Chapter 16 #3
The words landed hard. Like a blow to the chest.
My breath caught slightly.
My hands stilled in my lap.
For a moment—everything inside me went quiet.
I swallowed against the sudden thickness in my throat, forcing the words past it.
“And how does her dying concern me?” I asked, my voice trembling.
A beat. Then his answer came—low, controlled, like a predator’s whisper.
“Because I need you to make a sacrifice, Elena.”
He paused, his eyes cold. “I need you to give your heart to Violet... so she may live.”
My chest dropped.
“Surely, this is some sort of prank!”
“I do not look like someone who pranks, do I?” he said, voice clipped. “You’ve already taken everything from her—and indirectly from me. Why not atone for your father’s sins by sacrificing your heart for an innocent life?”
I let out a sharp, humorless breath. “You’ve gone fully insane. Maybe check with the doctor—no one with a heart or a functioning brain talks like this.”
“I apologize if it sounded like a request,” he said, voice like steel.
“It’s not. It’s a command. Your heart, given in atonement to Violet... would finally earn my forgiveness.”
“You would kill me so your mistress can live?”
“You are already bound to die in my hands. It’s only a matter of time.”
“But at least your death would come with my forgiveness. You’ll get a proper burial—not left for the eagles and wolves to feed on, like I did with my father.”
My fear spiked.
Then he pressed the accelerator, nudging the idle car forward.
The Hilux rolled smoothly onto the road, the engine purring beneath us, alive and restrained.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Did he really mean it?
No... no, it couldn’t be—but he sounded serious, didn’t he?
My world collapsed inward.
My chest seized so sharply it felt like something inside me had caved.
Air refused to come.
My lungs stalled.
Thoughts fractured, raw and panicked, until all I could hear was the violent rush of blood in my ears.
No—
That couldn’t be right.
It couldn’t—
He kept talking.
Unbothered.
As though he were reading from a report instead of handing me a death sentence.
“From the moment I saw you in that dressing room on my wedding day,” he said, voice flat, dangerous, “I wanted to end your life. I chose against it. Instead... I wanted you to suffer first, slowly, before the final act.”
“Be grateful. Your death will have meaning. Few are given such a chance.”
My chest tightened so sharply it felt like it might split.
The academy gates came into view ahead.
Tall. Iron.
Imposing.
Wrapped in ivy that made them look deceptively beautiful—like something sacred instead of something that held secrets.
Like something that would swallow me whole.
“I would give you a grand burial, Elena.”
The way he said it—almost... gentle.
It twisted something inside me.
“Kings. Queens. Dignitaries from every corner of the world.” His voice remained detached. “You would die as Vincenzo Orsini’s wife.”
He glanced at me briefly—just once—before returning his attention to the road.
“That is honor enough.”
The words hit me like a fist.
“You would have died cheaply anyway.”
He continued, as though weighing outcomes. “At Ruslan Baranov’s hands, or some other enemy’s.”
The name hit harder than expected.
“Instead...” His tone lowered slightly, “your death will have meaning.”
My throat burned.
“History will remember you as the woman who sacrificed her heart to save another.”
A sound tore from my chest before I could stop it.
Half sob.
Half broken, incredulous laugh.
My voice shook now, no longer controlled. “You think promising me a pretty tombstone is going to make me lie down quietly while you cut my heart out for your mistress?”
“She is not my mistress.”
“She is.” The words came out sharper this time, laced with something raw and unfiltered. “Whether you sleep with her or not, that’s exactly what she is to you.”
I turned fully toward him now, unable to hold it in any longer.
“The woman you’d kill for,” I said, voice trembling. “The woman you’d kill me for.”
The truck passed beneath the academy’s stone archway.
He didn’t slow.
Didn’t acknowledge the weight of what I’d just said.
“Elena, it’s time to accept your fate,” he said, quiet but piercing.
“In a few minutes, you’ll be on the table in the third-floor lab, offered for Violet. I’ll tell everyone you did it willingly—so your name is remembered forever.”
Panic clawed through me.
My pulse surged.
Every fiber of my body screamed.
“Like I said,” he added, voice cold as steel, “I’m giving you a choice. Don’t make it difficult. We can do this the easy way—or the hard, painful way.”
He turned the wheel sharply.
The truck veered off the main path, bypassing the grand academic buildings entirely.
Instead, he guided us toward a separate structure at the back of the campus—a sleek, windowless white building that stood apart from everything else.
Cold. Clinical.
Wrong.
It rose four stories into the sky, its surface reflecting the pale morning light like a blade.
Like something built for one purpose only.
I stared at it.
Then slowly—almost unconsciously—my fingers curled into my palm.
No.
Not like this.
Not here.
Not now.
My pulse hammered so violently I could feel it rattling in my teeth, a frantic, trapped rhythm that refused to slow.
The Hilux rolled into the shadowed loading bay beneath the building and came to a stop with a final, decisive thud.
Vincenzo cut the engine.
The silence that followed was absolute.
It pressed against my ears, against my chest, as if the world itself had paused to witness what was about to happen.
He opened his door and stepped out without a word.
The sound of his boots hitting concrete echoed once, then faded into the hollow stillness.
I didn’t move.
My hands were clenched in my lap so tightly my nails dug crescents into my palms, the pain grounding me just enough to keep me from spiraling completely.
Through the rearview mirror, my eyes drifted—almost against my will—to the perimeter beyond.
The gates.
Closed. Immovable.
Beyond them, guards stood at intervals along the high stone walls, their postures rigid, their presence constant.
The walls themselves rose like something ancient and unyielding, topped with razor wire that caught the morning light and glinted faintly.
Even if I ran—
Even if I somehow got past him—
There was nowhere to go.
Italy wasn’t just a country.
It was his territory.
His control.
Every road. Every exit.
Every shadow. Every safe house.
I had known that.
The passenger door opened.
I flinched.
Then forced myself to look up.
Vincenzo stood there, framed by the open door and the dim light of the bay, one hand resting lightly on the frame.
The other extended.
Not gentle.
Commanding.
“Come down, Elena.”
My breath hitched.
My legs—
I wasn’t sure they would work.
They felt disconnected from the rest of me, like they belonged to someone else entirely.
“I know you’re calculating escape routes,” he added, his voice quieter now. Almost... controlled. “But even if these gates were wide open, even if this building didn’t exist—”
His gaze didn’t waver.
“—you still couldn’t run from me.”
A pause.
Not threatening.
Just certain.
“Not in Italy,” he finished. “Not anywhere.”
My throat tightened.
I swallowed.
Forced air into my lungs that didn’t feel like it was staying there.
Then, slowly—
I moved.
One foot found the running board.
The other followed.
The moment I shifted my weight, my knees gave a slight, unsteady protest, buckling just enough to make my breath catch.
I caught myself on the edge of the doorframe, fingers curling around the cold metal to steady myself.
For a second, everything tilted.
But I didn’t fall.
Vincenzo stepped back.
Two paces.
Not far.
Just enough to give me space.
Or maybe—just enough to ensure I couldn’t use the open door as leverage against him.
“Move.”
The word was simple.
I looked at him.
Really looked.
At the man everyone calls my husband.
At the man I had once foolishly let take my virginity, be my first.
At the man who had kissed me as if I were the only thing that mattered in his world—
It was hard to reconcile that memory with the man standing in front of me now.
The man who stood in front of me now.
Calm.
Unmoving.
The same man who had just told me, with that same quiet certainty—that he intended to end my life.
To give my heart away.
To save someone else.
And still—
God help me—some stubborn, broken part of me searched his face.
For hesitation. For doubt.
For anything.
Anything at all that might prove this wasn’t real.
That this was just another one of his punishments.
Another test.
Another cruelty designed to break me—
but not this.
There was nothing.
Only cold resolve.
Steady. Final.
My chest tightened painfully.
I stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
Each movement felt heavier than the last, like I was walking deeper into something I couldn’t climb out of.
Like I was crossing a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.
Each step echoed in my ears louder than the last.
My breath came shallow.
I took another deliberate step forward.
Forcing my legs to obey even as they trembled beneath me.
The concrete seemed to rise toward me with every step, like it was waiting—like it knew exactly what I was about to do.
Then—something inside me snapped.
Pure, survival instinct.