Chapter 32
LILIANA
Pain has settled upon me like a second skin.
It no longer spikes sharply with each slight move, but instead, it pulses low and steady.
It's a dull, persistent ache that settles in my bones and makes every breath feel like a small betrayal.
My wrists burn where the ropes bite into them, my shoulders throb, and my ribs protest with each shallow inhale.
My lips are split, and the metallic taste of blood coats my tongue.
I am no longer sure how long I’ve been here.
Time has dissolved into the drip of water, the scrape of a boot against stone, the occasional creak of the door that means more hurt is coming.
I keep my hands curled protectively over my stomach whenever anyone comes close to me.
I cannot tell if I do it to shield the babies or to remind myself they are still there.
But today, the fear that has been whispering at the edges of my thoughts grows louder. Something feels wrong. It is not pain exactly, but a heaviness that coils low in me, deep and insistent. As if my inner self is desperately trying but failing to communicate something crucial to me.
I tell myself it’s nothing, that the exhaustion and bruises are messing with my mind, but still the dread sits heavily in my chest. Despite all this pain, I refuse to give them what they want. I won’t trade Giovanni’s safety for my own, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep my strength.
The words my father spat at me yesterday still hang in the air of this place. Worthless. Burden. Jinx. They have burrowed deep, poisoning the space where hope should live.
Sleep comes in uneasy fragments. I drift in and out, my dreams twisted and sharp, a parade of half-formed images I cannot escape.
I am running through darkness, along endless corridors, my bare feet slipping on wet stone.
I hear Vittorio’s voice behind me, and Giovanni’s ahead, calling my name.
But every time I try to follow it, the sound grows fainter, pulled away by some unseen hand.
When I open my eyes again, there is movement in the dungeon.
I blink against the dim light, thinking for a moment that my mind is playing tricks.
For a heartbeat, I think it’s a trick. That my mind, desperate for him, has conjured his shape from the dark.
But no, he is here, in the flesh, and my chest seizes at the sight of him.
Dio. I missed him. I love him.
He is not standing tall as I have always seen him.
Instead, he is chained to a heavy chair in the middle of the room, his wrists shackled to the armrests, his ankles bound to the legs.
His shirt clings damply to him, the fabric stretched across tense shoulders, and there is a cut at his temple, a thin line of dried blood that disappears into his hair.
His eyes find mine immediately. Relief flashes there, but beneath it, something else moves: fear. Not fear for himself—never that—but a raw, unguarded fear for me that twists something profound inside my chest. His gaze drags over me, taking in every mark, every bruise.
I push myself upright, wincing at the protest in my ribs. My hands form the words before my thoughts can catch up. What are you doing here?
“I came for you,” he says, and his voice is rough, as if the words scraped their way out.
You let them take you. The thought makes my hands shake as I sign it.
“I had no choice,” he answers, his voice breaking for a moment before he forces it steady. “It was the only way to get to you. If I had charged in here with my men, Greco would have killed you before I could get to you.”
I swallow, wanting to tell him how much his sacrifice means to me.
His jaw tightens, his eyes burning into mine. “I swear to you, Liliana, I will kill him. I will kill them both with my own hands.” He signs. “I will get you out, tesoro. I promise you. I am here now.”
I try to ignore the lift of my heart. My worry for him dominates my thoughts. You should not have come like this. They could kill you.
His mouth twists, the slightest hint of a smile, though there is no humor in it. “No, he wouldn’t. The bastard will want to keep you alive as leverage.”
His mouth twists into that hint of a smile again, though there is no humor in it. “Let them try.”
Then he exhales slowly, and I feel the shift in his tension, the guilt that had been hidden behind his controlled fury. His hands tighten around the arms of the chair for a moment before he meets my eyes again.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, the words heavy with regret.
“I should never have let you walk into that bar alone. That was my failure. Mine, and mine alone. You should never have been put in this position. I should have been there to stop them before they even set eyes on you. I failed you, Liliana.”
My chest aches at the confession, the vulnerability beneath his unshakable presence. His eyes glisten with a rare, unguarded fear—fear for me, for my safety, for what could have been.
The sound of footsteps echoes through the space, and Vittorio pushes the door open, a cold, calculated smirk curling his lips. My father follows, his face a mask of familiar disdain.
Vittorio steps into the light, his suit still immaculate despite the stink of this place. He walks with the easy confidence of a man who believes the ground belongs to him.
Vittorio looks between us, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I have to admit, Giovanni, I didn’t expect you to walk in here so willingly. Makes things simpler for me.”
“Let her go.”
Vittorio chuckles, the sound low and almost pleasant, although there is nothing pleasant in his eyes.
“You think you’re in a position to make demands?
You came alone, just as I wanted. This is the scenario I was hoping for when I decided to make my location public knowledge.
” He laughs with a sinister glint. “Now you know exactly who’s in control here. ”
Renato folds his arms, his voice carrying that same dry contempt I’ve known all my life. “You’ve made a habit of escaping every one of my previous traps, Giovanni. But that ends today.”
“You must be a bad hunter then, because I have never noticed any of your previous traps.”
The insult hits its intended mark, because Renato lands him a punch in the stomach.
“Who do you think laid the ambush six years ago?” Renato grates.
“It was meant to finish you off, and knowing it was only a matter of time before your father bowed to his illness, I would have been there to swoop in.”
“So, you are well acquainted with failed plans.”
That earns Giovanni another blow. Vittorio steps closer to him. “You think you can walk in here and walk out with her? You’ll leave here broken, and then dead, and she’ll watch every second of it.”
Giovanni’s gaze flicks to me, and there is no single emotion on it. He holds my gaze as though trying to tell me to trust him. “That will not happen,” he says, and though his voice is steady, I can hear the resolve in it.
“How touching,” Vittorio says as he circles behind Giovanni. “The great Giovanni Renzetti, reduced to running after a mute little tramp.”
Giovanni’s eyes never leave mine. “Let her go,” he says in a cold, deadly voice that sends shivers down my spine.
Vittorio laughs, his voice low and grating. “No. I think I like her here. I like the way you look at her, as if you'd bleed yourself dry for her.”
He gestures, and two men step forward. My pulse begins to race as they move toward Giovanni.
What are you doing? I scream in my head as terror freezes my hands
The first punch lands hard against Giovanni’s jaw. His head snaps to the side, but he doesn’t make a sound. Another blow comes, sharp to his ribs, then another, and another. His body jerks with the force, the chains rattling each time. He can’t move to defend himself, can’t lift a hand to block.
“Sh…shtop!” I shout, my voice tearing from me with effort. The panic is hot and frantic in my veins. “P…pwe…Pwe..ase Shtop!” I stammer my distorted words, not caring who will hear and mock me for an impediment I did not ask to be born with.
But they don’t stop. A fist drives into his stomach, and I hear the air leave him in a rough exhale. His eyes flick back to me, and even now, there is no fear for himself, only that same raw, desperate desire for me to trust him.
“Enough,” Vittorio says at last, though the word is reluctant. He crouches in front of Giovanni, his smile slow and cruel. “You could end this. Tell me what I want to know. Her suffering ends. Yours too.”
Giovanni spits blood onto the floor. “You will get nothing from me. And after all this is done, I'll kill you.”
The man whom I once called father watches from the side, his expression flat. I look at him, my chest heaving, and sign with my shaking hands. You are going to watch them kill him?
His mouth curves into the faintest smirk. “I told you before. You ruin everything you touch. This is what happens.”
The room tilts for a moment, my vision narrowing to Giovanni’s face. His lip is split, blood trailing down his chin, one eye already swelling. And then he winks.
He fucking winks.
Just as I am processing what is happening, the door bursts open, and Tomasso is the first through, weapon raised. Dario is behind him, followed by more of Giovanni’s men. The room erupts.
Gunfire cracks against the stone. Vittorio’s men caught unawares scatter for cover, but Giovanni’s men move with brutal precision, first securing Vittorio, while dropping his men one by one. The sharp scent of gunpowder fills the air, mixing with the copper tang of blood.
Vittorio shouts for someone to kill me, but before the man can take a step, Tomasso drops him with a single shot.
One of Giovanni’s men is at his side in seconds, working the shackles free. The moment his wrists are loose, Giovanni springs to his feet, making a beeline for me.