Chapter 40
Katarina
I come to in a fractured state. As I open my eyes, my right eyelid feels so tight that I can only open it halfway. Then a high-pitched ringing pierces through my ear before I notice the nauseating scent of sweet copper that fills my nostrils. When my vision clears, I finally remember where I am.
Thud. Squelch. Crack.
I hear a rhythmic thud of something hard hitting a wet, thick object, each impact making a sickening sound.
I try to move, but the ropes scrape the wounds that have formed around my ankles and wrists.
Then a shadow hung over me.
“No—”
“I’ve got you, baby. Tranquila.”
For a moment, I thought it was Julian, back to hit me.
But I see his blonde hair and blue eyes.
Andreas.
His voice is a grounding buzz that breaks through the ringing.
For a fraction of a second, his gaze drops to my bare chest. But before I feel any shame, he moves with grace and reaches out to adjust the shredded fabric, pulling it back over my exposed breast to restore a sliver of my dignity.
I feel the cold bite of the dull side of his knife as he cuts the ropes restraining my wrists. Then he moves forward to cut the wires around my ankles. When the last of it snaps, he wraps his arm around me to help me up.
He takes off the tactical jacket he was wearing and puts it on me, making sure to zip it up so I don’t get exposed again. He grips my shoulders for a heartbeat, trying to stop the violent tremors racking my frame.
Soon, the blood rushes back into my fingers, sending pins-and-needles that made me gasp. I don’t wait for my legs to steady. I didn’t care that they felt like frayed wire. I reach for him when he stretches his arm to carry me up from the bed.
But when my feet hit the floor, I tumble over the uneven terracotta tiles. My bare feet slip in a pool of thick, spreading liquid. Andreas straightens me up. When I look down, the realization of what I am sliding in sends a jolt of horror up my spine.
Blood.
Instinctively, my eye traces the source.
When my eyes land on them, I flinch, and a chill runs down my spine.
Damiano is on top of Julian, pinning him to the floor. His fists pummel Julian’s face like a possessed man. His expression is twisted in fury, jaw clenched, teeth bared.
“Damiano! Stop!”
My scream tears through the room. Andreas tries to hold me back, but I shove him aside and throw myself at Damiano’s back, arms clinging around his waist. My fingers dig into him, but he’s unmovable, lost to a violent fit.
He doesn’t even notice me.
“Damiano, no!” I cry.
I pull him with all that is left of my strength, but it’s like trying to move a mountain. In my peripheral vision, I could only see red. Julian is lying in a pool of his own blood, unmoving as Damiano’s fists continue to rise and fall.
I don’t try to save Julian; I no longer care if he rots on these tiles.
But I can’t watch Damiano kill another man for me. I don’t want to see the man I love disappearing into the gore, turning into a hollowed-out monster right in front of me.
I can’t watch violence become all he is.
His arm raises again, his knuckles raw as he prepares to deliver another blow to the pulp of the man beneath him.
“No!” I shriek, sliding in front of him, effectively pushing him off Julian.
When I look behind, my breath catches in my throat.
Julian is dead.
His face is a mask of gore, his eyes swollen into purple slits, his jaw hanging at a grotesque, shattered angle that no human bone should hold. He isn’t breathing. There is no hiss of air, not even a twitch on his fingers. He is gone.
Damiano killed him with his bare hands.
When I look up at Damiano, his eyes are vacant.
His chest heaves in shallow gasps, sounding like a wounded animal. His pupils are blown out, like twin voids of black that had swallowed his irises entirely.
“Damiano?” I whisper, my voice trembling so hard that the word comes out as a sob.
He blinks.
“Damiano, please,” I crawl until I can reach up and cup his face with my palms that are stained with the blood that had splattered off Julian.
“Look at me. Please... I’m here.”
He blinks, his pupils slowly contracting as they struggle to find focus. Then finally, he looks at my face, my hands, and then down at his wrecked knuckles.
“Kat?”
“I’m here,” I say, throwing my arms around his neck and pulling his head down into the crook of my shoulder. “Vuelve a mí.” Come back to me.
I hold him, shielding our eyes from the sight of the dead.
He takes a few shuddering breaths before leaning into me, his heavy weight nearly taking us both down.
His fingers, still slick and tacky with blood, clutched at the small of my back as he buried his face in my neck.
He doesn’t move; he stays there, holding me as tight as he can.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice flat and trembling. “Perdoname...”
“It’s okay,” I say, my own tears tracking through the dirt on my face. “Just hold me.”
The room falls into a heavy silence, punctuated only by my sobs.
A sudden weight settles on my shoulders—a warm hand. Andreas steps in. He doesn’t pull me away. He stands there for a second, his hand resting briefly on my shoulder as an anchor, calming both of us.
“She’s safe, Damiano,” He says. “She’s the only thing that matters now. Leave the dead to the dirt.”
I could feel the heat of Damiano’s breath against my collarbone. He is shaking—not with fear, but from the sheer force of the adrenaline leaving his system.
Finally, Damiano pulls back just enough to look at me. His hands, raw and shaking, come up to frame my face. He ignores his own pain, his thumbs wiping my tears.
His grip tightens as his gaze searches mine.
“Don’t ever run from me like that again,” he whispers. “Do you hear me? Never again. If I lose you, there is nothing left to stop what I’ll become.”
His gaze is a mix of possessive terror and devotion.
“But, you said you wanted to kill me.” I sob.
He shakes his head, as if my words cut like a knife.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was drunk, I was lost—I didn’t mean any of it.” His voice cracks. “God, Katarina, I’m so fucking sorry. I’d take it back if I could.”
“Is it true? Am I— is my father?” I ask, tears streaming down my face.
He closes his eyes before taking my hand and kissing my palm. Then he slowly nods.
My chest heaves. Violent sobs take over, and I can barely breathe. I bury my face in my hands, unable to stop.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re the only meaning in my life, Kat,” he says to my ear, his voice a scorched rasp, burning with a desperate longing. When I look at him, he says, “I’ll kill everyone if that’s what I need to do.”
The promise in his words sends both a chill and a strange warmth through me.
For a moment, I am frozen, unable to look away from the darkness gathering in his eyes.
Part of me aches for the vow, the brutality of his devotion—because I know he means every word.
But another part is unsettled by the depth of his need and the violence he is willing to unleash.
His love is a force so fierce it terrifies me, and yet, in this moment, I find comfort in knowing someone would destroy everything for me.
The contradiction drowns my heart, twisting my feelings into something I cannot understand.
I search his face, feeling both drawn and afraid of what we’ve become for each other, and I realize there is no turning back.
I don’t answer with words. I couldn’t. Instead, I lean in, closing the agonizing gap between us.
As our lips meet, I feel a frantic attempt to reclaim the pieces of ourselves we lost in the dark. He pours every ounce of his agony into me, and I drink it in, trying to wash away the pain.
The world outside of us ceases to exist.
There’s only the heat of his lips, the scratch of his stubble against my bruised skin.
And the terrifying certainty that as long as he is holding me like this, no other monsters can get to me.