Chapter 4 Taken

The door slammed.

Mandy stood frozen, still half-leaning against the glass, her chest rising and falling in sharp, angry breaths.

"Goddamn him," she whispered.

She yanked down her shirt and paced, trying to shake off the ache he left behind. Her skin was still buzzing, her thighs still damp, her heart still racing.

Why did he have to be so good at getting under her skin?

And why did she let him?

She grabbed a glass of water from the sleek kitchen and downed it, hands trembling just slightly. It didn't mean anything. That's what she told herself.

It was just lust. Pent-up energy, she'd been dancing for hours, then dragged here by a psycho who kissed like sin and smelled like leather and danger.

She was not catching feelings.

She was just... processing.

That's all.

The penthouse was too quiet now, too still, every soft sound felt louder, the ticking of the sleek gold clock on the wall, the low hum of city traffic far below, the way the shadows stretched in the corners.

Mandy crossed her arms and turned back toward the window. She needed to clear her head. Maybe leave. Maybe-

Click.

She heard it, not loud, just the faintest sound.

Like a door that hadn't been locked properly.

Her blood ran cold.

"Dante?" she called out, trying to keep her voice steady.

No answer.

She moved slowly toward the hall, trying to peer into the darkened edges of the penthouse.

Nothing.

Until...a hand clamped over her mouth.

She let out a muffled scream, kicking and thrashing, but the arm around her waist was solid, immovable.

"Shhh," a voice hissed in her ear. "Make a sound and I'll break your neck."

Her heart stuttered. Her body froze.

The man dragged her backward with ruthless efficiency, through a side door that hadn't been there before, a private exit?

Mandy fought harder, elbowing and biting, but the man moved like a ghost, quick and brutal.

"You're coming with me, sweetheart," he murmured. "Boss wants to see if the rumors are true."

***

Mandy woke to a splitting headache and the taste of metal on her tongue.

Her hands were bound, her ankles too, she was slumped in a chair in some dim, empty room that smelled like dust and rust. A single bulb flickered overhead, the air was cold.

She blinked rapidly, her thoughts scrambling.

Where the hell was she?

She remembered the penthouse, Dante. His mouth on her neck, her body humming.

Then, nothing.

"Hello?" she called, voice hoarse. "Is someone there?"

Silence.

Her pulse kicked harder.

Was this some kind of sick joke? Did Dante do this? She shook her head, no, even he wasn't that twisted.

A door creaked open behind her.

She twisted in her seat, panic rising.

A man stepped into the light, tall, broad, face hidden under a cap and a hood. Not Dante.

Definitely not Dante.

"W-What do you want?" she asked, trying to sound braver than she felt.

The man didn't answer, he just crouched in front of her, studying her like she was a bug in a jar, then he released her hands and ankles.

"Listen," she said quickly, "you've got the wrong person, okay? I'm nobody, just dance, I don't even know what this is about"

Still no answer.

He stood slowly, then muttered, "We'll see if he comes for you."

Mandy's blood turned to ice.

"Who? What do you mean?"

The man didn't respond. Just left the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

She was alone again.

Except now... she knew this wasn't about her at all.

Back at the penthouse, Dante stepped out of the elevator, already shrugging off his jacket.

"She's asleep, yeah?" he asked Carlo, the man posted at the door.

Marco hesitated. "Boss... she's not here."

Dante stopped cold.

"What?"

"She was here when you left," Carlo stammered. "I checked in twenty minutes ago, and-"

Dante shoved past him, stalking through the penthouse. "Mandy?"

Silence.

The sheets were cold, her phone was still on the nightstand, one of her heels lay tipped on the floor like she'd been dragged.

He spun around, voice low and dangerous. "Tell me you're joking."

"I swear-"

Dante's fist slammed into the wall beside Carlo's head.

"I told you not to take your eyes off her."

"I didn't! I thought-"

"Thinking gets people killed."

He paced, breathing hard, his gut twisted, this wasn't random.

She was taken.

Someone wanted him off-site, the call, the fake intel, it was bait, and he'd fallen for it.

"Check every traffic cam, every back exit," he barked into his phone. "I want every street within a ten-block radius swept. Now."

He turned to carlo. "And get Kade on the line. If he knows anything, I'll rip it out of his mouth myself."

His jaw clenched as he grabbed his phone and called Luca.

"She's gone," Dante said.

Luca's voice came through, groggy. "What?do you mean the stripper girl? gone?"

"Gone, as in not here, as in someone got in while I was out and took her."

Dante's knuckles went white around the phone.

A pause. "You think it was Kade?"

"No," Dante muttered. "He's reckless, but he's not stupid. This feels cleaner."

Luca sighed. "I'll tap into the street cams. See if anyone tailed her earlier or slipped past the concierge."

"There's no or, Luca, find me a face, now."

He hung up and stalked across the room, rage bubbling under his skin. Mandy wasn't just some girl from a club anymore especially since someone had gone to a lot of effort to extract her.

And that meant one thing,

They thought she was his.

A moment later, his burner phone lit up. A single message.

Unknown Number:

You shouldn't have gotten attached, let's see how fast you bleed for her.

Dante's grip tightened until the phone cracked.

He turned to Luca's text coming in seconds later.

Luca:

Got something, black van, plates fake, pulled into an old garage on the Eastside.

Dante grabbed his gun and his keys.

The city wouldn't sleep tonight.