BOOK 2
Trapped within the iron grip of the notorious Morroto family, Veronica Garcia's fate hangs precariously in the balance. Days bleed into nights in the suffocating darkness of her prison, where despair threatens to consume her spirit. Each pass...
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ICOUGHUP saltwater, gasping as my body lurches awake. My arm shakes, barely holding me up, the cold seeping through my soaked clothes. The night air stings, and I'm dizzy, lungs burning, but I'm alive.
Somehow.
Each breath burns my lungs, and I barely process my surroundings—the ocean roars around me, the wind howls. I cough up more seawater, just as a hand lands on my back. My instincts kick in, and before I know it, I grab the wrist, pull it over my shoulder, and flip the person onto the floor, standing up as I do.
I wipe the saltwater from my mouth, turning toward my "attacker," but I freeze in surprise—it's Dante, groaning on the floor, one hand pressed to his abdomen as he glares up at me in shock.
I take a moment to steady myself, glancing around, and my confusion only deepens. We're on a yacht—a pristine, sleek vessel floating in the middle of the ocean, completely isolated. The dark waters stretch endlessly in every direction.
I hear a familiar, mischievous cackle behind me. Turning, I spot Enzo, a smirk plastered on his face as he stares down at Dante, still groaning on the floor.
"Ha! You got dropped by a dead woman!" he laughs, clearly enjoying himself.
I level him with a glare, my exhaustion simmering into annoyance. He notices and raises his hands in mock surrender, glancing away from Dante and back to me with a sheepish grin. "No offence, sis."
"Shut the fuck up, Enzo," Dante hisses, his face twisted in pain as he clutches his abdomen, trying to pull himself upright.
"Idioti di merda," Angelo mutters, rubbing his temples as if just looking at us all gives him a headache. He's standing off to the side, clearly regretting every decision that led him here.
Enzo turns to him with a grin. "Idiots? Angelo, please. We're resourceful survivors. Just ask Dante. He got dropped by a 'dead woman' and lived to tell the tale."
Dante glares, still clutching his stomach. "Enzo, shut it, or I swear I'll throw you overboard."
"By all means, try," Enzo says, barely holding back a laugh. "I'd like to see you manage that in your wounded warrior state-"
"All of you shut the fuck up! How the hell am I here?" I snap, voice cutting through the bickering like a blade. My hands clench as I look at each of them, still trying to wrap my head around what's happening.
Dante, still half-doubled over from my flip, finally straightens up, wincing. "You're welcome, by the way. Fished you out of the water myself, risking my life and all that."
Angelo leans back, crossing his arms as he nods towards the cliff in the distance. "So, here we are. Us three geniuses on a holiday around Spain, having a great time, when we just happen to sail near a cliff—big as hell, at least 200 feet up. And what do we see?" He raises an eyebrow. "A damsel in distress, arms flailing, doing her best impression of a rock on her way down."
