Chapter 28: 26 - the dungeon secrets

The ride back from the orphanage was quiet. Tension hung heavy in the air, and though Lucifer’s hand rested on my thigh as he drove, his knuckles were white, gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

I didn’t say a word. I knew better. When Lucifer was angry, words were as dangerous as a lit match near dynamite. His anger wasn’t just a display—it simmered, dark and powerful, like a storm waiting to erupt.

When we arrived at the mansion, he led me down the spiraling staircase to the dungeon beneath. The walls were made of cold stone, dimly lit by flickering torches that cast long shadows. The air was damp, and the faint metallic tang of blood lingered.

At the center of the space was the interrogation room, a cold, sterile chamber encased in reinforced glass. Inside, the man we had captured from the orphanage raid was bound to a steel chair, his head slumped forward. Blood dripped from a gash on his temple, pooling on the floor beneath him.

Lucifer’s men flanked the room, their faces hard and impassive. They lived for moments like this, where their loyalty could be proven through brutality.

Lucifer entered the room like a storm, his presence alone enough to make everyone else shrink back. He took his seat in the corner, legs crossed, the picture of composure. But I saw the way his fingers twitched, the subtle signs of his fury bubbling beneath the surface.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching through the one-way glass. It gave me a perfect view of everything happening inside without being seen myself.

One of Lucifer’s men stepped forward, a burly figure with a scar running down the side of his face. He grabbed the prisoner by the hair, yanking his head back to force eye contact.

“Talk,” the man growled, his voice low and threatening.

The prisoner spat blood onto the floor, his lip curling in defiance. “I don’t know anything.”

Lucifer didn’t move. He sat back in his chair, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. He placed the cigarette between his lips, flicking the lighter open with a metallic click.

I rolled my eyes. Smoking was a filthy habit, one I despised, and Lucifer knew it.

With a flick of my wrist, the cigarette disintegrated into ash.

He smirked, glancing toward the glass as if he could see me. His amusement was short-lived. “Start talking, or I’ll let my men have their fun,” he said, his voice calm but laced with menace.

The prisoner glared at him but remained silent.

Lucifer gestured with a lazy wave of his hand, and his men got to work.

The room filled with the sound of fists meeting flesh, the prisoner’s grunts of pain, and the crackle of the electric rods they used to shock him. I watched with detached curiosity. Mortal Torture wasn’t my method of choice, but I understood its purpose.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the prisoner broke. His head lolled to the side, and his voice was hoarse as he spoke.

“It was Sanchez,” he croaked. “He’s the one who ordered the hit.”

The room fell silent.

I narrowed my eyes, the name sparking a memory deep in my mind. Sanchez. It couldn’t be…

I turned my gaze to Lucifer, whose fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. His jaw was set, and his eyes burned with a fire I hadn’t seen before.

“Sanchez Salvatore Di Carlo,” I said softly, the name rolling off my tongue like venom.

Lucifer looked at me through the glass, his expression unreadable, but I knew the storm was brewing.

I pushed off the doorframe, stepping into the room. The prisoner flinched at the sight of me, his eyes widening in fear.

“You’ve served your purpose,” I said, my voice cold and final. I reached out, letting my power flow through me. The prisoner’s eyes rolled back, and his body went limp as I drained the last vestiges of life from him.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t object.

“Looks like the game’s coming to an end,” I said, turning to face him.

The night had fallen into a quiet lull. Dinner was long finished, and Enzo had left to fulfill his nocturnal duties, guiding souls to their final destinations. The house was silent except for the faint crackle of the fireplace. I sat curled up on the plush armchair near the fire, watching the flames dance, waiting for Lucifer to say something—anything.

He sat across the room, his usual composed demeanor masking whatever was brewing inside. His sharp jaw was set, his eyes focused on the flickering flames, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere. He wanted to speak; I could feel the weight of his unsaid words hanging in the air between us.

I sighed, frustrated by his silence, and stood up. My dress swayed around my ankles as I walked toward him, my heels clicking softly on the wooden floor. His gaze lifted, following me, but he remained silent.

Without a word, I climbed onto his lap, straddling him. His eyes widened slightly, but then a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Don’t blame me afterward,” I warned, tilting my head. “If I decide to punish your so-called family.”

His hands instinctively settled on my waist, steadying me as he leaned back in the chair, sighing deeply. His arms pulled me closer, his head resting against my chest as if seeking solace.

“They’re not family,” he murmured, his voice low and bitter.

I threaded my fingers through his dark hair, caressing him softly. He groaned, a sound deep and primal, and I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips.

“Tell me,” I said softly, my tone soothing but firm. “Tell me what they did to you.”

He exhaled heavily, tightening his grip around me. “They were cruel,” he admitted, his voice laced with pain. “They treated me like I was nothing. Beat me. Kept me hungry. Made me feel… unwanted.”

Anger flared in my chest, hot and consuming. I felt the temperature in the room begin to rise, the fire in the hearth roaring higher.

Lucifer chuckled softly, lifting his head to meet my gaze. “Careful, Moon,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You’re going to burn the place down.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “That doesn’t mean their sins will be forgotten.”

He smiled faintly, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he teased, his tone light but his eyes serious.

I wasn’t amused. “I want you to do something,” I said firmly. “Let’s make the last game more fun.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “As you wish, La Muerte.”

The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t the first time he’d called me that, but there was something different about it now—something intimate and possessive.

“You surprise me sometimes,” I said, a teasing edge in my voice.

He chuckled, his hands sliding up my back. “And you surprise me every day,” he countered, his tone soft but his gaze burning with intensity. “You’ve made me… feel things I didn’t think I was capable of feeling.”

I leaned closer, my lips brushing against his ear. “Good,” I whispered. “Because I intend to keep you feeling.”

His hands tightened on me, his grip possessive. “You don’t have a choice,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my neck. “You’re mine, Moon. Always.”

I pulled back slightly, smirking at him. “Possessive much?”

“Always,” he said again, his voice low and firm.

The air between us crackled with tension, the teasing words giving way to something deeper .

“Say it,” he demanded, his eyes locked onto mine.

I arched an eyebrow. “Say what?”

“That you’re mine,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I leaned in closer, my lips ghosting over his. “I’m La Muerte,” I said with a smirk. “I belong to no one.”

His eyes darkened, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was a battle for dominance, one I wasn’t willing to lose.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us were breathless, our foreheads resting against each other.

“You’re infuriating,” he muttered, his tone affectionate despite the words.

“And you’re overbearing,” I shot back, grinning.

He chuckled, his hands tracing slow circles on my back. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The night stretched on, the fire crackling softly in the background as we stayed locked in our little world, the weight of the past forgotten for a moment, the promise of vengeance lingering on the horizon.