Chapter 56
Elena
Irealize this is the way it was always going to be. Men take whatever they want, and they expect us to let them. To hell with that.
Dario saunters towards me, oozing confidence. I’m just a little girl, he has nothing to fear from me, and every right to do as he pleases. A cocky grin twists his lips. As he reaches for me, I scramble over the back of the couch.
Heart in my throat, I sprint away. My gaze lands on a collection of three trophies with metal bases. God give me strength.
Dario laughs, rounding the couch to lunge at me. Fingers grasping air as I leap out of reach. Though I won’t escape for long. There’s nowhere to go.
I reach the bookcase just as Dario catches me. He shoves me roughly into the corner. I’m trapped. Panic threatens to overwhelm my senses, but I shove it down.
Don’t freeze up.
Don’t panic.
Or he’ll win.
“Shh.” Dario’s fingers find the hem of my dress, slowly sliding it up. “If you don’t fight me, I won’t hurt you too badly. Just give in. You know you want it.”
In the blink of an eye, anger overtakes my fear. No, I don’t want it, cazzo bastardo!
I ram my knee into his junk. Hard.
He doubles over, momentarily stunned. Face a deepening shake of purple, he chokes out, “Bitch.”
I grab the largest, heaviest, of the trophies and smash in across the side of his head. A sickening thunk sounds on contact. Keeping hold of it, I lift my arm but the base separates. It falls to the floor.
Dario groans. Blood pours from the gnarly wound in his skull. But he’s far from dead.
Destroy the brain.
Cut off the blood flow.
Those are my two options.
I hit him again. This time the trophy shatters. Small pieces fly through the air. Jagged edges coat with blood and gore. He collapses to his knees.
Shaking free from Dario’s loose hold, I grab the remaining piece with both hands and put my body weight behind the movement as I jab the end into his throat.
Blood spurts. Crimson coats my fingers and the bookcase. Warm wetness splashes across my face and neck.
I stab him repeatedly. A feral scream echoes in the space. It takes me a moment to realize I’m the source of it. I don’t let up until Dario tips over and crashes to the floor.
Breathing hard, I back away from his twitching body. His vacant eyes stare at the ceiling. Strangely, for all the killing that goes on around me, this is the first time I’ve ever seen a man die.
The first who has died at my own hands, too. But he won’t be the last.
Is he even dead?
Letting go of the shard of wood, I drop to my hands and knees. Searching Dario’s pockets, I find the desk key. With slick, trembling fingers I go to the desk and insert the old, rusty key in the lock. I turn it. The key snaps.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!
I hold up the broken end. Then toss it aside.
Crouching down, I poke my finger into the lock. Sure enough the rest of the key’s stuck in there. I tug on the handle, but of course the drawer mechanisms are sturdy. It’s an old piece of furniture crafted of hardwood and metal.
Damn it!
Now what am I going to do?
Standing, my gaze lands on the office door. My way to freedom. I could leave and go find help. Without a gun or a cell phone I don’t know how far I’d make it.
Besides, I can’t leave Julianna.
Mind made up, I glance around the office for a weapon. I’m not going in empty-handed. I spot a marble bookend on another shelf. Hefting it, the weight too much for one hand, I cradle it in my arms.
With adrenaline and a massive amount of pent up rage, I march to the door separating me from Julianna. Twisting the knob, I’m almost surprised to find it unlocked. I push open the door, mentally preparing myself for whatever I’ll find inside.
Niccolò has Julianna pinned to the bed. He glances up, annoyance twisting his features. “Get the fuck out. I’m busy.”
The sound of tearing fabric rents the air. Julianna screams, fighting against him. He slaps her across the face.
His gaze snaps up to me again, this time he calls out. “Dario! Where the fuck are you?”
Wrapping both hands around the chunk of marble, I bolt toward the bed. His eyes widen. I swing my arms up, then bring them down, aiming for his head. The impact rattles my bones. A sickening, juicy thud fills me with twisted satisfaction.
But it’s not enough. He doesn’t collapse like Dario did.
Niccolò roars. Blood streams down the side of his face. How is he still conscious, much less alive?
Julianna reaches for the marble bookend where it lays on the bed. Shoving it upward, she breaks Niccolò’s nose. Blood gushes from his nostrils. With a cursed groan, he falls to one side.
Julianna scrambles out from under him. Her torn shirt hangs in shreds around her petite frame. One strap holds her bra in place. Red marks litter every inch of her skin. I reach for her and she clasps my hand.
Shoving her behind me, using my body to shield hers, I search for another weapon. Because we’re not leaving here until he’s dead. Until he can’t come after us ever again.
My gaze lands on Niccolò’s gun that’s on top of the dresser.
I reach for it just as Niccolò stands up, doing the same. My fingers brush against the cold metal. I get to it a second before he does, which makes all the difference in the world. Batting the gun away from him, I dive to the floor and snatch it up.
No words. No hesitation. I pull the trigger.
But not soon enough.
Niccolò grabs my hands, forcing me to point the gun in every direction, except at him. I scream in frustration.
Julianna appears on the bed behind him. She takes a running start and launches herself onto his back. Like a feral cat, she claws at his eyes, scratches his face.
He roars. “You fucking bitches are dead! You hear me? Dead!”
Not if I kill you first.