Chapter Twenty-Two AURORA #2
“Mine,” he whispered to my belly, eyes glazing over with that insane tenderness. “Or it will be. Once I fix what he broke.”
The SUV continued speeding through the trees as Sergio kept talking to himself in that gentle, broken voice, planning our new life, apologizing to me for failing to protect me at the altar, promising he would be a better husband than Santino ever could.
I closed my eyes and cried silently, guilt and horror twisting together in my chest until I could barely breathe.
Santino had created this monster.
And I had helped him.
The SUV finally slowed after what felt like hours, turning onto a narrow, overgrown dirt path that wound deep into the forest.
The trees pressed in close on both sides, their branches scraping against the windows like skeletal fingers trying to claw their way inside. When the vehicle came to a stop, I could barely see anything through the tinted glass except the dark silhouette of an abandoned house looming ahead.
Sergio turned in his seat, that gentle, deranged smile still fixed on the undamaged half of his face. “We’re home, my love.”
Home.
The word sent ice sliding down my spine.
His men opened the door and pulled me out with careful hands, almost respectful, like they were handling something fragile that belonged to their broken master.
Sergio stepped out after me, moving with that eerie steadiness, and took my arm again.
Not bruising this time. Gentle. Possessive.
Like a groom guiding his bride across the threshold.
The house was old, rotting, half-swallowed by ivy and neglect. Windows were boarded up or shattered. The front door hung slightly crooked on rusted hinges. It looked like no one had lived here in decades. A perfect tomb for whatever insanity Sergio had planned.
He led me inside, humming softly under his breath. An old wedding march, twisted and off-key. The interior smelled of damp wood, mold, and something faintly metallic. A few candles had already been lit, casting flickering shadows across peeling wallpaper and dust-covered furniture.
“See?” Sergio said proudly, gesturing around the dim room with his scarred hand. “I prepared it for you. For us. No Morettis. No devils. Just you and me… and the little one.”
His gaze dropped to my stomach with that glassy, reverent look again. “We’ll make it a proper home. I’ll fix everything he broke.”
He was completely insane.
The man I had once been promised to, the quiet, controlled right-hand to Leo, had been replaced by this… thing. A deranged phantom wearing Sergio’s skin. He spoke with such tender certainty, as if we were on some romantic getaway instead of a kidnapping.
He guided me to a dusty old couch and gently pushed me down to sit, then knelt in front of me like a devoted husband. His ruined face was inches from mine, the contrast between tenderness and horror making my stomach churn.
“You’re safe now,” he whispered, stroking my hair with that twitching, scarred hand. “No one will take you from me again. Not even him. I’ll kill him slowly. Make him watch while I take back what’s mine.”
Tears kept falling down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop them. This was the man Santino had created. This broken, gentle monster who spoke of murder and marriage in the same breath.
“I’ll be a good husband,” Sergio continued, his good eye shining with manic devotion.
“Better than before. I see clearly now. The bullet… it took the weakness away. I understand what real love is. Real love means keeping you here. Keeping you safe. Even if I have to tie you down. Even if I have to… fix the baby.”
My blood ran cold. “Sergio… please. Don’t…”
“Shhh.” He pressed a finger to my lips, smiling that lopsided, nightmarish smile. “I know you’re scared. But I’ll take care of everything. We’ll be a family. Just the three of us. Forever.”
He stood and began pacing the room, muttering plans to himself again, how he would reinforce the doors, how he would cleanse me of Santino’s touch, how the child would learn to call him Papa.
I curled into myself on the filthy couch, hands wrapped protectively around my belly, sobbing quietly as the full weight of my guilt crushed me.
Santino had pulled the trigger.
But I had lit the fuse.
And now we were all paying for it.
Sergio paced for what felt like hours, muttering plans and promises under his breath, before stopping and turning toward me with that same gentle, unhinged smile.
“You’re dirty,” he said softly, almost sadly. “Covered in his touch. His scent. We need to fix that.”
Before I could react, he grabbed my arm and pulled me up from the couch with surprising strength.
I stumbled after him as he dragged me down a dark hallway toward what looked like an old bathroom.
The tiles were cracked and stained, the bathtub ancient and rust-ringed, but water still ran from the faucet when he turned it on.
“No,” I whispered, panic spiking as steam began to rise. “Sergio, don’t…”
“Shhh, my love.” His voice was eerily calm, almost soothing. “I have to clean you. Make you pure again. For us. For the baby.”
He started pulling at my clothes with careful, methodical hands, like he was undressing a doll rather than a terrified woman. I fought him then, really fought, twisting and kicking, my nails raking across his arms.
“Stop!” I screamed. “Don’t touch me!”
But he was stronger. Madness and obsession gave him a terrifying kind of power. He pinned my wrists with one hand and continued undressing me with the other, humming that broken wedding march again.
When I was naked and shivering, he lifted me into the tub like I weighed nothing. The water was scalding. I gasped at the heat, but he held me down gently, almost tenderly, as he began washing me with a rough cloth.
“See?” he murmured. “I’m being gentle. I don’t want to hurt you. I just need to get him off you. All of him.”
Tears streamed down my face as his scarred hands moved over my body. The contrast between his gentle tone and reverent touches against the horror of his ruined face was unbearable. When his hand lingered too long on my stomach, something inside me snapped.
I lunged forward and jammed my fingers hard into the destroyed side of his face.
My nails sank into the thick scar tissue, digging into the raw, ruined flesh where Santino’s bullet had torn through him. Sergio screamed, a raw, animal sound of pain and rage, but I didn’t stop. I clawed deeper, feeling the grotesque texture give way under my fingers, warm blood slicking my hand.
“You did this!” I screamed, sobbing. “This is what Santino did to you! And it’s my fault! But I won’t let you touch me!”
For a moment, pure agony flashed across what remained of his face. Then the madness surged back stronger than before. He grabbed my wrist in a crushing grip and yanked my hand away, blood dripping from the fresh wounds I’d torn open.
His breathing was ragged, the good side of his mouth twisted in a snarl while the ruined side leaked blood down his neck.
“Bad girl,” he rasped, voice trembling with pain and something darker. “Stupid little girl. I was being gentle. I was trying to love you.”
He shoved me back against the tub, water sloshing over the sides, and pinned me there with his body. Blood from his face dripped into the bathwater, turning it pink.
“You’ll learn,” he whispered against my ear, his breath hot and metallic. “You’ll learn to be good for me. Even if I have to break you first.”
I sobbed helplessly as he continued washing me, his touch no longer quite so gentle, the water turning darker with his blood and my tears.
Santino had created a monster.
And I was trapped in the nightmare with him.