Chapter 40
Forty
When the door swings open, the buyer steps in, and the air in the room tightens around me like a noose. I force my chin up, a pathetic attempt at defiance, but my body betrays me. I’m shaking, not just from the cold but from the raw, bone-deep terror hollowing me out. The adrenaline that has kept me upright is gone, leaving nothing but weakness behind.
He smiles. Slow. Predatory. The kind of smile that belongs to something that enjoys the hunt as much as the kill.
His footsteps are deliberate, each one pressing against my fraying nerves until I feel like I might snap apart. When he reaches out, I flinch, but there’s nowhere to go. His fingers swipe across my lip, smearing the blood before he brings it to his mouth, tasting it like a man savoring the first bite of a long-awaited meal.
His gaze is hungry. And I know—I am the feast.
“What a prize you are, Gia,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with lust as he crowds me backward. My knees hit the chair, and I collapse into it .
He crouches down so that we are eye level, close enough that I can smell the leather and whiskey clinging to him. “My name is Lachlan Mackenzie, but you will address me as maighstir .”
I don’t need a translation to understand exactly what he’s claiming to be. My stomach churns, revulsion crawling up my throat like bile.
Like hell.
I run my tongue over my busted lip, wincing at the metallic tang of blood before spitting it in his face. “Go to hell.”
The tension in the room snaps. His laughter is short and cruel, echoing like the crack of a whip. Then his hand is in my hair, yanking hard enough to bring fresh tears to my eyes. I swallow them back.
I won’t break.
“I’d be grateful, bitch,” he growls, his hot breath fanning over my face. His hunger dims, replaced by something colder, sharper. Rage. “If I hadn’t bought you, Savia would have thrown you into one of her worst whorehouses. So be a good little slut and thank me for saving you for myself.”
A tremor runs through me, but it isn’t fear. It’s fury. A wildfire in my veins. I bare my teeth. I’d rather take a bullet to the head.
“Go. To. Hell.”
His smirk is almost admiring before his hand flies, a sharp backhand that whips my head to the side. Pain explodes through my already bruised cheek, and before I can stop it, a scream tears from my throat.
My body might betray me, but my soul won’t. I drag in a breath, tasting blood and defiance, and lift my chin once more.
“What are you holding onto, Gia?” His voice is almost casual as he straightens his suit jacket, but the glint in his dark eyes betrays him. He’s enjoying this. “Your husband isn’t coming for you. He’ll never find you. I’ll make sure of that.”
I swallow the coppery taste of blood, testing my jaw with a slow shift. Sore but not broken. That’s good.
A smirk tugs at my split lip. “Confidence always comes before a fall.”
He doesn’t know. The poor bastard has no idea about the tracking chip Vitali stuck in my ass this morning so he could literally track it.
Vitali will burn the world to get me back.
His dark eyes narrow, and I suck in a quick breath when I see his fists tighten. “It seems your husband hasn’t taught you any manners,” he murmurs, voice deceptively soft. “I’ll fix that soon enough.”
I snort, a reckless sound that scrapes my raw throat. “It’ll take a greater man than you to teach me anything.”
My courage is borrowed, stolen from the hope that Vitali is already on his way, but it’s enough for now.
His smirk turns lethal. “Teaching you manners is going to be something I enjoy very much.” He leans in, his breath hot against my cheek. “And there are so many creative… pleasurable ways for me to do it.”
Then the first blow lands.
Pain fractures through me, sharp and unrelenting. An anguished cry rips from my throat as I raise my arms, desperate to shield my face. But it’s not enough. His fists rain down, each hit rattling my bones, breaking apart my breath. My chair tips, and I crash to the ground with a choked gasp.
It doesn’t stop.
The first kick drives the air from my lungs. The second makes my ribs scream. I curl in on myself, arms wrapped tight around my middle, but it’s useless. Every brutal impact sends agony lancing through me, my whimpers swallowed by the cold, unfeeling walls.
But in the darkness behind my clenched eyes, I see him.
Vitali.
And I hold on. Because no matter how deep this bastard thinks he’s buried me—my husband will dig me out.
I have no idea how long it lasts. Time dissolves, slipping through my fingers like sand. Hell, everything disappears—except the scorching, all-consuming pain tearing through every inch of me. I’ve never known fear like this, a terror so raw it makes my body betray me. The wet heat trickling down my thighs tells me I’ve pissed myself. Shame claws at my throat, but it’s drowned beneath the agony.
I’m sobbing, trembling uncontrollably, my resolve splintering with every second that drags by. Maybe Vitali isn’t coming. Maybe this is it. My new reality.
Beaten.
Humiliated.
Destroyed.
Lachlan delivers one final, savage kick to my ribs, ripping a broken, ragged scream from my lips. The pain is blinding, white-hot, and the sharp stab with every breath tells me he’s broken something. The bastard pauses, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room as he catches his breath.
“Don’t pass out on me, little slut,” he coos, crouching down to slap my face when my vision begins to darken. My head snaps to the side, but I don’t react. I can’t. “You wouldn’t want to miss the fun before we leave, would you?”
Shouts echo from beyond the door, muffled but growing closer. The sharp crack of gunfire slices through the air, scattering the fog and threatening to pull me under. My lips curve into a slow, bloody smile as I tilt my head up to look at him.
Lachlan scowls. “I wouldn’t be smiling if I were you,” he growls, fingers yanking at his belt. The metal glints in the dim light, his sick intentions thick in the air. “I’m going to break you, little slut, and once Savia takes care of your husband, I’ll fuck you on top of his dead body.”
A laugh rasps from my throat, sharp and bitter. “My husband is going to kill you,” I whisper, my voice a promise, a prophecy. “And I’ll make sure to dance on your fucking corpse.”
The rage in his eyes ignites like gasoline. The belt whips down, fire lacing across my back. Once. Twice. A third?—
The door explodes inward.
A dark figure stands in the threshold, the scent of blood and gunpowder curling through the air. Lachlan stiffens.
And despite the agony wracking my body, I smile.
Vitali found me.
Relief crashes over me the moment I see my husband. He’s covered in blood, his fury palpable, and I swear it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
“Fucking kill him,” I grit out, forcing what little strength I have left to push myself up. “I need a shower.”
Vitali’s gaze sweeps over me, and the pain in his eyes nearly shatters me. But at the same time, it mends something inside me—that small, nagging doubt that he doesn’t truly want me.
He does.
“Please,” I whisper, catching the battle raging in his expression. He wants to drag this out, to make Lachlan suffer. To savor his screams.
“I just want to go home. ”
Vitali’s jaw flexes, his hesitation brief before he nods sharply. Lachlan, pale and desperate, fumbles for his weapon, but Vitali is faster. And he has a hailstorm of rage fueling him.
He raises his gun, a roar tearing from his throat as he pulls the trigger again and again. The first bullet slams into Lachlan’s gut, making him stagger back, his hands flying to the wound. The next shots tear through him, his body jerking with every impact until he collapses onto the stone floor, lifeless.
Vitali doesn’t spare him another glance. He stows his weapon and crosses the room in a heartbeat, falling to his knees beside me. The anguish in his eyes wrecks me, and I dissolve into quiet sobs.
“Antonia?” I choke out.
“She’s alive, amore mio ,” he murmurs, his touch impossibly gentle as he skims his hands over my battered body, cataloging every injury. “It’ll be a long road for her, but she’ll be okay.”
Something inside me eases at his words. Antonia’s actions weren’t fueled by hate but by the manipulation of her mother and Salvatore. It doesn’t erase the pain, but knowing she isn’t lost to him makes my chest ache with bittersweet relief. And I know, despite everything, Vitali is grateful his sister is still breathing.
“Let’s get you out of here. We have a doctor waiting.”
He moves to lift me, but shame grips me like a vice. My fingers clutch his forearm, my face burning.
“I… I pissed myself.” My voice is barely a whisper, my lower jaw trembling.
Vitali stills, his entire body going taut before he growls, “Should’ve kept him alive.”
His touch is heartbreakingly tender as he cups the less bruised side of my face. “I’m so sorry, Gia. I never should’ve let you out of my sight.”
Despite everything, I manage a small smile, careful not to split my lip further. “This isn’t your fault, vita mia .” Calling him my life feels right. Feels safe.
His answering smile is soft, raw. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
He slips off his suit jacket, threading my arms through the sleeves before wrapping it tightly around me. When he lifts me into his arms, I bury my face against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him beneath the blood and gunpowder.
As we step out of the room, all eyes turn to us. Adrian and Kenzo flinch when they take in my appearance.
“They’re all dead,” Adrian assures me.
I force myself to look. Bodies litter the warehouse floor, the stench of blood thick in the air. And then my gaze lands on her.
Savia.
Shock zips through me, my head snapping up to meet Vitali’s eyes. He shrugs, his face unreadable.
“She wasn’t the woman who raised me,” he says, voice devoid of emotion. “That woman died a long time ago.”
He doesn’t linger on it. Instead, he turns to Adrian. “Any casualties?”
Adrian hesitates before sighing. “Dante lost some men taking the harbor,” he admits. “We took a few hits securing the compound, but everyone’s accounted for.”
A familiar voice breaks through the tension.
“We should throw parties like this more often,” Matthias drawls as he strolls through the warehouse doors. “My wife keeps saying I don’t get out enough. We should make this a yearly thing. ”
Laughter ripples through the men, their expressions lighter despite the carnage surrounding them. Blood stains their faces and suits, but there’s no mistaking the bond between them.
These men are killers. Monsters. But if they call you a friend, they’ll walk through hell for you.
“We need to get Gia to the safe house,” Vitali says, his grip on me tightening. “Send the injured to the compound for treatment.”
Everyone nods.
As we pass Matthias, he smirks. “You did damn good, Gia.”
I manage a small smile, determined to ignore the lingering humiliation twisting in my gut. Because despite everything…one thing is certain.
I survived.
The drive to the safe house is heavy with silence. Vitali refuses to let me go, cradling me in his lap as we navigate the darkened streets of Italy. I won’t lie—I’m ready to go back to Miami. The magic Italy once held for me is gone.
Vitali murmurs quietly with Kenzo, who is at the wheel, discussing the next steps. With his father’s empire now reclaimed, he has a decision to make. What to do with the De Luca mafia. Neither he nor Kenzo believes the men will rally behind Antonia after how easily she was manipulated, but dissolving the organization isn’t an option either. Not unless he wants to create a power vacuum that could unleash even more chaos.
I focus on steadying my breath, pushing through the pain. My face feels like it’s swelling by the second, and I already know I’m going to look like a pinata at a toddler’s birthday party for a while.
Through it all, Vitali never stops touching me. His thumb moves in slow, soothing circles over my skin, and every few minutes, he presses a soft kiss to the top of my head. A silent promise.
I close my eyes and let myself sink into the warmth of him, into the safety of his arms, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to believe that I’m truly safe.
The car rolls to a stop in front of the villa, hidden behind towering iron gates and surrounded by acres of dense foliage. The safe house. Kenzo kills the engine, and before I can attempt to move, Vitali tightens his grip on me, lifting me effortlessly into his arms as he steps out of the car.
The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. I barely register it. Pain hums beneath my skin, throbbing with every movement, but I bite down on my lip to keep from whimpering. Vitali notices anyway.
“I’ve got you, amore mio ,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against my hairline as he carries me inside.
The villa is dimly lit, the faint scent of antiseptic hanging in the air. A man in his fifties, dressed in a white button-down with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, steps forward. Dark eyes assess me with a clinical sharpness.
“Sit her down in the guest room,” the doctor instructs, already moving toward a table where a medical bag sits. “The sooner I check her injuries, the better.”
Vitali strides through the hall and gently lays me down on the bed, brushing my hair away from my bruised face with a tenderness that has my throat tightening.
“Stay with me,” I whisper, my fingers weakly gripping his shirt.
His jaw clenches, but he nods, perching on the edge of the mattress while the doctor gets to work .
I flinch as cool fingers probe my ribs, hissing when the doctor presses against a particularly tender spot.
“Two, maybe three cracked ribs,” he announces. “Swollen cheek, split lip, bruising across the torso…” His voice fades slightly as he continues his assessment, checking my arms, my legs. A deep sigh escapes him. “You took a hell of a beating, but nothing is life-threatening. You’re lucky.”
I snort, though it makes my ribs scream in protest. “Yeah, I feel real lucky.”
The doctor doesn’t crack a smile. He reaches for a syringe, filling it with a clear liquid. “This will help with the pain. You’ll need rest, ice packs for the swelling, and?—”
“Just do it,” I interrupt, exhausted. “No lectures.”
He gives me a look but nods, injecting the painkiller into my arm. Warmth spreads through me almost instantly, dulling the sharp edges of pain.
Vitali catches my hand, lacing our fingers together. His warmth is an anchor, grounding me in a way no medication ever could.
“She’ll be okay?” he asks, his voice rough with something unspoken.
The doctor nods. “Physically, yes. Emotionally?” His gaze flicks to me. “That depends.”
Vitali’s grip on my hand tightens.
“I’ll take care of her,” he says, voice laced with quiet, deadly promise.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I truly believe him.