She Begged, Just Kill Me Fast—The Mafia Boss Found Her Bruised and Unleashed His Revenge

It hadn't vanished completely—her ribs still throbbed a dull, agonizing ache with every breath, and her wrists burned beneath thick layers of sterile gauze—but the blinding, feverish agony of the warehouse had been replaced by the steady, numbing comfort of intravenous pain medication.

She blinked slowly, her good eye adjusting to the soft, warm light of a private bedroom rather than the cold steel of the infirmary.

The room was enormous, decorated in muted tones of charcoal and navy, with heavy velvet drapes shutting out the gray morning light. A fire crackled softly in a marble fireplace across the room, casting dancing shadows over the Persian rug.

She tried to sit up, but a sharp stab of pain in her side made her hiss through her teeth.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” a deep, resonant voice said from the armchair by the hearth.

Elena flinched, her head snapping toward the sound.

Dominic sat there, his sleeves rolled up, reading a thick leather-bound dossier. He hadn't changed clothes from the night before, the subtle lines of fatigue around his eyes the only indication that he hadn't slept at all.

“Where... where am I?” she rasped, her throat feeling like sandpaper.

“My bedroom,” Dominic replied evenly, closing the dossier and setting it on the side table. He stood up, walking over to pour a glass of water from a crystal pitcher on the nightstand. He held it out toward her, waiting for her to take it.

Elena hesitated, her distrust running deep, before slowly reaching out with her left hand. Her fingers brushed his, and she took the glass greedily, drinking until it was empty.

“Caldwell came to the gates last night,” Dominic said quietly, watching her reaction closely.

Elena froze, the empty glass trembling in her hand. Color drained completely from her bruised face. “He... he found me already?”

“He knows you’re here,” Dominic corrected, leaning against the edge of the mattress, towering over her. “Which means your uncle and his syndicate are mobilizing right now. They aren't just looking for you to tie up loose ends; they’re looking for the ledger you took.”

Elena set the glass down carefully on the tray, her jaw setting in a stubborn, unyielding line.

“They won't get it,” she whispered fiercely. “My uncle thinks I kept a physical flash drive. He spent three days beating me to find out where I hid it in his office safe.”

Dominic’s eyebrow arched slightly. “And did you?”

“No,” a small, defiant smile touched her lips. “Old men like my uncle rely on physical security because they don't understand the digital age. The encryption key is split into three parts, memorized and backed up across decentralized cloud nodes that auto-delete if I don't check in every forty-eight hours.”

Dominic stared at her for a long moment, a flicker of genuine respect crossing his hardened features.

“Smart,” he murmured. “Very smart.”

“It’s the only reason I’m still breathing,” Elena retorted bitterly. Then her expression darkened, her gaze dropping to the heavy duvet covering her legs. “You should have left me at the warehouse, Dominic. Bringing me here... you’ve put a target on your own back.”

Dominic walked slowly around the bed, stopping right beside her pillow. He reached down, his large, warm hand gently cupping her unbruised cheek, forcing her to look directly into his dark eyes.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Elena Vance,” Dominic said, his voice low, steady, and filled with absolute authority. “Nobody puts a target on my back in my own city. Vincent Caldwell wants a war? I’ll give him a war that will wipe his entire organization off the map.”

Elena stared up at him, her breath catching in her throat. For the first time since she had been dragged into that cold, damp warehouse, the crushing weight of fear began to lift, replaced by something entirely different.