Chapter 9
Cristiano
The gun feels light in my hand. Or maybe I’m just ready. I’ve been preparing for this moment my whole life, and now that it’s here, everything feels weightless.
Easy.
Right.
I stand in the doorway of my father’s study, shirtless, the scratches Mina left on my chest and back still stinging. Good pain. Perfect pain. Proof that she wants me, that she loves me, and that everything I’m about to do is necessary.
My father stands at his desk with his back to me, sorting through papers.
Agnello Montoni. Tall and broad, even in his fifties, with silver threading through his gold hair, and the rigid posture of a man who’s never bent for anyone.
His shoulders are still powerful beneath his tailored shirt.
All my memories of my father are of being thrown against walls, shoved to the ground, and beaten until I learned not to cry out. Not one happy memory.
I know I wasn’t the only one who’s suffered.
Mom endured his cruelty as well. I heard her cries and saw the bruises.
But it ached—it fucking ached—to run to her for comfort or out of concern only for her to shrink from me.
She ignored my pain, the woman who was supposed to protect me, shunning me because I look like the man who fathered me.
I didn’t cry for my mother after she died, nor will I shed tears at my father’s graveside in a few days as I hold tight to Mina’s hand.
Dad will never accept her as a wife for his only son.
I know that with bone-deep certainty. He wants me to take a bride from one of the other prominent Malus families who will cement the Montoni empire for another generation.
The housekeeper’s daughter is invisible to him.
But not to me.
Never to me.
I raise the gun, feeling nothing but calm certainty and the warm glow of Mina’s touch still lingering on my skin.
Mina.
I’m sorry I had to tie her up, and I’m sorry I had to scare her. But she’ll understand once my father is dead and nothing stands between us anymore. She’ll see that this was the only way. She’ll forgive me.
My father is still bent over his papers, oblivious. The back of his head is right there, the thinning hair like a target, the vulnerable curve of his skull. One bullet and Mina is mine forever.
I step into the office.
My finger tightens on the trigger.
A cry of horror splits the air behind me.
“Cristiano!”
I spin around, my heart lurching into my throat.
Mina is in the doorway, clutching the frame for balance, her bad ankle puffy and red and hovering above the floor.
Her hair is wild and tangled, her face streaked with tears.
She’s wearing only my T-shirt, the one I used to gag her, and there are red marks on her arms where she worked herself free of my belt.
Dad turns around as well.
I look back and forth between the two of them, gripping the gun and keeping it aimed at Dad. His eyes narrow at the weapon and the scratches marking my flesh. His gaze flicks past me to Mina. My T-shirt falls mid-thigh, and her legs are bare.
Dad’s lip curls.
“So,” he says, his voice dripping with disgust. “This is what my son has become, a boy who rolls in the sheets with any slut who opens her legs.”
“Don’t talk about Mina that way,” I say through clenched teeth.
Dad walks toward me, slow and deliberate, like I’m not holding a weapon capable of ending his life.
“I’ve given you everything. I’ve raised you to be my heir and turned you into a man. And this is how you repay me?” He’s close now. Too close. “Are you going to shoot me? Go ahead. Pull the trigger.”
“Cristiano, please.” Mina sobs. “Don’t do this.”
My hand is steady. My aim is true. All I have to do is squeeze.
“Mina, go upstairs.” My voice comes out strained. “I don’t want you to see this.”
“Cristiano—”
This moment of distraction is all my father needs.
He moves faster than I’ve ever seen him move before. Decades of violence compressed into one explosive instant. His hand clamps around my wrist, twisting viciously, and the gun goes off with a deafening CRACK.
The bullet buries itself in the ceiling.
I don’t even have time to react before he rips the weapon from my grip and shoves me away. I stumble, off-balance, and then I hear the door slam shut. Dad locks me in the study with him, with Mina on the other side. Her scream is muffled by the heavy wood.
I scramble to my feet, ready to fight, but Dad is already on me. The butt of the gun hits me across the temple with brutal precision. The world explodes into white.
I stagger, my vision swimming, and then I’m on my knees. Blood trickles down my face, warm and wet.
“Pathetic.” My father’s voice seems to come from very far away. “Absolutely pathetic.”
I try to stand. His leather-shod foot catches me in the ribs, driving the air from my lungs. I collapse onto my side, gasping.
“Did you really think you could get the better of me?” Dad seethes. “I’ve known you were weak since you were a child, Cristiano. You’re soft and sentimental. There’s too much of your mother in you.”
Another kick. This one catches my stomach, and I retch, bile burning my throat.
“I tried to train it out of you. I tried to make you into something worthy of the Montoni name.” He crouches down, grabbing a fistful of my hair, forcing me to look at him. “And instead you point a gun at me. Your father. For what? A piece of ass?”
“She’s not—”
He slams my head into the floor.
Stars burst across my vision. The taste of blood fills my mouth.
He releases my hair and stands, straightening his cuffs like he’s annoyed I’ve discomposed him.
“I built this empire. I’ve killed men twice your size, men five times as cunning, men who actually knew how to hold a gun. You thought you could walk in here and take it away from me?”
Through the ringing in my ears, I hear Mina pounding on the door, wailing my name. “Cristiano. Cristiano.”
“Don’t hurt her,” I croak. “She didn’t do anything. This was all me.”
“Hurt her?” My father snorts. “She’s not worth the effort. She’s nothing.” He looks down at me with pure disgust. “The girl isn’t the problem. You’re the problem. You and your pathetic inability to think with anything but your cock.”
The pounding on the door continues. “Cristiano! Please, someone help him.”
And then another voice, soft but urgent. I can’t make out the words, but I think it’s Mrs. Santoro. Mina’s mother.
“No.” Mina’s cry is ragged, desperate. “I won’t leave him. Cristiano!”
The sobs change. Become muffled. I hear scuffling, like she’s being pulled away from the door. Her voice is fading. Getting farther away.
Mina’s mother is taking her away from me. She’s leaving me here on the floor, bleeding and broken and alone.
The thought is worse than any blow my father has landed. Worse than the kicks to my ribs, the blood dripping into my eyes. I can survive pain. I can’t survive losing her.
“Mina.” Her name comes out as a broken whisper. “Mina.”
But the hallway is silent. There’s nothing but me and my father and the wreckage of my plans.
My father looks toward the door, then back at me. His expression is thoughtful now. Calculating.
“You know,” he says, almost conversationally, “I’ve tolerated a great deal from you over the years. The sulking. The disobedience.” He nudges me with his foot, rolling me onto my back. “But this is unforgivable.”
I stare up at him through blood-blurred eyes.
“You tried to kill me, Cristiano. That’s not something I can forgive.”
“Then kill me.” The words rasp out of my hoarse throat. “Get it over with.”
“Kill you?” He laughs, and crouches down again, his face filling my vision. “You’re my only son, Cristiano. I’ve invested too much in you to simply throw you away, but something is going to be done. You’ve lost the privilege of living in this house.”
He straightens up and walks toward the door.
I try to move. Try to speak. But my body won’t cooperate. All I can do is lie there, bleeding on the carpet, as my father unlocks the door and steps out into the hallway.
The door closes behind him.
And I’m alone.
I stare at the ceiling, my chest heaving, my mind spinning with pain and loss and the echo of Mina’s fading sobs. I failed her, and whatever my father has planned, I know with sickening certainty that it’s going to tear us apart forever.
I don’t know how long I lie on the floor, my ears ringing and my body aching. Nothing matters except the silence where Mina’s voice used to be.
Eventually, I drag myself upright. My ribs scream in protest, and my head throbs where the gun connected with my temple. Blood is still dripping into my left eye, blurring my vision. Every breath is a knife between my ribs.
I have to find her.
I stumble out of the study, one hand braced against the wall, leaving smears of blood on the wallpaper. The hallway stretches before me, endless and swimming. I make it to the stairs by half walking, half falling down the corridor.
But then I hear a sound from the kitchen. An urgent voice, and someone’s soft sobs.
Mina.
I stumble into the kitchen and see them through the window.
Mrs. Santoro is helping Mina into an old sedan parked outside the open kitchen door. Mina is still wearing my T-shirt, the white fabric stark against her dark hair, hanging loose on her hunched, fragile body.
I lurch toward the back door, but before I can reach it, Mrs. Santoro sees me and hurries to block my way. Her eyes going wide, taking me in. For a moment, something like pity flickers across her face.
Then her gaze hardens, and she takes a deep breath. “Cristiano.” Her voice is quiet, but there’s steel underneath. “Go upstairs.”
“I need to see Mina.” Blood drips onto the kitchen tiles. I must look like a monster, bloody, half naked, and wild-eyed with desperation.
“Mina doesn’t want to see you.”
Through the window, I can see Mina in the passenger seat. She’s staring at me, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying, looking very small and frightened.
“Please, Mrs. Santoro. I just need to talk to her for a minute.” The words come out ragged. I’m shaking with need to get to Mina.
“No. I’m sorry, Cristiano.” She doesn’t raise her voice, but her gaze is unwavering.
“I would never hurt her,” I plead. “I love her.”
“I know you believe that.” Mrs. Santoro’s eyes flick to the knife block on the counter, within arm’s reach.
She’s an employee and has spent years deferring to the Montonis, keeping her head down and her opinions to herself.
But right now, she’s a mother. And she’ll pull a knife from that block and threaten me with it before she lets me near her daughter.
“I’m taking Mina away from this house,” she says. “You’re not going to follow her. You’re not going to call. You’re going to leave her alone.”
“Please. You can’t. I’m begging you. I’ll get on my knees right here on this kitchen floor if that’s what it takes.”
“It’s best for both of you. Don’t make your father angrier than he already is, for your own sake, Cristiano. Mina doesn’t understand what happened today, and frankly, neither do I. But my daughter needs to get away from this house, and from you.”
She moves back toward the car, keeping her body between me and Mina.
“Stay here, Cristiano. Do not come outside.”
She slips outside before I can stop her, closing the door firmly behind her, and by the time I fumble it open, she’s already in the driver’s seat. The engine turns over.
I stumble outside, my ribs screaming, my vision blurring. The gravel of the drive bites into my bare feet, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except getting to that car before it drives away.
“Mina!”
Our eyes meet through the passenger window. Mina’s face is a wreck of tears, confusion, and pain, all tangled together. I reach the passenger door and try the handle, but it’s locked. I press my palms against the glass, leaving smears of blood. “Mina, open this door. Mina, please.”
My voice comes out broken and desperate as I beg the girl I love not to leave me.
“Please, don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just give me a chance to make this right.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t roll down the window. Doesn’t do anything except stare at me with those dark eyes full of tears.
The car starts to move.
“No. No, no, no—” I try to keep up, stumbling alongside the passenger door, but the pain in my ribs won’t let me run, and the car is pulling away. Mina is still staring at me, her face crumpling as the distance between us grows.
“Mina.”
The car reaches the end of the drive and turns onto the street.
I make it three more steps before my legs give out, and I collapse onto the gravel, the world spinning around me.
By the time I lift my head, the taillights have disappeared.
She’s gone.
I kneel there in the driveway, blood dripping onto the stones, and there’s only black emptiness inside me.
I was going to kill my father, marry Mina, and build a life with her. A real life, full of love and hope, and nothing of the violence and cruelty that’s defined my existence. Instead, I’m bleeding in a driveway while the only person I love disappears.
I don’t care what my father does to me now. He can kill me if he wants. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.
I’ve lost Mina, so I’ve lost everything.