Captured in the Dark

“O cursed, cursed slave!—

Whip me, ye devils,

From the possession of this heavenly sight!

Blow me about in winds! Roast me in sulphur!

Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!—

O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead!

Oh! Oh! Oh!” Marco Rossi read aloud as he sat in his room, legs stretched lazily over the armrest of the leather chair by the window.

The storm blurred the edges of the grand estate, rain running in thick rivers down the stone walls. Inside, the house was quiet, the kind of silence that only comes deep in the night when most were asleep.

Marco held Othello by William Shakespeare, the book resting in his hands, but his gaze had long since drifted from the words on the page. The rain outside was mesmerizing, a steady rhythm that pulled at the edges of his consciousness. He blinked, shaking the haze from his mind, and returned to the page. But his thoughts were elsewhere, and his eyes now only lingered on the storm, distant yet unnerving.

The weight of his thoughts seemed to get heavier. What was it about Othello that kept drawing him in? The tragic fate of Desdemona? Or was it just the quiet, relentless pull of destiny that kept bringing him back to stories like these? He sighed, placing the book down beside him, and rubbed his temples. A deep feeling of discomfort settled in his chest, like an unshakable intuition gnawing at him.

Outside the heavily guarded mansion, Vincenzo, Luca, and Matteo stood in the shadows, dressed in dark tactical gear. Their eyes scanned the estate with clinical precision. Far off, a bus was parked, where Nico sat, eyes fixed on a tablet. The rain fell heavily, blocking the sound of distant conversations and muffling the world around them.

"Eyes on the perimeter. No sudden movements. No unnecessary noise. We do this clean," Luca murmured as he adjusted his earpiece.

Matteo, ever the strategist, gave a short nod. "Security rotations are thirty seconds apart. If we’re moving, it’s now or never."

Nico chimed in, his fingers tapping away at the tablet. "Cameras have blind spots every twelve seconds. That gives us a window to move past the outer corridor."

"I’ll take the east flank. Just give me the word," Vincenzo added, adjusting his gloves, ready to move.

"The rain is too much, do you think we can do this?" Nico asked, his voice tinged with doubt.

"We've got to. Backing down because of the rain will annoy our boss," Luca said sharply.

"The rain is a good opportunity to carry out this operation; people won’t hear sounds," Matteo added, his voice calm.

"Let’s go," Luca ordered, signaling for them to move.

They moved like shadows—low, quiet, and invisible to any casual observer. Nico worked his magic on the security feeds, briefly looping the CCTV footage just enough for them to vault silently over the outer fence and into Rossi’s compound.

Once inside, the team split with practiced efficiency. Luca gestured for the others to follow the plan, his hand signaling their movements with precision. Matteo and Vincenzo nodded, both slipping away like ghosts into the night.

“Remember, the boss said no contact unless provoked. We’re here to get our target, be careful and don’t get caught,” Luca whispered as they approached the mansion.

“For a quiet night, this feels a little too quiet,” Matteo muttered under his breath.

"We’ll take what we can get. Just keep it together," Luca replied, his focus sharp.

The mansion loomed ahead, silent and still, its dark windows reflecting only the rain. After a few tense moments, they crept toward the garden, staying close to the shadows.

"My side is clear," Vincenzo whispered as he crouched beside the bushes, surveying the path ahead.

Matteo gave a subtle nod, then Luca made an "okay" signal with his hand, confirming their approach.

They crept past the garden, ducking behind hedges, inching along blind spots. Two mansion guards stood near a side door, chatting idly about their latest night out — talking about the girls they'd met at the club and their drunken adventures. They didn’t notice the three intruders moving past them, their attention lost in their casual conversation. Nico had already done his part, silently disabling their comms with a remote jammer.

Vincenzo moved first, slipping behind one guard with practiced stealth. He tapped the man on the shoulder. The guard turned, confusion on his face, only for Vincenzo to swiftly press a tranquillizer patch to his neck. The guard slumped, lifeless in seconds. Matteo dealt with the second guard, covering his mouth and injecting him with a sedative pinprick. The guard’s struggles were brief before he too fell unconscious.

Inside the mansion, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of aged wood and wealth. Portraits of long-dead ancestors stared down from the walls, marble floors stretched ahead like an endless runway of silence.

“Target’s room—second floor, third door on the left,” Luca whispered, checking the mental map in his mind. The team moved swiftly, climbing the staircase with expert precision. Their footsteps were near imperceptible, every creak avoided with careful placement.

Outside Marco’s room, they paused. Luca raised his hand for silence, pressing his ear to the door.

"I don’t hear anything," Luca whispered.

"Maybe it's the rain," Matteo suggested quietly.

"Let’s try this," Vincenzo said, pulling out a coin from his pocket. He tossed it into the room. The coin rolled across the floor and Marco, startled, stood up from his seat.

"Who's there?" Marco called out, his voice calm but sharp.

The silence lingered for a heartbeat. He turned toward the door, his gaze narrowing.

Outside, Luca signaled the others to stay quiet, his index finger pressed to his lips. He slowly opened the door just wide enough to peek inside. Marco had already returned to his position by the window, his back to the door. He never heard them coming.

Luca opened the door a little further, slipping inside like a shadow, followed by Matteo and Vincenzo. They were nearly upon him.

Before Marco could react, Luca’s hand clamped over his mouth, silencing any scream or protest. Vincenzo pressed a damp cloth over his nose, while Matteo swiftly injected a sedative into his neck.

Marco’s breath hitched—the first and only sound he made. His body struggled for control, but the drug took effect too quickly. His limbs turned heavy, and his mind screamed in panic, but his body betrayed him, sagging into Luca’s arms. The book he had been reading fell from his hands, a dull thud echoing in the quiet room.

"Alessandro De Luca’s perfect feast," Matteo said mockingly, his fingers tracing Marco's face with a hint of amusement.

"Mission cleared," Vincenzo reported, tapping his earpiece as he spoke to Nico.

The team moved quickly, dragging Marco from the room, disappearing into the shadows of the night.

The mission had been a success. Marco Rossi, Diego’s precious son, was now in their hands. And as the rain fell harder, the storm outside matched the turmoil that would soon unfold inside the Rossi household.

Alessandro had been waiting for this.

And now, with Marco in his possession, nothing would stop him from taking everything.