6. Ottavia
SIX
Ottavia
T here is no satisfaction in knowing the truth of what he endured. No vindication in watching him unravel.
Only a sharp, aching sorrow for the boy who was punished for saving a life. For the child who dared to show kindness and was beaten until he learned that mercy was a weakness he couldn’t afford.
The thought cracks something deep inside me, and I press a hand to my stomach as if I can hold it together.
The monster has a heart after all. He was just beaten and manipulated into forgetting.
Dinner has long since ended, the house humming in its usual quiet. I linger in the hall, fingers trailing along the polished wood of the railing, my mind tangled in too many thoughts. His words won’t leave me.
I barely fucking survived.
I hear him move behind me, the measured sound of his footsteps as he pours himself another drink.
My eyes betray me, tracking the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers grip the glass just a little too tightly. The way he’s holding himself together with sheer force of will, as if one crack will shatter everything. And I hate that it hurts me to see it.
Since we got married, I watched him to understand my enemy. Now, I watch for better understanding of a man who’s never been shown kindness.
He’s trying to contain it—whatever storm churns inside him—but I see it. The way he stands too still, the way his jaw tics when he thinks no one is looking. For the first time, I realize…
…he’s not fighting for control or power. He’s fighting to survive.
I want to say something. Something soft. Something that isn’t a weapon. But I don’t. I know he’d lash out, mistake it for pity. And Vincenzo Del Rossa would rather die than be pitied.
I sigh, shaking my head, willing the thoughts away. But there’s a sudden feeling of unease breathing along the back of my neck.
Something’s wrong.
Then, the lights flicker.
A subtle thing, barely noticeable. But my stomach knots.
There’s a sound—a rustle, the faintest creak of a door shifting somewhere in the house. It could be nothing. Or it could be?—
A crash. The unmistakable sound of glass shattering.
I spin just as chaos erupts.
Shouting. Heavy footsteps. The sharp ring of a gun cocking.
And then I see them—two men stepping into the dim glow of the chandelier.
“What the fuck?” Vincenzo storms out, and my heart lurches out of my throat when I see the way they stare at him, the hatred in their eyes.
One has an eagle tattoo covering his throat and neck, the other’s head shaved and inked with a smoking skull.
“Remember us, fucker?” The skull-tattoo one moves toward Vincenzo.
“Angelo. Dario,” he says. “Get the fuck out of my house!”
Angelo lands the first hit, a sickening thud of fist against bone. Vincenzo staggers but doesn’t fall.
“You thought you could break our sister’s heart and not pay a price?” Angelo screams.
“You fucked her, made her believe you were in love with her?—”
“I never told her that.”
“You calling our sister a liar?” Dario lands a punch, sending Vincenzo to his knees, then whips out agun, pressing it hard against his temple. “You fucked with the wrong woman, Del Rossa.”
I choke on a gasp, instinct pulling me forward before I can stop myself.“Vincenzo!”
Angelo’s eyes snap to me. He grins like he’s just realized he’s holding something even more valuable than revenge.
Dario is calmer. Colder. His gaze flickers over me before turning back to Vincenzo, who is breathing hard, blood running down the side of his face. “Not so invincible now, are you?”
Vincenzo spits blood onto the floor, lifting his head with a smirk that’s all sharp edges. “I’ve had worse.”
Angelo doesn’t react. Instead, he cocks the gun and presses the barrel against Vincenzo’s forehead; two guns ready to kill my husband.
I don’t think. I scream.
“Wait! Stop?—”
Silence.
Vincenzo’s eyes cut to me, wild, furious. “Ottavia, don’t?—”
“Don’t kill him, please,” I beg, tears streaming down my face. “I’ll do anything. Just don’t kill my husband.”
Angelo raises a brow. “And what could you possibly offer us, Mrs. Del Rossa?”
“What do you want?”
He licks his lips, and it’s almost demonic, the way his thoughts are painted over his evil face. “I can think of something.”
“Don’t you fucking?—”
Dario slams the back of his gun in Vincenzo’s face, sending him to the ground, blood splattering on the pristine white walls.
“Please!” I cry. “I’ll do anything, just stop hurting him.”
Vincenzo snarls, spitting blood. “Ottavia, shut the fuck up.”
I ignore him. They’re going to kill him if I don’t do something.
Angelo comes toward me, and I do everything I can not to run, to keep my feet firmly planted. If I don’t, I lose my husband.
He yanks me forward, dragging me away as Vincenzo roars my name, the sound splitting my soul into pieces. My chest tightens, panic clawing at my ribs, but I don’t look back.
I made this choice.
Angelo licks his slimy tongue up the side of my face, bile rising up my throat. “Maybe fucking his wife in front of him will be punishment enough for taking advantage of our little sister.”
“No!” I snap. “Not in front of him.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Please. I won’t fight you. I’ll do whatever you want, just…” I swallow my sobs, every muscle trembling. “Just…not in front of him.”
“Don’t you fucking touch her,” Vincenzo snarls, dragging himself up, swaying like a man who refuses to fall. His body is broken, but his rage burns stronger.
Dario doesn’t hesitate—grabs him by the hair and drives a fist into his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. Another blow to the ribs. A knee to the face.
With a sickening crack of bone, Vincenzo crumbles. Silent. Unmoving.
Everything inside me breaks. Every muscle. Every bone. Every beat of my heart hurts as I stare at Vincenzo, hoping to God he’s still breathing. But I can’t see. He’s lying so still.
Oh, God.
Angelo’s grip is bruising as he drags me away, his breath hot against my ear. “That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, amusement laced with something darker. “You’ll find I’m much more generous than your husband ever was.”
My stomach clenches in horror. I know what they want. It’s written in their leers, in the way Angelo runs his tongue over his teeth, like he’s already tasting me.
Panic claws up my spine, my heart a wild, erratic rhythm in my chest as they drag me away.
Terror drowns me, but I can’t afford it. I can’t let myself feel. Not now. Not when he’s lying there, still and bleeding, a man who’s never needed saving—until now.
So I force myself to breathe, to push the fear down, bury it somewhere deep. “Please,” I whisper, hating the way my voice shakes. “Just… just don’t hurt him anymore.”
Angelo chuckles. “Oh, we won’t. Not if you keep your end of the deal.”
I’m dragged into the empty room Vincenzo and I haven’t decided what to do with yet. There’s nothing but boxes and rolled-up carpets stacked against the wall.
Pain sears my scalp as Angelo yanks my hair, throwing me onto the cold, unforgiving floor.
“Don’t close the door, brother,” Angelo says over his shoulder with a menacing timbre. “If he’s still alive, I want him to hear his wife scream.”