Chapter 3 Her Request

• Demitri’s POV
• I peer down at the slabs of human meat scattered across the concrete floor, sighing as I shake my head in disappointment. “Such a fucking waste. He was a good little guard,” I mutter, stepping over the mangled body parts, the smell of fresh blood saturating the air like metal and rot.
• “Little guard?” Tony, my human butcher, chuckles, wiping his blood-soaked hands on a rag that’s already stained crimson. His usual smirk twists his face. “This guy had more meat on him than anyone you’ve ever brought me. You call that little?” He kicks one of the dismembered arms like it’s a slab of pork.
• I sigh again and nod, crouching down to pick up one of the severed hands. “True, but look at these hands.” I toss it to Tony, who catches it mid-air with a laugh. The fingers look like sausages, bloated and useless.
• “Fuck, could he even hold one of your guns with these sausages?” His words make me chuckle, despite the situation.
• “Who knows. He barely lasted a week before fucking up.” I shrug, stepping over more of the butchered mess. “I’ll send in a cleanup crew. Get the room ready for the next one.”
• Tony waves me off as I walk out of the butcher shop, the metallic tang of blood still clinging to my clothes. That was my morning—a nice, quiet start to the day, watching Tony hack up the idiot guard who thought he could gather intel on my operations. The fool hadn’t even made it to any sensitive information, but I couldn’t take the risk. Now he’s in pieces.
• I climb into the back of my black SUV, where Axel, my right-hand man, waits for me. His grin tells me he’s got the information I’ve been waiting for.
• “Check your phone,” Axel says, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I sent you the file on that dark web girl. The one who wants to shadow a fucking criminal.”
• Two days ago, some naive little girl posted on the dark web, asking to shadow criminals. At first, I laughed, thinking it was a joke—some college kid writing a term paper or a troll looking to stir up trouble. But then, the more I thought about it, the more curious I got. Something about her post intrigued me. She tagged me, and that’s not something just anyone can do. Coincidence? Maybe. A setup? Possibly.
• So, I had my people dig into it. Turns out “Nova,” her pseudonym, is real. She’s an author, and from what I’ve seen, her books aren’t half bad. They’re filthy—dark, twisted. She has a mind that revels in the shadows. But this move? This was reckless. I need to know if she’s genuine or if she’s playing some kind of dangerous game.
• I pull out my phone and open the file Axel sent me. The moment her details pop up on the screen, I smile. Her real name is Alissia. She’s twenty-six, lives with a woman named Jenni in a small apartment. I click the link to her social media, and there she is.
• Alissia is striking. Pale, flawless skin that practically glows, with jet-black hair falling in sleek, straight strands to her shoulders. Her sharp cheekbones frame a pair of intense green eyes that seem to dare the world to come at her. There’s a softness to her lips, a slight smile in most of her pictures, but something tells me she hides a lot behind that smile. There’s an edge to her, something darker beneath the surface.
• I study her picture for a long moment, taking in every detail.
• “So, boss,” Axel says, glancing at me through the rearview mirror, “what’s the plan? You want to scare her off, or are we playing this out?”
• I lean back in the seat, the ghost of a smile tugging at my lips. “Let’s play it out. If she’s as naive as she seems, it’ll be fun. And if she’s not… well, we’ll see how deep her curiosity runs.”
• This isn’t the kind of thing I usually entertain, but there’s something about her that makes me curious. Maybe it’s the nerve she had to post on the dark web like that, to come directly into our world. Or maybe it’s because she had the audacity to tag me. Not many know my name on there, and yet somehow, she did. Coincidence? Or something more? That's the thing that pulls me in more.
• I scroll through the latest replies on her post, and my gut twists with a mix of amusement and unease.
• “You want a shadow? How about I bury you alive and let you feel what it’s like to suffocate in darkness? You’ll have plenty of time to think about your next chapter.”
• “You won’t need to write fiction when I’m done with you. I’ll carve my story into your skin, one letter at a time. Trust me, you’ll remember every word.”
• “I can show you how a real killer works, Nova. But first, I’ll test your nerves. I’ll be in your house before you even realize I’m there, watching you sleep, deciding when to make you scream.”
• “You want inspiration? I’ll give you a front-row seat. You can watch me drain the life from someone, and then I’ll turn the blade on you. Let’s see how fast you can write then.”
• The comments are darker than usual today, each one dripping with malice. They’re waiting for her to slip up, waiting for her to realize how deep she’s gone into a world she doesn’t belong in. I can almost hear the sick amusement in their words, the thrill they get from tormenting her.
• For a moment, I feel the urge to hunt down these bastards and make them apologize. But no, this is her mess. She put herself in this situation. Still, I can’t help the frustration that rises in me. She needs to get off the dark web now before someone takes her seriously.
• Axel’s watching me closely. “If you’re going to do this, boss, now’s the time. You know how to make sure she’s not wired.”
• I’m not worried about her being wired. What I’m worried about is her insanity. No one in their right mind would do this. She’s not stupid either—her file shows she’s smart, damn smart. So why this reckless move? Desperation? Maybe. But this is beyond desperate—it’s fucking suicidal.
• I pull out my burner phone, punch in her number from the file, and type a message.
• You want to shadow someone? Meet me tomorrow at 6 a.m. I’ll send the location. We’re practically neighbors, Alissia.
• I hit send, not entirely relaxing. This is going to be interesting.
• I send another message before she can respond.
• And delete that post before you end up in your own story.
• I lean back, waiting. A moment later, my phone vibrates.
• Who is this?
• I laugh under my breath. Bold.
• You don’t get to ask questions. Not until I know you’re not setting me up.
• Her reply comes almost instantly.
• So, I’m supposed to meet you without even knowing your name? You’re funny. It's fine, I know a hacker, I'm sure I can find out who you are.
• I smirk. She’s got some fire in her, I’ll give her that.
• Please go ahead, you can tell me all about how you failed when I see you tomorrow.
• Failed? Oh, you're sweet, you think I'm stupid, don't you?
• Didn’t your parents ever teach you it’s dangerous to talk to strangers? Especially on the internet?
• 🙄 Yeah, they did. I should probably be quaking in my bed right now, right? Because you’ve got my number?
• I can’t help but laugh. She’s quick, I’ll give her that.
• I have more than your number, Alissia. I’ll see you tomorrow. This should be fun.
• I’m glad you think it will be fun😘 Goodbye, stranger, until tomorrow.
• I send one last message.
• Remove that fucking post. It better be gone by morning.
• A moment passes, and the post is still there. I check again. Still up.
• Her next message pops up.
• Worried for me, Mr. Stranger? How sweet. 😍
• I shake my head, grinning. Either she’s delusional, or she really has no sense of danger.
• Are you flirting with me?
• You’ll never know…
• I laugh, loud enough for Axel to raise an eyebrow. He’s been reading using the linked phone, and now he’s smirking like he’s got something on me.
• “I think you’ve met your match, boss,” Axel says, his grin widening.
• I glance at the phone, shaking my head with a smirk of my own. “Yeah, I think you’re fucking right.”
• Sitting here, I stare at my phone, still half-expecting some sign of fear from Alissia, but there’s nothing. She isn’t scared, or maybe she just masks it well. Most people would’ve backed off by now, deleted the post, and cut all ties. But she keeps pushing, engaging, like this is some game. I open her file again and begin to go over every bit of information I have on her.
• Her parents are still alive but separated—and not even in the same country? Interesting. I read deeper, trying to figure out whether they moved away or if she did. As I near the end, I see that she moved here. She grew up in the UK and only came to the States after she graduated. But the file doesn’t say why.
• I lean back, letting the pieces settle. Why would she uproot herself like that? A mystery I’ll need to dig deeper into—or better yet, ask her directly when the time is right.
• The car stops, and I step out, walking into the building. The men are scattered, some of the capos nodding as I pass, but I don’t acknowledge them. My mind is too tangled with thoughts of Alissia to bother with pleasantries. I push through the office doors, where the inner circle is waiting.
• The room is dimly lit, with a large wooden table in the center. The men sit around it, cigars hanging from lips, the strong scent of smoke mixing with expensive cologne. At the head of the table sits Luca, my capo for the diamond operations, his fingers tapping on a briefcase. To his left, Marco, my top enforcer, leans back in his chair, arms crossed. Vincenzo, one of my best smugglers, sits quietly, scribbling something down in his notebook.
• “Boss,” Luca says as I take my seat, “we’ve secured the shipment out of Angola. Diamonds, clean-cut, and ready for the usual route.”
• “Good,” I say, nodding. “What’s the weight?”
• “Eighty carats total,” Luca replies, sliding a document across the table. “We’ll split them through the European market first, then bring the rest into the States under cover of the shipments Marco has coming through the docks.”
• Marco grunts his approval, his eyes never leaving me. “Security’s tight on the docks, no one’s going to sniff out our cut.”
• “See that they don’t,” I reply, skimming the document briefly. “And I want no interruptions this time. Last time, the Feds got too close.”
• Vincenzo clears his throat. “I’ve got a new team handling the transfers. No names, no trails. We’re good.”
• We spend the next hour hammering out details of shipments, ensuring everyone has their part locked in. As the meeting wraps up, I push back from the table, barely hearing the last few details. My focus is elsewhere.
• Alissia.
• By the time I get back to my penthouse, it’s late, but sleep feels impossible. I toss my phone on the bed and begin to undress, but even as I lie down, my mind is buzzing. I can’t stop thinking about her. Those few messages earlier have wormed their way into me, latched on hard, and now I’m restless. I grab my phone again, checking to see if her post is gone.
• It’s still there.
• I grit my teeth, staring at the screen. The thought of her walking blindly into this world, with no idea what she’s inviting, keeps turning over in my head. I check again. Still there. She’s stubborn, I’ll give her that.
• Sleep evades me, and my thoughts keep circling back to her—what she’s after, why she’s not afraid. I’m supposed to be working, dealing with business. But I can’t get her out of my damn mind.
• And that post—it’s still fucking there.