32. Lucrezia
Chapter 32
Lucrezia
T here’s a damp chill in the air, and the peeling wallpaper looks jaundiced under the weak light of the single naked bulb. I’m sitting on a battered wooden chair, forced into a posture of attention by the sheer tension in my body. My wrists ache from trying to pry something loose from the door, and my throat has that irritating tickle that says I’m on the verge of getting sick. It’s been hours—or days, I can’t even tell—and the passing of time feels like a distant concept.
I can smell dust and mildew and something musty that might be rotting wood beneath the floorboards. Every breath tastes stale, and the only comfort I have is the strength of my own resolve. I will not break. I repeat this to myself over and over like a mantra: I will not break.
The door creaks open. My entire body tenses as Kristopher steps in, closing it behind him with a deliberate slowness. He’s carrying a portable record player, the kind with a built-in speaker, and a stack of old vinyls. The dull yellow light illuminates his face, and every angle and hollow of his cheeks is pronounced. I watch him through narrowed eyes, keeping silent. I notice he’s changed his clothes again—clean pants and a crisp shirt. He’s grooming himself for me, playing the role of some twisted suitor.
He sets the record player on a small crate near the mattress where I’ve been forced to sleep. As he flips through the vinyl, I say nothing. I know better than to waste words on him.
“Ah, here it is,” Kristopher murmurs softly, selecting a record. There’s a fondness in his voice that makes my skin crawl. He handles the vinyl as if it’s a priceless treasure. He drops the needle gently. Static crackles, then a slow, haunting melody drifts through the stale air. The sound reminds me of something from a past life—maybe something I heard once at a family gathering, back when I was a child and didn’t know any better.
He turns to face me, a smile on his lips. “Dance with me, darling,” he says, extending a hand with an elegance that feels calculated and cold.
My heart stutters. “Don’t call me that,” I spit, every syllable dripping with the venom I wish could kill him. “I’m not your darling, and I’m certainly not dancing with you.” My hands clench into fists at my sides, nails digging crescents into my palms.
His smile doesn’t falter, but something flickers behind his eyes. “I wasn’t asking, darling .” The shift in his tone, from gentle to commanding, sets every nerve in my body on edge. He strides toward me with predatory grace, reaching out to grab my hand. I jerk back, but he’s faster—his fingers wrap around my wrist with bruising force, each digit like an iron band against my skin. He pulls me up from the chair with a sharp tug, forcing me to stand. My legs wobble beneath me, not from weakness but from anger and the rush of adrenaline flooding my veins. The familiar taste of copper fills my mouth as I realize I’ve been biting the inside of my cheek.
We stand in the center of the room, the record player’s melody winding through the silence. Kristopher’s hand slides to the small of my back, and I want to retch. He holds me as if we’re at some elegant ball; fingers splayed possessively across my naked spine. The reek of his cologne is faint, something woody, and it mixes with the stale air to produce a nauseating scent of forced intimacy.
I try to pull away, but his grip tightens like a steel trap. His knuckles press into my spine instead, each point of contact burning like a brand against my skin. “Calm,” he says quietly, voice dripping with tenderness. “We used to enjoy music, remember? Before Saverio sent you away. Before you ruined everything by picking the wrong people.”
“Wrong people?” I manage. My hands curl into fists on his shoulders, fingers avoiding touching him. “You mean people who are not you. I’d rather die than let you touch me.”
His jaw clenches, and his eyes flash with something dark and predatory. He forces a small laugh. “You think you’re so clever. But I’ve always cared for you, Lux. I’ve always been the only one who truly saw you, who recognized how the family failed you.” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, thick with nostalgia. “We terrorized Lucia together, proving that we could manipulate fear as easily as breathing. Remember how we laughed afterward, how we bonded over her tears? How did her fear make us feel powerful and connected, like we were the only two people who really understood each other?”
My stomach twists violently, bile rising in my throat as memories I’ve tried so hard to bury claw their way to the surface. “We never bonded,” I hiss, voice trembling with a mixture of disgust and long-suppressed rage. “You lied to yourself then, and you’re lying to yourself now. Those weren’t moments of connection—they were your sick manipulations of a child. I was sixteen. You’re no hero, Kristopher. You’re no better than Saverio or our father. You’re just another coward playing with someone’s life, desperate to feel powerful by breaking others down.”
His gaze darkens. He tries to spin me in a slow waltz, but I resist, planting my feet firmly against the wooden floorboards. He jerks me forward with unexpected force. “Careful,” he warns, voice so low I barely catch the word over the scratchy tune on the vinyl, but the threat in his tone is unmistakable.
I slam my heel down onto his foot, not hard enough to injure him but enough to let him know I won’t go quietly. The impact sends a jolt through my leg, my heel striking against his polished dress shoe. He flinches, his carefully maintained composure shattering for just a moment to reveal something dangerous beneath. He releases my hand, only to grab my wrist in a bruising hold and yank me closer. I can see the spidery veins in his eyes, the sweat collecting at his hairline, and smell the sharp bite of whiskey on his breath as his fingers dig deeper into my flesh.
“You think I’m like them ?” Kristopher snarls. “I’m better than them! I’m the only one who’s ever understood you. They cast you out, but I—I would never throw you away. I want you beside me, safe from the world that never appreciated you. But you chose Raiden instead. You let him into our world. You—you fucked him. That brute who can’t protect you, who can’t even find you now.”
I knew he was watching us. I’ve been thinking about it with all my newfound free time. He had to have been hiding in the house, lurking in some dark corner, or crouched behind a door, which means he heard and maybe even saw Raiden and I having sex in the kitchen.
I grit my teeth. “I chose freedom, you bastard. And I’m going to keep choosing it, even if you drag me through hell.”
Kristopher’s lips curl into a sneer, a twisted expression that makes his handsome features ugly and cruel. He lifts his free hand and strokes my cheek, the gesture mockingly tender but intentionally intimate. The heat of his skin against mine sends revulsion rippling through me. Then he trails his hand down to my throat, fingers squeezing around my windpipe with just enough pressure to remind me how easily he could crush it. “Do you think I’m playing games, Lucrezia? I don’t want to be like our father, but if you force me to, I’ll beat you until you break. I’ll break you, and then I’ll kill anyone else you care about until I’m the only one you have left. Raiden, Daniela, even Saverio. I’m the only thing that matters to you anymore, Lux.”
The record’s melody warps into sinister background music, the once-sweet notes twisting into something dark and threatening. But I refuse to look away even though terror is clawing at my insides, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. He wants me to quake, to beg, to shatter into pieces before him. But I won’t. If this is a battle of wills, I’d rather die than let him see me plead for life.
Kristopher holds me there a moment longer, letting the threat sink in. My breathing comes in shallow gasps, his hand pressing just enough to make it hurt. Then, in a sickening display of control, he releases me and stands straight, smoothing his shirt as if we just had a casual disagreement.
“I had high hopes for us, Lucrezia,” his voice is calmer now but no less threatening. “I thought, in time, you’d understand my devotion and appreciate everything I’ve done for you. But I see you’re still clinging to Raiden like some lovesick schoolgirl who doesn’t know any better. Well, I’ll fix that.” His eyes gleam with a twisted light. “I’ll erase him from your life permanently. Then, with no one else to run to, no shoulder to cry on, you’ll finally see things my way. You’ll finally understand that everything I do, I do for us.”
My stomach lurches violently at the unveiled threat. He intends to kill Raiden—the cold certainty in his voice leaves no room for doubt. I try to keep my face impassive, schooling my features into neutrality, but I’m sure he sees the flicker of fear in my eyes. He smirks, clearly satisfied by my reaction, drinking in my distress like a fine wine. The record ends in a faint hiss, with static replacing melody in an eerily appropriate soundtrack to this moment.
Kristopher walks to the door and pauses, looking back at me with an unsettling intensity that makes my skin crawl. “You’ll see things my way soon enough, darling,” he says with a faintly reverent smile on his lips. His fingers trail along the doorframe in an almost loving caress before he steps out, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the walls. The lock turns with a heavy click that echoes through my bones, the sound of it a final punctuation mark on his threat.
Tears sting at the corners of my eyes, but I force them back. I won’t cry for him. I won’t give Kristopher the satisfaction, even if he isn’t here to see it. He doesn’t deserve my tears.
I grab the blanket from the bed and wrap it around myself again, doing my best to ward off the cold that seems to seep straight through to my bones. I’m alone, stuck in this cramped room with only the memory of his touch and his threats echoing in my mind. The smell of stale air and mildew returns to the forefront of my senses, making my stomach churn and bile rise in my throat. The record player sits abandoned in the corner, the needle scratching silently at the end of the vinyl. I force myself to move and walk over to the record player. With trembling fingers, I lift the needle gently and remove it from the groove carefully. The silence that follows is marginally better than that haunting tune, though it leaves room for my thoughts to grow louder.
My limbs tremble as adrenaline ebbs, leaving me feeling hollow and drained. There must be something I can use in this room, some overlooked detail that could mean the difference between captivity and freedom. I scan the walls, studying every crack and shadow, then the corners where cobwebs gather, and finally, the chair I was sitting on. If I can find something sharp, something I can use as a weapon or even to pick a lock—anything to give me a fighting chance. But the search is fruitless, yielding nothing but splinters and peeling paint that crumbles under desperate fingers. I exhale slowly, frustration gnawing at me like a physical ache. I’ll keep looking, keep planning, keep working my way through every possibility. Every second he’s gone is a second I can use to find an edge, to find a way out.
His threat to kill Raiden rattles me, though. The thought of Kristopher hurting Raiden makes my stomach twist into knots. I can’t let that happen— won’t let that happen. Raiden knew what he was signing up for when he got involved with me, but he doesn’t deserve whatever my half-brother will do to him.
I walk to the far wall and lean against it, sliding down until I’m crouched near the floor. My heart thumps steadily, a drumbeat of resolve, each beat a reminder that I’m still fighting, still thinking, still planning. Kristopher might have physical control for now, but he’ll never control my mind. I’ll never become his willing prize—he can cage my body, but my thoughts and will remain defiantly my own.