Chapter 4 The Devil's Bargain

Alba

The room is too big. Too perfect. Too much.

A queen-sized bed, black silk sheets, a sleek dresser, a walk-in closet filled with clothes I didn't choose. Everything in here screams luxury, but it doesn't belong to me. I don't belong here.

I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the closed door. Gabriel Moretti put me here, in his world, in his cage, and I don't even know if I walked in willingly or if I was pushed.

Either way, the lock is on the outside.

A knock echoes through the room. Sharp. Controlled.

Then the door opens.

Gabriel.

He steps inside like he owns the air I breathe, dressed in another dark suit, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a glimpse of ink and muscle. His presence is a weight, heavy and inescapable.

I grip the sheets beneath me, grounding myself.

"I need you downstairs," he says simply.

My jaw tightens. "I need you to go to hell."

He smirks, but his eyes stay cold. "Noted. Get up."

I don't move. "Why?"

"You're about to meet the rest of my world."

A chill runs down my spine.

I force my voice to stay even. "I never agreed to any of this."

His gaze darkens, sharp as a blade. "You agreed when you stepped into my car."

Anger burns through me, hot and quick. "You didn't give me a choice."

He steps closer, slow, deliberate. "I gave you the only choice that mattered. And you took it."

I exhale sharply, standing so we're nearly chest to chest. He smells like leather and smoke, like control wrapped in sin.

"I won't be your prisoner," I whisper.

His lips tilt into something resembling amusement. "You're not."

I scoff. "Really? Then unlock the front gate and let me walk out."

A pause.

Then, the cruelest thing happens-he laughs. A low, quiet thing that sends rage coursing through my veins.

"Where would you go, dolcezza?" His voice is silk over steel. "Back to your clinic? Back to running?"

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out my pendant again, the silver chain dangling from his fingers.

"You think I'm your biggest problem?" He leans in, voice dropping to something dangerously soft. "You have no idea what's coming for you."

My pulse stutters, but I refuse to let him see my fear.

Instead, I grab the pendant from his fingers and shove it into my pocket. "I don't need your protection."

Gabriel doesn't react. He just tilts his head, watching me like I'm something to be studied.

"Then prove it," he murmurs.

Before I can ask what he means, he turns on his heel and walks out.

The message is clear.

Follow-or stay locked in this room.

I curse under my breath and follow.

The dining room is huge.

A long, dark oak table stretches through the space, set with crystal glasses and gleaming silverware. Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the city below, glittering like stars trapped in glass.

But it's not the room that makes my stomach twist.

It's the men.

Six of them, seated like kings around the table. Moretti's men.

Killers, all of them.

They go silent when I enter.

Gabriel walks past me, taking his seat at the head of the table, owning the space with nothing more than his presence.

I hesitate.

One of the men-a dark-haired one with a cruel smile-leans back in his chair, studying me. "So this is the doctor."

I bristle at the way he says it.

"She has a name," Gabriel says.

My pulse jumps.

He's correcting him. Defending me.

I don't know why that makes something tighten in my chest.

The man shrugs. "Fine. Alba." He flicks his gaze over me like I'm something to be assessed. "Are you worth the trouble?"

I cross my arms. "You'll have to define trouble."

Laughter ripples around the table.

Gabriel doesn't laugh. He just nods toward an empty seat beside him. "Sit."

I don't want to.

I do it anyway.

The moment I sit, a server appears, placing a plate in front of me. Expensive wine is poured into a crystal glass.

It's unsettling.

All of it.

I'm used to eating in my tiny back room at the clinic, a sandwich in one hand and a medical report in the other. This? This feels like a trap wrapped in gold.

"Eat," Gabriel orders.

I grip my fork, my skin crawling under the weight of all these eyes. "You always invite strangers to dinner?"

"You're not a stranger," he says simply.

I huff out a bitter laugh. "I'm not one of you either."

Gabriel leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. "No. But you will be."

A chill skates down my spine.

Because the way he says it-it's not a threat.

It's a promise.

I swallow hard, suddenly very aware that I'm in a room full of criminals, murderers, monsters.

And I might be sitting next to the worst of them all.

Dinner is an illusion.

It looks elegant, refined-like something normal people do.

But underneath it, there's tension. A test.

They're watching me. Measuring me.

I keep my expression neutral, answering their questions with just enough information to satisfy them, but never enough to give them real power over me.

Gabriel watches too, silent and unreadable.

But he's always watching.

By the time dinner is over, I feel drained.

Gabriel stands first. "Alba. Walk with me."

I grit my teeth but follow.