Torment

39 #2

Her face is struck with pain. “She is no longer alive.”

My vision grows blurry. Recalling the gel pen annotations in Pride and Prejudice, I glance up at Giulia. “How . . . how old was she?”

“Twelve.”

My chest caves. “What happened?

“Miss Freya,” Giulia says, her eyes filling with tears. It’s clear that it’s something that she’s tried to avoid for years, and even now, as she speaks, she seems to be holding back.

“Please,” I say, “Please.”

She pulls her hand from my grasp to wipe away her tears. “Sofia . . . she was a soft girl. She believed that she really did kill her mother, and it made her sick with sadness. She did not want to leave the house.”

I furrow my brows, and the tears lining my eyes are hot and angry.

“But she was trying . . . slowly. She was trying. One day, she made it out the house. To surprise Mr Costa . . .” Giulia says, “She got in the car to meet him for lunch. But on the way to the restaurant, there was an accident.”

My breathing stops.

“She loved art and music.” Giulia’s eyes glaze over. “When she died, Mr Costa’s happiness died, too. No more art. No more music.”

She meets my gaze. “He loved her.”

I’m frozen in place, struck by acute sense of grief for a girl I’ve never even met.

And I know.

I know, but I don’t want it to be true.

His revenge — it’s for her. For Sofia.

And if my suspicions are true, then it would mean that my father was somehow involved in the death of an innocent twelve-year-old girl. Torren’s baby sister. The sister he was close to. The sister he raised.

Hands shaking, I dial my father’s number. Once. Twice. Both times, it goes straight to voicemail.

“I need to go,” I tell Giulia breathlessly. “Thank you, thank you for telling me.”

Confusion marks her features as she nods briefly, not understanding the severity of the situation. I don’t have enough time to explain.

In a haze, I pull on jeans, a black tank and a pair of Docs, and I’m rushing down the stairs, to the elevator, to the garage.

I slip into the Mustang, into the driver’s seat this time. The engine roars to life as I turn the key in the ignition. The tires screech as I hit the accelerator, the car lurching forward.

The city streets blur into a sea of colors and shapes, but I don’t slow down. I need to reach the mansion before it’s too late. The wind whips through my hair, my heart racing in my chest.

The drive feels endless, but finally, I catch the towering gates of the mansion in the distance. I charge up the winding driveway, my heart pounding in my chest with each step. My father’s guards are hesitant, but they eventually open the gate and allow me entry.

The adrenaline coursing through my veins only intensifies as I pull up to the gate, slamming on the brakes and jumping out of the car. I rush to reach the grand entrance of the mansion, pushing open the oak doors to reveal my father in the atrium of the house, flanked by his men.

The men scatter when they notice me, making themselves sparse. They haven’t left yet, which means that I still have a chance to fix things. But they’re armed to the teeth.

Papa’s brows furrow, his face contorting into a deep frown. “Freya? What are you doing here, lisenok?”

I meet his gaze evenly. “Why are the men so heavily armed?”

My father’s expression is a sheet of neutrality.

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt anyone,” I say slowly, “You said you’d just use the information as blackmail. So why are the men so heavily armed?”

Papa sighs. “You know that it will never be enough, Freya. He tried to steal my daughter right under my nose. I won’t let it slide.”

I falter. “So you . . . you lied to me?”

“No, of course not,” he says, shaking his head. “I said I’m going to get you out of that hellhole, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

My brows meet. “And you’re not going to hurt him?”

He’s deliberately quiet.

I swallow. “What are you going to do to him?”

I’m acutely aware of the silence that surrounds us, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

“He’s not the way you think he is,” I say.

My father narrows his eyes. “And how is he?”

“Worse,” I murmur, steadying my voice. “But he’s mine.”

Papa’s eyes cloud with dark realization. “This is why he wanted to keep you with him,” he says, “So he could brainwash you. I’m disappointed in you, Freya. I thought you were stronger.”

His words strike me like a dagger, piercing my heart with a painful realization that I’ve let him down. I’ve always needed him to be proud of me. Even now, I crave his approval down to my bones.

“It won’t work,” I say, “Your men are outnumbered.”

Papa tilts his head. “Not if you count Mancini’s men, too.”

My eyes widen, my breath drawing to a harsh stop. “You’re working with Henry Mancini?”

“Yes,” Papa says calmly. “I am.”

“He’s Italian.”

“I know.”

My voice is cold. “His son assaulted me.”

Papa’s gaze clouds, and this time, it’s a while before he responds. But when he does, it only makes me want to yell out in frustration.

“You’ll be safer when you come back home,” he says. “Where I can protect you.”

The backs of my eyes burn.

“He protected me,” I say quietly, maybe more to myself than anything.

Papa’s brows furrow. “What?”

“He protected me,” I say, louder this time, as I lift my bleary eyes to my father. “Torren protected me.”

A deep frown mars my father’s face. “What will you do, Freya? What will you do? Be his wife? Bear his children?”

I blink back tears as he throws my insecurities into my face. “I don’t know. But I won’t let you hurt him. I can’t let you hurt him.”

“Oh, my little fox,” Papa tuts, taking a step closer to me before he pulls me into a tight embrace. My tears, like tiny rivulets of sorrow, dampen the fabric of his shirt. I want to fight him, but I find solace in the shelter of his arms.

As I inhale the familiar scent of his cologne, I’m transported back to a time when my father’s touch could mend any hurt, and his words could chase away my deepest fears.

But now, it only carries the weight of his disappointment, the unspoken judgment that hangs heavy in the air.

“If you choose this,” Papa says, still holding me close, “If you choose him, I will cut you off. You will no longer be my daughter.”

His words hang in the air. Each syllable strikes me like a blow.

“And if you are not my daughter, my sweet, sweet girl,” he continues, his voice laced with sorrow and anger. “You are nothing.”

I freeze. When the weight of his words sinks in, my body goes cold and rigid. It’s a cruel thing to say, when he knows that I would never be in this position if it weren’t for him. I would have never in a million years crossed paths with Torren Costa if I wasn’t Yuri Morozov’s daughter.

I pull out of his hold, tears falling down my cheeks. As I step away, I feel a profound sense of loss. It’s not only the loss of my Papa’s approval, but the loss of the security he once provided.

I just need to confirm one last thing.

I glance up at my father.

“Did you kill her?” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Did you kill Sofia?”

The room grows eerily silent, the air heavy with anticipation. My father’s features are empty. And his voice is devoid of remorse when he says, “I do what I have to do.”

The weight of his admission crashes over me like a tidal wave.

I knew he was capable of horrible things, but I always consoled myself with the thought that the men who saw my father’s wrath were deserving of it.

“Those bloodthirsty Costas,” Papa spits, his voice leaking with venom. “Always bleeding us dry. Always so high and mighty. Scum is scum. We are who we are. At the very least, Morozovs don’t pretend.”

“You killed an innocent little girl!” I scream, my voice raw. Some of the soldiers walk into the atrium, on high alert. “How could you? How could you?”

But my father’s features remain stern, unyielding. He motions to his guards, and they surround me, trapping me in the room. “Lock her up,” Papa mutters, “Make sure she doesn’t leave until I return.”

My mouth drops in disbelief.

One of the men tucks his hand into the front pocket of my jeans, snatching away my phone before he grabs me.

“No. NO!” I struggle against the men, but they’re too strong.

“PAPA!” I shriek. “PAPA, PLEASE.”

For a second, my father pauses. The straight line of his shoulders falters. In that moment, I can sense the conflict in his mind. He’s torn between me and the world he built.

For a second, I think he’ll turn. Turn, and tell his soldiers to take their hands off me. Turn, and say he’s sorry, that he didn’t know what he was thinking. Turn, and make things right.

But he just continues walking until he disappears out of sight.

My heart sinks.

The guards drag me down the hall. I don’t make it easy, protesting with every step.

“Let go of me!” I scream, lunging out with my nails, scratching the guard across his face, almost gouging out his eye.

“FUCK!” he yells. His cheek is ripped up and bloody. I land a kick on another one of the guard, the weight of my boot heavy enough to cause damage.

The man groans out in pain. Then, in a flash, he backhands me so hard I feel my head spin and tears rise to my eyes.

And no matter how much I fight and kick, I’m outnumbered. Finally, they push me into a room and lock the door.

“LET ME OUT!” I yell, pounding on the door. I keep yelling, keep shrieking at the top of my lungs, but my pleas fall on deaf ears.

It’s useless.

There’s the metallic taste of blood on my tongue, and the side of my face is raw and stinging.

I’m alone, trapped, and the only sound I can hear is the pounding of my heart.

How could my father do this? How could he be so blinded by revenge that he would sacrifice everything for it?

I know I have to do something. I can’t just sit here and let him go through with this.

I have to find another way out. I start searching the room, hoping to find some way to escape. But there’s nothing. Just four walls and a single window.

And sure enough, when I check, the window is locked. I have no chance of breaking it. The windows are made of fortified glass, bulletproof and unbreakable.

It’s no use.

I’m trapped.

The room feels like it’s closing in on me, the walls inching closer and closer until they threaten to crush me. My heartbeat is pounding in my ears, the sound deafening. I curl my fingers into fists as I try to steady myself.

Every fiber of my being is screaming for escape, but I’m trapped, locked in this room with no way out.

My knees give out and I crumple to the ground, gasping for air as tears stream down her face. My throat feels tight, constricted, as if a weight has been placed on my chest. I try to take deep breaths, but my body rebels, refusing to cooperate.

It’s a panic attack, and it’s suffocating me.

Minutes pass, maybe hours. I don’t know. Slowly, the panic attack begins to subside, the tightness in my chest loosening, the racing of my heart slowing. I’m left feeling drained, empty.

I’ve almost given up, almost about to curl up in a ball on the floor and cry until I can’t anymore.

Just then, there’s the sound of heels on the tiles outside the room. I’d know that sound anywhere. It was the sound I’d hear approach the room when I was a child, when I was awake reading under the blanket with a torch, while Ana was sleeping next to me.

I pull myself up, leaning against the door for support. My breathing is still ragged, but it’s no longer panicked. I wipe away the tears on my face. “Mama? Mama, please, let me out. Please.”

She’s quiet, but I know she’s on the other side of the door.

And then, finally, she speaks.

“Did you really think your father would give up everything he spent his life working for?” she says, “He takes out that boy, and the entire empire crumbles.”

I grow cold, focusing on my breathing. If I don’t, I might do something really stupid, like break my hand trying to punch through the door.

“I was a child, you know,” I murmur. “I did nothing wrong. I never deserved your cruelty. You never loved me. Torren was supposed to be my worst enemy, but he treated me better than you ever did. He . . . he cares about me.”

I clamp down on my jaw. “I won’t let him die.”

I hear her soft scoff. “Foolish little girl. You think you’re the thing your Papa loves most in the world. I did, once, too. But they will always, always choose power over you.”

And something inside me cracks.

“Fuck you!”

Her breathing stops.

“What?”

No doubt she’s surprised. I’ve never, not once, spoken to her this way. I’ve always taken her insults in good stride.

Not this time.

“Fuck you!” I yell. “I can’t believe I ever called you Mama. You’re no mother of mine. My real mother is dead. And that’s okay. I’ve made it this far without her.”

There’s silence that stretches on, and I begin to believe that she’s finally left, giving up on whatever game she was playing.

Frustration courses through my veins as I pace back and forth in the confines of the room.

And then I hear it.

The slightest click — so subtle that it could easily be mistaken for a figment of my imagination. My gaze rushes to the door.

My gaze snaps towards the door, fixating on its wooden surface. With a frown etched across my features, I take a tentative step forward, my hand reaching out towards the doorknob.

The door swings open.

Heart floating up to my throat, I step out the room cautiously. I’m half-expecting it to be a trick, and for someone to leap out and tackle me to the group.

The hallway is clear, and I take a deep breath, scanning the hallway for any sign of my stepmother. But she’s nowhere to be found.

There are no soldiers either.

Wasting no time, I run out the doors. The Mustang is where I left it, the keys still in the ignition. They really didn’t think I’d get out. They took my phone, but if I drive fast enough, I can reach there fast enough to warn Torren.

My hands grip the steering wheel of the Mustang. I turn the keys and the engine roars to life as I shift into gear, feeling the raw power of the vehicle pulsating beneath me.

There’s a lone guard at the gate, and as I inch closer to the gate, his figure looms larger in my field of vision, his frantic gestures urging me to halt. But my foot remains firmly planted on the accelerator,

“Hey!” he yells. “Stop!”

I don’t slow down. Adrenaline surges through me as I barrel toward him.

The guard’s eyes widen, his mouth agape.

Cursing, the guard lunges forward and pushes the gate open and jumps out of the way, his body a mere blur in my peripheral vision as I speed past him.

“Crazy fuckin’ bitch!” he yells, spitting in the ground. “Suka!”

Yes, I’m fucking crazy. I’m insane.

Because if Torren is dead, I’m going to kill every single one of my father’s men myself. I don’t know how, but I’m going to do it.

The roar of the Mustang’s engine echoes through the streets as I push the accelerator to its limit, the asphalt blurring beneath my tires.

My grip tightens on the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. I overtake a car, and the driver blare on their horn as I pass him.

My gaze darts between the road and the rear-view mirror, searching for any sign of pursuit. But the coast seems clear, and I push the Mustang to its limits, the engine’s powerful roar harmonizing with the thundering beat of my racing heart.

I catch a glimpse of the meeting location on the horizon, the building standing tall and foreboding. The knot in my stomach tightens.

I screech to a halt in front of the building and jump out the car. I sprint towards the entrance, my heart pounding in my ears.

And then I draw to a stop.

I’m too late.

Way too late.

The scene before me is a nightmare come to life.

My breath catches in my throat, and my heart pounds against my ribcage as I take in the carnage.

The air hangs heavy with the metallic scent of blood, mingling with the acrid stench of gunpowder. It’s a massacre.

And in the center of it all, it’s him.

Torren.

He’s kneeling on the ground, behind the open door of his car, bullets littering the metal.

Blood is seeping through the white of his shirt.

The front door of the car is open, and the driver of his car is hanging out the seat.

It’s Angelo.

Ice runs through my veins.

No.

No no no no.

Torren rises to his feet amidst the wreckage, his breaths staggered.

I approach him cautiously, my steps faltering as I witness the bodies scattered around him. The lifeless eyes of Russian soldiers, once filled with the fire of aggression, now stare blankly into the void. The sand beneath my boots is wet with blood.

I lift my gaze and take a step forward. And then another.

Torren’s gaze is lit with fire as it lands on me, as it washes over my face. I’m in front of him, my body trembling.

He reaches out to touch my face, to run his thumb over my bottom lip, which stings at his touch. “They hurt you.”

I shake my head. “You’re bleeding.”

He ignores me, his eyes dark, as his hand skims over my bruised cheek.

“The location of the meetings, the security, the routes. . .” he murmurs, threading his fingers through my hair, tugging me closer to him. “They’re only in one place.”

He places his lips to my forehead, his breathing staggered. “Accessible by only a few people.”

And then his hands close around my throat. “I know what you did, Freya.”

My mouth is dry, and tears rise to my eyes. I open my mouth to say something, anything, when a sudden movement catches my eye.

My heart skips a beat as a Russian soldier rises shakily to his feet behind Torren, a gun clutched tightly in his hand.

Panic surges through me.

In that split second, time seems to slow.

The deafening sound of the gunshot fills the air, reverberating through the desert landscape. I’m about to push Torren out of the way, but before I can react, Torren’s body shifts, shoving me aside with an urgency that startles me.

The world around me blurs as if caught in a vortex, and then everything comes into sharp focus.

Torren’s body jerks with the impact as the bullet buries into his side. He staggers, but stays standing.

I cry out, my hands trembling as I reach out to touch him.

But he pulls out of my reach, firing at the Russian. The bullet lodges in the soldier’s skull before he slumps to the ground.

Torren’s turns to me, blood blooming through the side of his shirt. My vision blurs with tears, but his lips just curl into a cruel smile. He lifts the gun to my head, pressing the barrel into my temple.

“Is this how it works?” he says, “You betray me, and instead, I take a bullet for you.”

“It’s your fault,” I say, tears falling down my cheeks, “You got your revenge. Why would you think I’d never want my own?”

“I should kill you.” He cocks the gun. “I should kill you right now—”

“I love you.” I meet his gaze as I say it. I say it like it’s enough to save me. To save us. “I love you.”

As soon as the words leave my lips, Torren’s expression changes. His eyes widen in shock, and the gun slips an inch away from my temple.

I can see the conflict in his eyes as he stares at me, trying to make sense of what I just said.

Keep me, I want to say. Cage me. Hurt me for the rest of my life, just don’t let me go.

A car pulls in front he distance, dust rising in the air. As the car skids to a halt, the front door swings open, revealing the imposing figure of my father.

I frown. He never shows up at jobs. He just relegates it to his soldiers.

The cold steel of a gun glints ominously in his hand, its purpose clear. My heart races as I instinctively position myself in front of Torren, shielding him from my father’s line of fire.

“Papa, please, stop.” My voice is laced with desperation. “Enough.”

Papa’s expression is twisted with fury and disappointment, a storm brewing behind his icy gaze. His grip on the gun tightens, his finger twitching against the trigger.

“Move aside, Freya,” he growls, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

“Listen to your Papa, little Morozov,” Torren murmurs at my back.

I don’t move.

My father grits his teeth. “He had his gun to your head seconds ago, and you choose to risk your life for him?”

I stand my ground, my body trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance. I’m not stepping away. If he wants to kill Torren, he’ll have to kill me, too.

My father’s eyes widen as he realizes that I won’t move. He bares his teeth as he fixes Torren with a venomous glare. “What did you do to her?! What did you do to my daughter?!”

Torren is quiet.

Then he says, “She doesn’t know what you did to her mother, does she?”

Papa freezes, his grip on his gun faltering for a second.

“Tell her,” Torren says.

I frown. “Tell me what?”

Neither of them speak.

Impatience eats at me. “Tell me what?”

And when Torren speaks, he doesn’t speak to me.

“You declared her mother off limits,” he says.

“If you couldn’t have her, no one else could.

It got so bad that she was starving. You knew this.

What you didn’t know was that there was a three-year-old daughter.

Your daughter. You were starving her, too.

You messed with a woman’s fucking livelihood. You killed her.”

The words hurt. And Torren, he’s saying them to hurt me.

My father snarls. “You’ll never care about my daughter as much as I do.”

Torren lets out a cruel laugh. “It’s over, Yuri. You’re done.”

“Five years,” Papa says, gritting his teeth, “You waited five years.”

I furrow my brows. “What do you mean?”

My father gives me a deflated look. “He’s bought out all our shares.”

I blink. Torren took over my father’s company. I have no idea how he did it, but . . . to Papa, business is everything to him.

Taking it from him is the equivalent of cutting off his legs.

I suddenly understand why he risked it all to come here.

He doesn’t care for his life anymore.

His business was his life.

And Torren just stole it away.

I realize that I haven’t seen any of Mancini’s soldiers. The snake must’ve heard about the takeover and double-crossed my father.

Behind me there’s a clink of metal as Torren loads his gun.

I whip around, my eyes wide. “Don’t.”

“After knowing what he did to your mother,” he says lowly, “You still choose him?”

Maybe it’s my fate. Maybe I’m doomed to care about men who’ll do nothing but hurt me.

“It’s not a switch,” I murmur, softly, “I can’t turn it off.”

His gaze drips with condescension. “Oh?”

My eyes widen as I realize what he’s implying.

“Don’t,” I say. “Torren, don’t.”

He glances down at me, and in that moment, I think he truly isn’t human. I think he feels nothing.

The sound of the bullet rings out, and when I turn, there’s a gaping hole in my father’s throat.

“NO,” I scream.

I rush forward, my legs moving on instinct, propelling me toward the fallen figure of my father. My voice reverberates through the air, a desperate plea to undo the irreversible.

I reach my father’s lifeless body, dropping to my knees beside him. “Papa.”

Blood gushes from his throat, and he chokes, gurgling.

“No no no,” I cry, “Don’t go, please, don’t go.”

My trembling hands reach out, desperately searching for any sign of life, but all I find is cold stillness. “I’m sorry, Papa. Please don’t go.”

Sobs wrack my body and tears stream down my face. I bury my face in my father’s chest, clutching his lifeless form to my trembling frame.

Suddenly, there’s a harsh grip on my hair, as Torren tugs me up, forcing me to my feet. He glances at me like he wants to do the very same thing to me.

“I don’t let traitors live,” he says, his gaze rushing to my mouth. “So what am I supposed to do with you? I can’t keep you, I can’t kill you.”

A slew of Italian cars start driving into the area, dust rising around the tyres.

Luca steps out of one of the cars, slamming the door shut.

“I’ll free you of the contract,” Torren says. “Run. Because I swear to fucking God, if I see you again, I’ll put a bullet straight through your fucking head.”

“Torren,” Luca murmurs, taking a step closer.

Torren ignores him, his gaze murderous as he lets go of me harshly. “Get out of my fucking sight.”

But it’s his next words that are a knife slicing into my chest.

“I regret the day I met you,” he says.

I’m dying. I’m sure this is what dying feels like.

This is what you wanted, I tell myself. You wanted him to regret the day he met you.

And as if the knife hasn’t cut deep enough already, he says, “I should have stuck with your sister.”

He gives me a hard look, like he’s daring me to fight him.

I don’t.

Tears rush down my cheeks, the salt stinging my split lip. I take the ring off, feeling the weight of it in my palm. I leave it on the ground, inches away from his polished shoes.

Then I step backwards, backwards, backwards.

And then I turn and run.