Chapter 24 - Valentina
The cemetery gates disappear in my rearview mirror, driving through Chicago’s rain-slicked streets with divorce papers bleeding ink on my passenger seat.
My hands won't stop shaking on the steering wheel. Cold from the rain, yes, but mostly from the gaping wound where my heart used to be. Every breath feels like drowning in reverse, air that won't satisfy, lungs that won't fill.
I can still feel Marco's phantom touch on my skin, making me want to claw myself raw.
Those same hands that made me feel alive, that taught me to shoot, that held me like something precious were descended from the hands that signed my mother's execution.
Every kiss was a betrayal. Every touch a desecration of her memory.
The truth sits like poison in my veins, burning through every good memory we made.
His father paid for the murder. Fifty thousand dollars to make Mother disappear.
And Marco knew, maybe not the details, but he knew something.
All those warnings about Bernardi women getting people killed.
He was talking about her. About what his family did to her.
I left my phone at the penthouse. No temptation to read his messages, no way for him to track me. The silence feels both like freedom and amputation.
He'll tear Chicago apart looking for me. I know him well enough to know that. But by then I'll be long gone, and even Marco won't start a war that would destroy us all.
Would he?
The restaurant disaster proved what I really am to him. The moment my strategy failed, when Dante got hurt, he shut me out completely. Locked me away like the disappointing possession I'd become. "She was never really mine," he'd said. Just another acquisition, another territory to conquer.
But none of that matters now. All that matters is Alice. Nineteen, terrified, in Christopher O'Brien's hands. I know Christopher's reputation with women, the bruises his last girlfriend couldn't hide until she disappeared entirely.
What would Mother think, seeing me trade myself again? But Mother's dead because she tried to run. At least I'm choosing my cage. At least Alice gets what Mother died trying to give us: freedom.
I drive for twenty minutes, circling the same blocks, working up the courage. Twice I park outside safe houses I know Marco owns, almost going in. But Alice's terrified face keeps pulling me south, toward the only choice that saves her.
The rain gets heavier, like Chicago itself is trying to wash away the blood. Through the downpour, I see it. The O'Brien compound squatting on the South Side like a wound that won't heal.
I park right at the front gates, no attempt to hide. The rain has stopped but the air still smells of copper and wet concrete.
"Tell Liam his bride is here," I announce to the guard post, watching his eyes widen with recognition.
The shock on his face would be funny if I could feel anything beyond this hollow determination.
They escort me through the gates, past crosses mounted on walls like they could wash the blood money clean.
The compound tries so hard to look respectable with its crosses and marble, but I can feel the violence seeping from the walls.
It reminds me of Father's house, holiness painted over blood.
Liam waits in what must be his father's study, all leather and mahogany trying to look legitimate.
The leather chair creaks as he stands, and the sound makes me think of Marco's office chair, how it sounded when he pulled me into his lap that first time I brought him coffee.
My pussy clenches at the memory, and I bite my tongue hard enough to draw blood.
Christopher stands beside him, and my stomach turns to ice. There are scratches on his face, fresh ones, the kind fingernails make when someone's fighting for their life. Alice fought him. My baby sister fought while I was in Marco's bed.
"Well, well." Liam's eyes glitter with something between surprise and triumph. "The stolen bride returns."
Christopher's gaze travels over me with the kind of hunger that makes my skin crawl. His reputation precedes him. Girls who stop speaking, who disappear into themselves before disappearing entirely.
"Let her go," I say without preamble.
"Let who go?" Liam asks, though his smile says he knows exactly who I mean.
"Alice. Let her leave Chicago. Go to college. Have a real life." My voice stays steady despite the earthquakes in my chest. "She's nineteen. She doesn't deserve this."
Liam circles the desk to study me closer. When he stops just inches away, his cologne, all wrong, nothing like bergamot, makes my stomach turn. His fingers ghost over the bruises on my throat, Marco's marks, still purple-dark against my skin.
"And in exchange?" Liam asks, his breath hot against my ear.
"I'll honor the original agreement. The marriage our families planned."
Christopher actually laughs, the sound sharp as breaking glass. "You're already married, princess. Or did you forget whose bed you've been warming?"
I throw the divorce papers on the desk with enough force to scatter other documents. The pages are water-stained, wrinkled, the ink running in places making the text barely legible. But you can still make out Marco's signature if you look closely, those bold strokes of ink bleeding but visible.
"Not anymore," I say, the truth burning my throat. "Marco signed them an hour ago. They might not hold up in court with the water damage, but they show intent. That's enough for the families."
"Just like that?" Liam can't hide his surprise. "The great Marco Rosetti let you go?"
"He got what he wanted. The alliance broken, my family destroyed." I force my voice to stay dead, emotionless, selling the deception with everything I have. "I was just collateral damage. A means to an end."
The words burn like acid because part of me wonders if they're true. Was I ever more than a conquest? More than a stolen prize to display?
"He never wanted me," I continue, each word carefully chosen to sound believable. "Just wanted to humiliate the Irish, break the alliance. Now that it's done, I'm expendable."
"And you'd marry me? After everything?"
"Better than being nobody's nothing," I say, and that at least feels true.
Liam's eyes glitter with triumph as he processes my words. Here she is, his stolen bride, the woman whose theft started a war, walking back into his hands voluntarily. The ultimate victory over Marco Rosetti.
"You're not the same woman from the altar," he observes, and there's something like respect in his voice. "That girl was terrified. You're… different."
"Marco Rosetti will do that to a person," I say, and the honesty of it makes him smile.
He returns to his chair, the leather creaking again, that sound that makes me think of different leather, different chairs, different hands on my body. "Alice goes free tonight. Untouched. With money for school. Enough to disappear completely."
"That's the deal," I state. "Take it or I walk."
He glances at Christopher, some silent communication passing between them. My skin crawls imagining what they're planning for me, but I hold my ground.
"Deal. Alice goes free tonight. Money for school, new identity if she wants it."
"I want to see her first. Say goodbye."
"Of course." His smile widens. "Can't have you thinking we're monsters."
The irony would be funny if I could feel anything beyond this yawning emptiness. We're all monsters here. The only difference is which cage I choose.
"We'll marry properly this time," he says. "No interruptions."
The door opens and they bring Alice in from wherever they've been keeping her in the compound.
She's crying before she even sees me, reaching for me with desperate hands.
Her dress, the same torn white nightgown from the cemetery, is muddy and ruined, her hair tangled from the struggle, but she's whole.
She's alive. The strawberry shampoo she still uses is still faint behind all the mud, and I memorize the scent.
"Val!" She crashes into my arms, sobbing against my shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I said things, I didn't mean—"
"Shh." I stroke her hair, memorizing the feeling. "It's okay. You're okay."
"They said you came back. That you're staying." She pulls back to look at me, confusion and hope warring in her eyes. "But Marco—"
"Is done," I finish for her. "Listen to me, Alice. You're leaving tonight. They're giving you money, enough to start over anywhere."
"Not without you."
"Yes, without me." I frame her face with my hands, making her look at me. "This is my choice. My sacrifice. You get to be free."
Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by horror. "No. Val, no, you can't—"
"I can and I will." I pull her close again, whispering in her ear. "Mother would want this for you. One cage or another, baby. At least this one saves you."
She's shaking her head, protesting, but I've already made my choice. Some of us are meant for cages. The lucky ones get to choose which one.
"Take the money," I tell Alice firmly. "Go to California. Study something beautiful. Fall in love with someone normal. Live the life Mother wanted for us."
"This is my fault," she sobs. "If I hadn't run—"
"Then we'd both be trapped." I kiss her forehead, the salt of her tears mixing with lingering rain. "This way, one of us gets free."
Liam watches from his desk, satisfaction evident in every line of his body. His stolen bride choosing her cage, walking into it with eyes wide open. The poetry of it probably appeals to his Irish soul.
I release Alice, stepping back before I lose my resolve. She reaches for me again, crying harder, but Christopher's men are already escorting her toward the door. Toward freedom. Toward a life our mother died trying to give us.
As they lead her away, still calling my name, I turn to face my future. Liam O'Brien, who I'll marry to save my sister. Another cage, another captor, another kind of slow death.
My hand drifts to my throat, fingers finding Marco's bruises one last time. The marks will fade, but what he did to me, what he made me into, that's permanent. A woman who will spend the rest of her life comparing every touch to his.
"Come," Liam says, rising from his chair with predatory grace. His hand closes around my wrist where Marco's fingerprints still burn invisible brands into my skin. "Let's discuss the wedding arrangements."
He pulls me closer, and my stomach turns. The disgust must show on my face because Liam smiles.
"He trained you well," he murmurs, his thumb stroking over my pulse point. "Made you crave what you hate. Don't worry, I'll make good use of his work."
"You have no idea what you're dealing with," I say, my voice hollow. "Marco doesn't let go of what's his."
"He signed the papers."
"Papers mean nothing to men like him. He told me once, death is the only divorce he recognizes."
Liam's hand moves to my throat, fingers pressing against the bruises Marco left, claiming the same space with deliberate intent. "You think he's coming for you?"
"I know he is," I whisper.
"Let him come," Liam says, his grip tightening until I gasp. "I took you from him once at the altar. This time, I'll make sure he watches while I claim what was always meant to be mine."
His mouth drops to my neck, tongue tracing Marco's bruises before his teeth sink in just below them, marking me over Marco's marks. Revulsion crawls through my veins. This is what I am now, a weapon Marco forged that anyone can wield.