with practiced indifference. His partner, slimmer but no less menacing, with a tattoo peeking out from under his collar like a whispered threat, fiddled with a phone in his lap, ignoring her pleas as if she were nothing more than background noise. "I said, release me!" Eliana’s voice rose to a scream, raw and piercing, cutting through the hum of the engine. She kicked at the seat in front of her, her sneakers thudding uselessly against the leather. "You can’t just take someone like this! It’s illegal—kidnapping! Do you hear me? You’ll rot in jail for this! Jason will deny everything, you know that? He’ll throw you under the bus!" The passenger finally glanced back, his eyes cold and detached, like chips of ice in the dim light. "Shut your trap, lady. We’re just doing a job." "A job? For Jason?" Eliana laughed bitterly, the sound edged with hysteria, her full lips curling in disbelief. "That entitled prick couldn’t plan his way out of a paper bag without his parents’ money. This is insane! Let me out right now, or I’ll scream until the whole city hears!" She did just that, her screams echoing inside the confined space, a torrent of fury and fear. "Help! Somebody help me! These men are kidnapping me! Jason Asher sent them—Jason Asher!" The driver grunted, his scar twitching as he clenched his jaw. "Mel, shut her up before she draws attention." Mel, the passenger with the tattoo, sighed heavily, as if this were an annoying chore rather than a felony. He reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a roll of duct tape with a deliberate slowness that made Eliana’s blood run cold. "You heard the man, sweetheart. Time to quiet down." "No—don’t you dare!" Eliana thrashed harder, her slender frame bucking against the restraints, but Mel was quicker. He leaned over the seat, his rough hands clamping down on her shoulders as he tore off a strip of tape. The adhesive smell filled her nostrils, sharp and chemical, as he pressed it firmly over her mouth, muffling her cries into desperate, guttural moans. Her eyes widened in terror, tears streaming down her cheeks, soaking into the tape. She glared at him with all the fire she could muster, but inside, a wave of helplessness crashed over her. How had her life unraveled to this—tied up in a stranger’s car, betrayed by the man she’d once loved? Satisfied, Mel settled back, wiping his hands on his jeans. "There. Peace and quiet." The SUV veered off the main road, tires crunching over gravel as they pulled into a secluded spot near an abandoned warehouse. The building loomed like a forgotten giant, its rusted walls etched with graffiti, windows shattered like broken promises. Weeds choked the cracked pavement, and the air hung heavy with the scent of decay and distant rain. The men killed the engine, plunging the area into eerie silence broken only by the occasional hoot of an owl or the rustle of wind through overgrown bushes. "Alright, we’re here," the driver said, his voice a low rumble. "Now we wait for the next word from the client." Mel nodded, pulling out his phone again. His thumbs flew over the screen as he typed a quick message: Got the package. Parked at the spot. Awaiting instructions. Miles away, in the opulent glow of Bianca Monroe’s luxurious apartment, the room was saturated with the scent of lavender candles and expensive perfume. The room was a testament to wealth—plush leather sofas, crystal chandeliers forming rainbows on the walls, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city skyline. Bianca, with her sharp green eyes and glossy black hair pulled into a sleek bun, lounged on a chaise, her diamond rings glinting as she scrolled through her phone. Beside her on the massive four-poster bed, Sarai Monroe sat cross-legged, her light brown skin flushed with anticipation, her own green eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and malice. The sisters were inseparable, two peas in a pod, their bond forged in shared schemes and whispered secrets. Bianca’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen, a wicked smile curving her lips. "Oh, Sarai, darling, look at this. Mel just texted—they’ve got her. Eliana’s in their hands, parked and waiting like a lamb to the slaughter." Sarai’s face lit up, her fierce beauty twisting into a triumphant grin. She clapped her hands together, the sound sharp and gleeful. "Finally! That pathetic little nobody is right where she belongs. Tell him, Bianca—tell Mel to get on with it. Disfigure her face. Make sure it’s ugly, irreversible. I want Jason to puke at the sight of her." Bianca chuckled, a rich, throaty sound that echoed her earlier laughter, her elegant fingers already tapping out the message. "You’re ruthless, little sister. I love it. Alright, sending now: Proceed with the plan. Disfigure her face—make it count." She hit send, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. "There. It’s done. Soon, Eliana will be a monster, and Jason will be all yours." But on Mel’s end, in the shadowed seclusion near the warehouse, things were unraveling fast. His phone vibrated again—not with Bianca’s message, but an incoming call. He frowned, stepping out of the SUV into the cool night air, the gravel crunching under his boots. The caller ID read "Rico," an old contact from the underground circuit, someone who always had his ear to the ground. "Yo, Mel, what the hell have you gotten into?" Rico’s voice crackled through the line, urgent and laced with panic. "That girl you just snatched? She’s Austin Miller’s person. Not just some fling—the real deal. And get this, she’s tied to that billionaire Rafael Vexley too. As we speak, every underground boss in the country’s mobilizing. Austin’s got ’em all hunting for her. You touch a hair on her head, and you’re done. Erased. Family too." Mel’s blood turned to ice, his tattooed hand shaking as he gripped the phone. Austin Miller—the name alone sent shivers through the criminal world. The biggest mafia head in the country, a man whose reputation for brutality was legendary. Stories of rivals vanishing without a trace, entire operations dismantled overnight. And Rafael Vexley? The enigmatic billionaire with fingers in every pie, his influence a web of power that could crush anyone. Mel’s mind raced—Bianca was an old college friend who’d bailed him out financially more times than he could count, and this job was his way to repay her. But now? With Austin and Rafael involved? He had a wife, kids—a family he couldn’t risk. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chill. "Shit, Rico, thanks for the heads-up," Mel whispered, his voice hoarse. "I owe you big time." He hung up, glancing back at the SUV where Eliana’s muffled whimpers filtered through the window. Bianca’s text had just come through, glowing on his screen like a death warrant: Proceed with the plan. Disfigure her face—make it count. No way in hell. He pocketed the phone and dialed Bianca’s number, his heart hammering. Back in the apartment, Bianca’s phone rang, the trill cutting through the celebratory atmosphere. She arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow, surprised. "It’s Mel. Calling instead of texting? That’s odd." She answered on the first ring, her voice smooth and expectant. "Mel? Everything alright? I just sent the go-ahead." "Bianca, we got a problem," Mel said, his tone low and urgent, pacing in the shadows. "Huge problem. That girl—Eliana—she’s connected. Austin Miller’s involved. She’s his person, and Rafael Vexley’s in the mix too. Every underground boss is out looking for her right now. If we touch her, we’re dead. All of us. I got a family, Bianca—I can’t do this." Bianca’s green eyes widened, her sharp features paling as she turned to Sarai, who was perched on the bed, looking hopeful, her glossy hair catching the light. "What? Austin Miller? The mafia kingpin? And Vexley?" She paused, her mind whirling. "Don’t do anything, Mel. Hold tight. Let me think this through—I’ll call you back." She ended the call, her hand trembling slightly as she set the phone down. Sarai leaned forward, her excitement fading into confusion at the shift in her sister’s demeanor. "Bianca? What’s going on? Is it done? Did they mess up her face yet?" Bianca whirled to face her, her voice dropping to a serious, almost accusatory tone, the room’s luxury suddenly feeling claustrophobic. "Sarai, why the hell didn’t you tell me Eliana was involved with Austin Miller and Rafael Vexley? This changes everything!" Sarai blinked, her green eyes clouding with genuine bewilderment, her manicured nails digging into the silk bedspread. "Involved with who? Austin Miller? What are you talking about, Bianca? I have no idea what that means—she’s just some poor girl who a senile old man decided to adopt—and he’s gone now. Dead. So how could she possibly have ties to Austin Miller? Rafael Vexley, sure, I get that. But Austin?"