Chapter 39
Elowen
I wake to knocking on my door—banging would be a better word. I climb out of bed, gather my torn dress, and start searching for my thong. It’s nowhere in sight.
The banging continues, harder now. I abandon the search, bolt to my closet, shove the dress into a corner, yank on pajamas, and rush to the door.
“Why the fuck weren’t you answering your phone, and why does it take you an eternity to open the door?” Avi storms past me, then stops dead. In front of my bed.
“Oh. My. God.” Her eyes rake over the crumpled sheets, the pillows and cushions strewn everywhere.
“What. The. Actual. Fuck. Is. This?”
I dash to the bed, roughly tug the sheet to make it look less like someone wrestled on it, and toss the pillows back. She grabs my wrist, spins me around, and tugs at the collar of my shirt.
“Thank God it was me who came to get you and not your mother.”
I look down. The shirt is on backward. The tag is kissing my throat.
She shoves her phone into the nightstand drawer and pulls me into the bathroom.
“He was here.” I start before she can. “We had a nice night.”
She grins, looking me over. “I can see how nice the night was.” Her grin vanishes. “Fuck the night. Do you know what the fuck he did?”
I frown. “What?”
“He burned the garden in a controlled fire. The whole place is ashes now. And he left a message: ‘Never do that again, King. She’s mine.’”
She stares at me, incredulous. “Now everyone’s hunting him like their lives depend on it. Is he insane? Why would he do that?”
I press my palms to my temples. Seriously? Why the hell would he do that? To make my family hate him more?
“I’m going to kill this man.”
Avi shakes her head slowly. “Sorry, babe. You’ll have to get in line.”
I smack her arm. “Don’t joke. Dad was already furious about the shooting last night. Now he’s got to be livid. That was Mom’s garden, for God’s sake. Even I’m angry.”
She leans against the door. “Don’t get mad. These are the basic consequences of loving a crazy man.”
I turn to the sink and splash cold water on my face. I stop mid-splash, turn off the tap, and look at Avi.
“Was Zo behind last night’s incident?”
The only possible candidates are Zo and Salvario. And I forgot to ask him.
She nods, then grins. “But everyone thinks it was your man.”
I groan and go back to washing my face.
“I’ll be outside.” Avi slips out.
I take my time cleaning up, showering, then finally head out. She’s on the couch, scrolling through her phone. The sheets are changed. Tucked in roughly, clearly Avi’s doing.
She looks up. “Where’s your phone? Your mom just called asking about you.”
“It’s in my closet.”
She raises a brow. I head to my closet and start checking drawers. Inside the third one sits a transparent box—all my gadgets inside. I open it and take out my phone.
Six missed calls from Avi. Three from Mom. Two from Dad. Two from Aunt Abi.
I look at Avi. “Am I going to get scolded for what he did?”
She shrugs. “Probably not. Why would they blame you? It’s not like you asked him to torch the garden.”
I sigh. “Yeah. And our family isn’t unreasonable.”
We head downstairs. Mom and Aunt’s voices are coming from the sitting room, so we head there.
Their eyes land on me the second we step inside.
“She’s mine,” Mom says, eyes narrowing. “And here someone was saying it was one-sided, nothing serious, and she was over that Stockholm syndrome.”
I sit beside her. “I’m really sorry about your garden.”
She purses her lips. “Sorry doesn’t fix this.” Her eyes glisten. “Those plants were very dear to me.”
I wrap my arms around her. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I’ll help you replant every single one. Please don’t be so sad.”
I’m going to give this De Falco a serious punishment for this. He could have burned anything else, why did he have to burn my mom’s garden?
“She’s right, Mom. Don’t be sad. We’ll catch that bastard and make him work as your gardener.” Leo’s relaxed voice arrives with his footsteps.
“Don’t call him names.” I hiss, pulling away from Mom.
He settles across from me, arms crossing over his chest. “Or what?”
I grit my teeth. “You don’t have to be so disrespectful, Leo.”
“I don’t owe him any respect.” He drawls, “I don’t think a man who kidnaps women, burns cities, and kills innocents deserves anyone’s respect.”
“He only burned the garden, not the city. Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Don’t argue,” Mom scolds us.
Leo clicks his tongue. “She’s so delusional. I feel bad for her.”
“You don’t feel bad for anyone.” Avi scoffs. “You just want to get under her skin.”
I nod. “She’s right.”
Mom sighs. “Don’t argue, kids.” Her voice is heavy with sadness.
I hug her again. “Okay, we won’t. Please don’t be sadder.”
She rubs my forearm. “Do you really love him?”
I hum, pulling away.
“Don’t feed her Stockholm love, Mom. It’s a temporary attraction. It’ll go away.” Leo’s eyes stay fixed on me.
“How much do you know about attraction and love? You’ve been single since birth, now forc—” I stop myself, realizing I can’t finish that sentence in front of Mom.
Leo raises a brow, daring me to continue. I roll my eyes and look at Mom.
“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
Leo stands. “When you see him next—which we all know you will—tell Il Macellaio di Napoli that his days are numbered.”
I frown at the same Italian words.
“What does that mean?” I ask Aunt Abi. She knows Italian well.
“The Butcher of Naples.” She murmurs, frowning.
“It’s the infamous title of a man who has burned Naples five times in the past decade.
If that’s the same man who kidnapped you, then Leo is right, Wen.
” She grows anxious. “He’s not the kind of man who can love.
He’s killed so many innocents that there can’t be a human left inside him. ”
The color drains from Mom’s face. Mine must be matching hers right now.
Mom cups my face in her hands. “Don’t see him again. Forget him. Please, Weni. A man like that will destroy you.”
“But he loves me, Mom.” I manage to say the words.
“This isn’t love. He’s manipulated you, Princess.” Dad’s voice comes from the doorway.
I get up and run to him.
“That’s not true, Dad. He really loves me. Whatever he was, that’s in the past. He isn’t the same cruel man now.”
His face softens with pity. “You have a very soft heart, dear.” The pity shifts to anger, then settles into a frightening calm. “He will pay for using my daughter’s heart.”
I shake my head, frantic. “You’re misunderstanding this.”
“I’ve never stopped you from anything, Princess. But this, I have to. You’re not to see him again. He slipped through my fingers once as Jonathan. Not again. And one more thing.” His voice turns colder. “You will marry Crown Prince Aziel.”
I purse my lips. “No, Dad. I won’t marry him. I don’t like him, and you can’t force me. You know I’ll go to any length if you try.”
Frustration and hurt burn my eyes. Dad’s face softens.
“Alright. I won’t push. Just don’t start crying, okay?”
I blink hard, forcing the tears back, step around him, and walk out.
I reach my room. The first thing I do is search Il Macellaio di Napoli.
Images fill the screen. Burnt buildings. Devastated places. A satellite view of an ashen city. Pictures of people crying. Children. Women. Men.
I forget to blink. I scroll through image after image of people who survived hell.
So many innocents.
My stomach knots tighter with every scroll. How could he do this?
I find an article detailing the damage from the latest destruction, two years ago. It was smaller than the first four fires, because the city hadn’t recovered enough to rebuild.
No one knows who did it. Some civilians say it’s God’s wrath. Some blame the government. Others think powerful corporations. Some say it’s the Camorra’s new way of terrorizing people. They just call him Il Macellaio di Napoli—a god, a monster, a devil.
I wouldn’t have believed my family if Salvario himself hadn’t said it yesterday. But now I have nothing left to cling to. No denial. Nothing to lessen the guilt filling me as I look at the destruction caused by the man I love.
My door opens. Rosie comes running in, bounding toward the bed. I set my phone aside and scoop her up.
Avi trails behind her, balancing a tray.
Rosie wriggles in my arms, licking my face all over, lightening the heaviness in my heart, if only for a moment. She was with her caretaker since yesterday evening because of the party. And after the party, I was busy with the Butcher of Naples.
The heaviness returns, filling my chest.
Avi settles beside me on the bed. “You okay?”
“How can I be okay, knowing the man I love is a cold-blooded criminal?”
“Are you afraid of him? Or feeling guilty about what he’s done?”
I hug Rosie to my chest, patting her small head.
“It’s the guilt.”
She rests a hand on my thigh. “Don’t burden yourself with that. You can’t change the past. But you can do something about the future.”
“What can I do?”
She smiles. “You know the concept of ‘I can change him,’ right? Do something, girl. Turn the beast into a prince. Kick his ass or kiss his lips, just don’t let him repeat the butchery. And if that sounds too impossible, start an NGO there. Help the people who suffered.”
I smile. “You’re right. I can help them.”
She shrugs. “You can also change him. Trust me. That man already—” Her phone rings, cutting her off.
She answers with a grin, listens, then rolls her eyes.
“You can’t listen to my conversation with my sister.”
She pauses, then frowns.
“I’m not feeding her anything unrealistic.”
Another pause. She groans.
“Fine.”
She stabs the screen to end the call.
“He ordered me not to tell you things like ‘you can change him.’ Says it’ll push you down the road of a toxic relationship, which I don’t even know how these men have decided is toxic.”
I bite my lower lip. “They won’t believe me, will they?”
She purses her lips and shakes her head.
They think of me as someone immature and soft-hearted who doesn’t know how the world works. A big, bad man manipulated me, and I fell for it like a baby.
They can’t see what Salvario and I have.