Chapter 20
ELENA
Vasquez stood a few feet away, chest heaving, a trembling finger pointed straight at me.
Rage twisted his features into something unrecognizable—something feral.
The man in front of me wore my father’s face, but whatever had once lived behind it was long gone.
“You will undress,” he snarled, voice low, guttural, thick with something that made my stomach turn. “Lie the fuck down. And let me have my way.”
For a split second, the room tilted.
From the sheer, suffocating weight of what he’d just said.
Then something inside me snapped back into place.
Cold. Sharp.
“Dad...” My voice came out rough, edged with disbelief and something darker. “This is not you.”
The word hit him like a trigger.
His expression twisted further—something ugly and violent flashing across his eyes.
He bent abruptly, grabbed the small metal stool beside the bed, and hurled it straight at my head.
Instinct took over.
I ducked and twisted at the same time, my body moving before my mind could even process the danger.
The stool whistled past my shoulder, missing me by inches before slamming into the wall behind me with a deafening clang.
The impact dented the plaster, metal legs bending on contact before it dropped to the floor in a rattling heap.
“I’ve warned you,” he panted, chest rising and falling heavily, “quit calling me ‘dad,’ goddammit.”
His voice flattened.
“You, your younger sister, your brother — you were never mine. The DNA test confirmed every last one of you is a bastard.”
For a moment—everything stopped.
Sound. Breath.
Thought.
My lungs seized hard, like they’d forgotten how to pull in air, like my whole body had just been kicked in the chest.
“That’s not true.”
The words barely made it out.
“I found out you weren’t mine when you were sixteen,” he went on, voice flat and casual.
“Your whore of a mother thought she was smart. Figured I’d never catch on.”
A short, humorless chuckle escaped him.
“That plane crash that took out your mother and your brother?” He tilted his head, studying me like a bug.
“Yeah. I planned that shit. Made sure they didn’t walk away.”
The room dropped out from under me.
My fingers curled against the wall behind me.
No.
No—
“That’s not—”
“Your slut mother was heading off on her fake ‘vacation’ to spread her legs for her boyfriend,” he went on, ignoring me completely. “
“I’d known she was cheating for months, the stupid cunt.”
His lips twisted.
“I made damn sure that the plane crashed and burned.”
The words echoed.
Over and over.
I made sure that the plane crashed.
I tasted something metallic.
Blood.
I’d bitten my lip without realizing it.
He kept talking.
Calm. Detached.
Like this was all perfectly reasonable.
“After I set up their plane crash, I faked my own death so nobody would point the finger at me, then vanished. Ended up here in Italy.”
He gave a lazy one-shoulder shrug.
His eyes raked over me, cold and full of disgust.
“Best part? It let my lawyer boot you and your sister out of my house onto the fucking streets. Made sure you two lived like worthless orphans — broke, starving, scraping by in poverty. I wanted you both to suffer every single day.”
My chest tightened so violently it hurt to breathe.
I took another step back instinctively, even though there was nowhere left to go.
The wall pressed harder into my spine.
The room felt smaller.
The air thicker.
Harder to pull into my lungs
“It’s hard to believe what you’re saying when I see what a monster you’ve turned into,” I pushed the words out, voice trembling hard at first, then forcing it steady.
“But fine — let’s pretend Mom cheated. Was blowing her and her son out of the sky really the answer? Did it fucking satisfy you?”
My hands balled into fists.
“We were just kids. Innocent. We did nothing wrong. So why take it all out on us?”
For a fraction of a second—something flickered in his eyes.
Then it hardened.
“No,” he said, voice completely flat.
“You’re not innocent. You’re nothing but bastards.”
The word landed like a punch to the gut.
“You and your sister should count yourselves lucky you didn’t burn with your mother and that other little shit. And yeah... your suffering, your pain, your death — it would satisfy me a whole fucking lot.”
My stomach twisted violently.
His gaze dropped.
Dragged slowly over my body.
Revulsion crawled up my spine.
“Undress,” he repeated, voice low and lethal.
“Lie down on that fucking bed.”
He jerked his chin at the thin, stained mattress shoved in the corner.
“And let me have my way with you.”
The words dropped like stones.
“You’d do well to spread your legs and let me fuck you like the cheap slut you are — every time I walk through that door.”
Something inside me went completely still.
“Never.”
The word came out calm.
“That’s never going to happen.”
For a second, he just stared at me.
Then he barked a sharp and ugly laugh.
“Elena, I’m not repeating myself,” he growled. “My patience is wearing real fucking thin. Lie the fuck down — now!”
His finger jabbed toward the bed again.
Harder this time.
More aggressive.
“No,” I said again, shaking my head slightly. “If you’ve got blue balls, go fuck a whore.”
Silence dropped.
Heavy. Dangerous.
His eyes narrowed to slits.
“I see you want it the hard way,” he snarled. “Fine. For being a defiant little bitch, trust me — when I’m finished fucking you raw, I’ll let the guards line up and take turns on you.”
“Guards!” he bellowed, voice booming against the concrete walls.
The sound snapped something into motion.
I moved.
Fast.
Three strides.
That was all it took.
I reached the door just as boots started pounding from the other side.
My hand shot out, grabbing the internal latch.
I slammed it down.
Hard.
The mechanism clicked into place with a solid, final sound.
The door shuddered as something heavy hit it from the outside.
Voices. Shouting.
But the door held.
It was built like a vault—thick steel, internal deadbolt only operable from inside.
No one was getting in.
Not unless I let them.
I turned slowly.
Breathing hard.
My back pressed briefly against the door before I pushed away from it.
“It’s just you and me now, Vasquez.”
My voice had hardened.
No more shaking. No more cracking.
Only cold, flat steel remained.
“I’m not sure you can beat me one-on-one,” I said, staring him down. “But feel free to try. I won’t stop you.”
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then, deliberately—slowly—
I crossed the room.
Every step hurt.
My knees screamed. My ribs protested.
But I didn’t show it.
Didn’t let it slow me down.
I reached the couch and lowered myself onto the edge of it, controlled, steady, my eyes never leaving his.
Watching. Waiting.
Ready.
He didn’t come for me immediately.
Instead, he spun back toward the door, reaching for the handle.
I moved before he could take another step.
Pain screamed through my knees the second I pushed off the couch—but I ignored it.
I Ignored everything.
There was no room for hesitation. No space for fear.
Just instinct.
If he gets that door open... I’m done for. The soldiers will pin me down, and victory will be his.
I surged forward, closing the distance between us in two quick steps, my body moving on pure muscle memory.
Before he could react—before he could even register what I was doing—I drove my knee up hard.
Straight into his groin.
Every ounce of strength I had left went into that single strike.
The impact was brutal.
I felt it.
Felt the give.
Felt the sickening compression as bone met soft tissue.
A strangled sound tore from his throat—half grunt, half choked wheeze—as his entire body folded in on itself.
His eyes rolled back, face draining of color instantly as the pain hit.
For a second, he just stood there—frozen in shock.
Then he collapsed.
Completely.
Like a puppet with its strings cut.
He hit the concrete hard, limbs slack, breath coming in shallow, broken gasps.
I didn’t wait. Didn’t think.
I grabbed him.
My hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt as I dragged him—grunting with effort—across the floor.
His body was heavy, dead weight scraping against the concrete with a rough, grating sound that echoed in the empty room.
Every pull sent fresh agony through my arms, my ribs, my knees.
But I didn’t stop.
I hauled him as far from the door as I could manage—into the far corner, where the shadows pooled thickest.
My breath came in ragged bursts by the time I finally let him drop.
He slumped against the wall, head lolling to one side.
I crouched—wincing—and pressed two fingers to his neck.
Pulse.
There.
Weak. But steady.
I pushed myself back up slowly, swaying slightly as dizziness threatened to take me down with him.
“I’ll hold him hostage,” I whispered into the silence, my voice rough, barely audible. “Use him as leverage until Vincenzo finds me.”
My gaze lingered on his unconscious form.
“Over my dead body will I become anyone’s sex slave.”
The words tasted like ash.
I sank back against the edge of the bed, my body finally giving in as the adrenaline drained out of me all at once.
Pain rushed in to take its place.
Every injury. Every bruise. Every open wound.
But I stayed upright.
Stayed awake.
I had to.
I couldn’t afford to black out again.
Not here.
Not now.