Chapter 39
Elena
"Are you sure you're ready for this?"
Marco's hand hovers near my lower back—close enough to offer support but not touching. Giving me the choice. Always giving me the choice now.
I stare at the heavy metal door in front of us. Behind it is Ronan. Broken and beaten and waiting.
"Yeah," I say. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "I need to do this."
"You don't have to—"
"I know." I look up at him. "But I want to. Before I decide about Liam's deal, I need to know what kind of man Liam really is. And the only person who can tell me that is in there."
Marco studies my face for a long moment. Whatever he sees must satisfy him because he nods and pulls out his keys.
The lock clicks. The door swings open with a metallic groan.
The smell hits me first—blood and sweat and human waste. My stomach turns but I force myself to step inside.
Ronan is chained to a chair in the center of the cell. His face is a mess of purple and black. One eye is swollen completely shut. Blood crusts around his nose and mouth. His breathing is labored and wet.
Dante's been busy.
I should feel something seeing him like this. Satisfaction maybe. Or vindication. Instead, I just feel... numb. Like I'm watching this happen to someone else.
"Well, well." Ronan's voice is a rasp. He tries to lift his head but the effort makes him cough. Blood spatters onto his chest. "The little bird came to visit."
I don't respond. Just move closer until I'm standing directly in front of him.
"I have questions," I say. "About Liam Costello."
That gets a reaction. Ronan's working eye widens slightly before he lets out a wet laugh. "Liam? What's that traitor got to do with anything?"
"Answer the question. What kind of man is he?"
"A weak one." Ronan spits blood onto the floor. "Mickey would be rolling in his grave knowing his son turned into such a pussy. All that talk about modernizing. About leaving the old ways behind. Making peace with the Italians." He says the last part like a curse. "Traitor to his own blood."
"So Liam didn't want war," I press. "He disagreed with his father's methods."
"Disagreed?" Ronan laughs again. It turns into a coughing fit.
"That spineless fuck hated everything his father stood for.
Wanted to marry that little bitch Rina because he thought it would open the door to an alliance with the Italians.
Said the violence had to stop." His lip curls. "Mickey died ashamed of his own son."
The picture becomes clearer. Liam was never on board with the violence. And sure, maybe he went about trying to secure Rina's hand in marraige the wrong way, but it still showed me that his intentions were good.
"Did Liam know about me? About what you did?"
"Fuck no. He disappeared after Vito's wedding. Lovesick bastard convinced himself he was in love with that girl. Fucking dumbass. Been in hiding like the coward he is." Ronan's eye focuses on me with sudden intensity. "But I knew. I planned it. Every second of your suffering was mine."
My hands clench at my sides.
"You want to know what kind of man Liam is?
He's weak. Soft. Nothing like his father.
" Ronan leans forward as much as his chains allow.
"But you want to know what kind of man I am?
I'm the kind who knows exactly how sweet your cunt tasted.
How tight you were when I fucked you while you were unconscious. "
The words should break me. Should send me spiraling back to that cell. Instead, something cold and sharp settles in my chest.
"You felt so good wrapped around my cock," he continues. His voice takes on a dreamy quality. Like he's savoring the memory. "All limp and pliant. No fighting. No screaming. Just taking it like the good little whore you are."
Marco moves behind me. I can feel the rage radiating off him.
But I don't need him to fight this battle. Because, it's my turn now.
"My men took turns with you," Ronan says. "One after another. We passed you around like a party favor. And the best part? You'll never know how many times we fucked you. How many cocks were inside you. You'll spend the rest of your life wondering—"
"You're wrong."
My voice cuts through his monologue. Clear and strong.
I turn to look at Marco. He's standing there with murder in his eyes and his fists clenched so tight his knuckles are white.
But when our eyes meet, something shifts inside me. Clicks into place.
This ends here. Now.
I turn back to Ronan. "You think you broke me. Think you took something from me that I can't get back."
"Didn't I?" His smile is grotesque through the blood and swelling.
"No. You hurt me. You violated me. You made me terrified and ashamed." I take a step closer. "But you didn't break me. And you don't get to have power over me anymore."
"Such brave words from a broken little bird—"
"Dante." I don't raise my voice not even looking away from Ronan. "Give me a knife."
The cell goes silent.
Then I hear Dante move. Feel the weight of the blade pressed into my palm.
I look at the knife. It's small. Sharp. The handle is wrapped in leather.
"Elena—" Marco starts.
"I'm okay." I meet his eyes again. And I mean it. For the first time since he found me in that warehouse, I actually mean it. "I need to do this."
He searches my face. Then nods.
I turn back to Ronan. His expression has shifted from smug to uncertain.
"You took something from me," I say quietly. "Now I'm taking something from you."
"Hoist him up," I say to Dante who nods and pulls on a chain that's connected to a pulley system. In less than a second, Ronan is hoisted into the air by his wrists, his toes barely touching the floor.
What I do next has everyone in the room holding their breath.
Because, I grab Ronan's pants and pull them down so they're hanging at his ankles.
He's exposed, his pathetic excuse for a dick hanging limply atop his balls.
A box of medical gloves is on the table behind him and I grab a pair, snapping them on before I twirl the blade in my hand.
"You said I'd never forget what you did to me." I position the knife. "You were right. But you're going to die remembering what I did to you."
Before he can respond, I grab his dick and slice it off his body.
The scream that comes out of him is inhuman. Satisfying.
I drop the severed excuse for a cock onto the floor and wipe the blade on my pants.
"Dante, get him on the table. Face down."
"You got it, boss." There's approval in Dante's voice as he and another guard unchain Ronan and force him onto a metal table. They strap him down—arms, legs, torso. He's still screaming. Still bleeding.
I walk over calmly. Pick up the severed appendage. I spear it onto the knife and hold it in front of him so he can see. "Open his mouth."
One of the guards grabs Ronan's jaw and forces it open. I shove his dick inside as his eyes go wide.
"Choke on it," I tell him. Tears well in his eyes, whether from the pain or from the humiliation, I don't know. I pull the blade and the cock out of his mouth and then I position myself behind him. The knife feels right in my hand. Like it belongs there.
"You thought you'd get away with it," I say. My voice is detached. Clinical. "Thought you could hurt me and walk away laughing."
I place one foot against one of his exposed ass cheeks. And then I press the handle deep into him, lodging his own dick into his ass.
He lets out a scream and then I wrench the blade out quickly, leaving his asshole stuffed.
I walk over to his face now and grab him by the hair, placing the blade to his throat.
"But you were wrong. Because I'm the last thing you're ever going to see and the nightmare you'll never forget."
I draw the knife across his throat. Deep. Decisive.
Blood sprays across the table. Across my hands. Ronan gurgles and twitches.
I lean down close to his ear. "Die knowing that your dick was the last thing you tasted. Die knowing that your manhood is lodged in your own asshole. Die knowing that I'm the one who ended you. Die knowing that you didn't break me. That I. Broke. You."
His body spasms. Then goes still.
I step back and drop the knife onto the table, then turn to face Marco and Dante. Both men are staring at me with expressions I can't quite read. Shock, maybe. Or respect.
I pull off the bloody gloves and drop them onto Ronan's corpse.
"I've made my decision," I say. My voice doesn't shake. "Meet with Liam. Take the deal."
Then I walk out of the cell without looking back.
Behind me, I hear Marco murmur something to Dante. Footsteps follow me into the hallway.
"Elena." Marco catches up to me. "Are you—"
"I'm okay." I look at my hands. They're not shaking. "I know I should probably feel something. Guilt or horror or... something. But all I feel is relief."
"You don't have to feel guilty for killing a monster."
"I don't feel guilty." I meet his eyes. "I feel like I got a piece of myself back."
Something fierce and proud flashes across his face. He steps closer, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. His eyes search mine—asking permission even now.
I don't wait for him to ask.
I close the distance and kiss him. Really kiss him. Not the gentle, careful touches we've been sharing. This is deep and fierce and claiming.
He responds immediately, his other hand coming to my waist and pulling me flush against him. The kiss tastes like freedom. Like taking back everything that was stolen from me.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"I love you," I tell him, needing him to hear it. "I'm still broken in a lot of ways. Still scared. Still have a long way to go. But I love you."
"You're not broken." His forehead rests against mine. "You're healing. There's a difference."
"Then I'm healing." I can almost believe it. "And I want to keep healing with you."
"Always." He kisses me again. Softer this time. A promise. "However long it takes."
I pull back and take his hand. "Come on. Let's go tell Vito I've made my decision."
As we walk down the hallway toward the elevator, I can feel the weight I've been carrying start to lift.
Ronan is dead. The man who hurt me—who violated me—is gone.
And I'm the one who ended him.
More than that—I kissed Marco. Let him touch me. Pulled him closer instead of pushing him away.
Maybe that's what healing looks like. Not some grand moment of suddenly being fixed. Just small victories stacked on top of each other until one day you realize you're not drowning anymore.
I'm not there yet. But I'm getting closer.
And that has to count for something.