Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Blood drips from my temple to the floor below, each drop a steady metronome marking time in this hellhole. My arms scream in agony, shoulders threatening to dislocate from the chains holding me suspended from the warehouse ceiling. But the pain is nothing compared to the rage burning in my chest.
"I'll ask you one more time," the bigger of Byron's men says, cracking his knuckles. "Where is Zoe?"
I spit blood onto his polished shoes. "Fuck you."
The punch comes fast—a heavyweight's jab to my kidney that makes my vision swim. I bite down on a groan, refusing to give them the satisfaction.
"You're making this harder than it needs to be," the second man says, voice smooth as silk. He's the dangerous one. The quiet ones always are. "Mr. Easton only wants what belongs to him."
"Zoe doesn't belong to anyone." My voice sounds raw even to my own ears.
"Sweet," the big one laughs. "You actually think she gives a shit about you? She played you, Feretti. The whole time."
I say nothing, letting my silence hang between us. They can break whatever bones they want. They won't break me.
The quiet one steps closer, examining me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. "You know what I think?" He wipes blood from my eyebrow almost tenderly. "I think you don't know where she is. And that's what's really eating at you, isn't it?"
His words hit harder than any punch. He's right. I have no fucking idea where Zoe is, if she's safe, if she even cares. All I know is that Lucrezia is in the next room—I heard her scream once when they first brought us here. The sound nearly stopped my heart.
When the pipe connects with my ribs, something cracks inside me. Stars explode behind my eyes, but I swallow the scream that tries to claw its way out of my throat.
"Byron wants to handle you himself," the quiet one says, checking his watch. "But he said to soften you up first." His eyes flick to my bloodied face. "Though if I'm being honest, you look pretty soft already."
"Your mom didn't thought so," I manage through gritted teeth.
This time, the pipe finds my knee. The pain is electric, shooting up my thigh and into my spine. I can't stop the grunt that escapes me, and the big man smiles.
"There we go. That's what I like to hear."
Blood trickles into my eye, turning the world red. I blink it away, focusing on staying conscious. They can break my body, but my mind stays fixed on one thought: I'm going to kill Byron Easton. Slowly. Personally.
And if Zoe was part of this...
I cut the thought off before it can form fully. No. Despite everything, despite the lies and half-truths between us, I can't believe she set us up.
"Byron's gonna be pissed when he finds out we took the wrong girl," the big one mutters, voice low but not low enough.
My ears prick up through the haze of pain. Wrong girl?
"Shut up," the quiet one hisses, glancing my way.
A laugh bubbles up from deep in my chest, starting as a chuckle before growing into something wild and uncontrolled. Blood sprays from my split lip as I throw my head back, the sound echoing through the warehouse.
"Something funny, Feretti?" The quiet one steps forward, eyes narrowed to slits.
"Fucking amateurs." I keep laughing, each shake sending fresh stabs of pain through my broken ribs. "You grabbed the wrong fucking girl."
The big one's face flushes red. "Shut him up!"
"Let me guess," I continue, relishing the way their faces twist with anger. "Byron wanted Zoe, but you idiots took Lucrezia instead." I bare my bloodstained teeth in a feral grin. "You have any idea what you've done?"
The quiet one slams his fist into my stomach. I wheeze but keep that smile plastered on my face.
"Doesn't matter who the girl is," he snarls. "She's still leverage."
"She's my sister." I lock eyes with him. "And now you're all dead men walking."
The big one shifts his weight, doubt creeping into his expression. "Byron never said anything about a sister."
"That's because Byron is a fucking moron." I spit a mouthful of blood onto the concrete. "And so are you if you think you're walking away from this."
"Go ahead and call Byron," I taunt, making my voice as irritating as possible. "I'd love to hear you explain how you grabbed the wrong woman. The great Byron Easton, can't even hire guys who can tell the difference between a blonde and a brunette."
The big one steps forward, face twisted with rage. "I'm gonna enjoy making you bleed more than you already do, Feretti."
"Then get to it," I challenge him, rattling my chains. "Because the clock's ticking, and when my men find this place—and they will find it—there won't be enough left of you to be identified."
The quiet one puts a restraining hand on his partner's arm. "He's trying to rile you up."
I can see the uncertainty in both their faces now. They don't know what to do, and indecision will cost them time.
Time that might save Lucrezia. Time for Zoe to get somewhere safe. Time for my men to tear this city apart looking for us.
I keep smiling through the blood.
Lucrezia's scream tears through the warehouse—raw, terrified, and brutally cut short.
That wasn't just fear. That was pain.
"What the fuck are you doing to her?" I roar, my body surging against the chains with renewed strength. The metal cuts into my wrist.
Another scream—this one worse than the first.
"LUCREZIA!" My voice shatters against the concrete walls. I thrash wildly, the chains clanking against their moorings. Every muscle in my body strains as I pull with everything I have.
The quiet one steps back, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Sounds like someone's having a chat with your sister."
"If they touch one fucking hair on her head—" The words come out as a growl, primal and desperate.
"You'll what?" The big one laughs, gesturing at my hanging form. "Make threats from your chains? Face it, Feretti, you're not in control anymore."
I hear men's voices from the other room, then a sharp crack followed by Lucrezia's sobbing.
Something inside me snaps. I throw my body against the restraints with such force that one of my shoulders makes a sickening pop. Pain blazes through me, but I keep pulling, twisting, fighting against the metal.
"Would you look at that?" The quiet one nudges his partner. "The great Damiano Feretti, reduced to an animal."
They're both laughing now, enjoying the show as I struggle helplessly.
"My men will find you," I pant, chest heaving. "And when they do—"
"Your men don't even know where to look," the big one interrupts. "No one's coming to save you, Feretti. Not your men. Not your precious Zoe."
Another scream from Lucrezia cuts through me like a blade.
"I'm going to kill you both." My voice drops to a deadly whisper. I lock eyes with the quiet one, letting him see the truth in mine. "Not quickly. Not mercifully. I'll take my time. I'll make you feel everything you're putting her through. I'll take pieces of you while you're still breathing."
The quiet one's smile falters for just a second.
"And when I'm done," I continue, "I'll do the same to Easton."
"Big talk from a man in chains," the big one says, but there's a new tension in his shoulders.
"I don't need these chains off to make you suffer," I say, my voice eerily calm despite the storm raging inside me. "I just need to be patient. And trust me—" I smile through the blood coating my teeth "—when it comes to revenge, I've got all the fucking patience in the world."
I pace the Feretti mansion's living room thinking. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner sounds like explosions in my ears. Fifteen minutes have passed since Alessio and Enzo left with their tactical teams.
"You need to sit down," Ginerva says, approaching with a cup of tea I didn't ask for.
I shake my head, my hand instinctively moving to my stomach. "I can't."
This is all my fault. If I hadn't agreed to Byron's twisted revenge mission. If I hadn't married Damiano. If I hadn't fallen for him. If I hadn't gotten pregnant.
If. If. If.
And now Damiano and Lucrezia are paying the price for my mistakes.
"They'll find them," Ginerva says quietly.
"You don't know that." My voice cracks. "You don't know what Byron is capable of."
I close my eyes and see Damiano's face as I left him at the café table. The way his eyes softened when he spotted me, before I ran to the bathroom. That might be the last time I ever saw him.
"I should have gone with them." I stop pacing and turn toward the door. "I can't just wait here."
Ginerva steps into my path. "And what would you do? Get yourself killed?"
"I know those warehouses," I insist. "I've studied Byron's operations for years. I could help them."
"Mr. Alessio was clear. You're to stay here where it's safe."
Safe. What a joke. There's no safety anywhere, not while Byron is out there with Damiano and Lucrezia. Not while he thinks I've betrayed him.
I sink onto the leather sofa, trembling with a mixture of fear and rage. "This is my fault."
"Self-pity won't help them," Ginerva says sharply.
She's right. Sitting here blaming myself won't save Damiano or Lucrezia.
I watch Ginerva disappear down the hallway. The moment she's out of sight, I spring into action.
I slip off my shoes. The floor feels cold under my feet as I creep toward the back of the mansion. Every creak and groan of the house makes me freeze, listening for footsteps. Ginerva might be the head housekeeper, but she moves like a ghost when she wants to.
I reach the service entrance near the kitchen and pause. The security panel glows red beside the door. Damiano had shown me the code once, offhandedly. What was it? I close my eyes, picturing his fingers moving across the keypad.
2-0-0-6.
The year his parents died.
The panel flashes green and the lock clicks. I slip outside, carefully pulling the door closed behind me. The perfectly trimmed hedges provide cover as I skirt around the edge of the property toward the detached garage.
The garage looms ahead, its sleek modern design at odds with the Renaissance-inspired main house. I duck behind a row of ornamental bushes when I spot one of the security guards making his rounds, his flashlight cutting through the darkness.
Once he passes, I dart across the open lawn to the side entrance of the garage.
The garage door slides open silently, revealing the collection of luxury vehicles.
And there, hanging on a hook labeled with my name, is a set of keys.