Chapter 3 #2
Of course, she fucking doesn’t.
I lean in, lips near her ear, voice barely more than a breath.
“You think I won’t fucking hurt you?” I murmur.
“You think I won’t become exactly what he made me?
” I pull back and force her to meet my eyes.
“Because I will, Em. I’ll become him if I have to.
” I stare at her like I don’t remember who she used to be.
As if I haven’t dreamed about her every night since she vanished.
“Answer me,” I snarl. “This is me choosing not to ruin you.”
Her eyes blaze. Just that raw, untamed defiance I used to worship. Now it mocks me. Taunts me like a dare. And then she spits it, the words tearing from her throat with the intensity of something that’s been waiting there, soaking in gasoline.
“I don’t fucking know.”
“You do know,” I growl, the words dragged from somewhere deep. “Don’t play dumb with me, Em. Not now.”
Her mouth twitches. No smirk this time. Just fury.
“I don’t know, Matteo,” she snaps, eyes wild with fire.
I don’t believe her. I can’t. Because if she’s telling the truth, then I’ve got nothing left but violence or failure. So I let the anger take over.
I shove her back in the chair harder. Hard enough so she feels it in her spine. Hard enough to make the chains bite into her skin.
“You’re lying,” I say, standing over her like a shadow she can’t outrun. “Say it again. Look me in the eye and fucking say it.”
She glares up at me, chest heaving.
“I. Don’t. Fucking. Know.”
Each word hits as a punch to the ribs. Because I want them to be a lie.
I need them to be a lie. Because if they’re not…
Then I’m not getting the information my father needs.
I’m not doing my job extracting the information from her.
Because if she’s telling the truth… Then I’ll be hurting her for nothing.
And if I stop now. If I don’t break her, my father will send someone who won’t hesitate. Someone who won’t care what she was to me.
I stand there, staring down at her as if she’s the trigger and I’m the loaded gun. My breath is ragged, fists tight, as though if I don’t do something, I’ll come apart right here in front of her.
“Who’s protecting him, Em?” My voice is low, lethal, meant to wound.
Her eyes narrow, defiance crackling behind them.
“Who’s hiding the bastard that sold you out?” I press, each word like a shove.
She jerks against the cuffs, teeth bared, snarling as if feral. “My father would never sell out his family,” she yells. “He’s nothing fucking close to you.”
I laugh, sharp and cruel.
“He already fucking did, Em.”
“No,” she spits. “Don’t stand there acting like you’re better than him as if you're some righteous executioner. You take orders from the same monster that built him. You became what he tried to protect me from.”
“He sold you out,” I say, eyes locked on hers, daring her to deny it.
“Traded you. He fucking pawned you off to the highest bidder and didn’t look back.
” I pause, letting the silence rot between us.
“He gave you up to save himself. And you’re still bleeding loyalty for a man who never even flinched. ”
“I don’t believe you,” she says.
“How the fuck do you think I found you, Em?” I snap. “My father was the highest bidder.”
She freezes.
Not all at once.
Just a flicker.
A blink. A breath that catches in her throat.
But I see it.
The crack. The mask slips just enough for the pain to crawl through. The kind of pain that doesn’t scream, it just sinks in.
I should feel satisfied. I should press harder. But instead, something shifts in my chest.
Because for the first time since I walked into this room, she falters. And for a breath, just one, I see the girl I used to protect. The one I swore I’d never let anyone break her like this.
Her lips part like she wants to fight, but the words don’t come.
Just the silence. Just the hurt staring back at me through eyes that used to look at me as if I was hers.
My grip on her hair loosens. Not all the way, just enough for her to breathe again. Enough for my fingers to stop trembling from how close I’d come to pushing her past the edge.
She’s quiet now. Eyes glassy, lips parted, that sharp tongue of hers swallowed by the kind of heartbreak that steals your breath and never gives it back.
And fuck, I hate it. Hate myself for putting it there.
But before I can move, before I can say anything, the door behind me creaks open.
Then the sound of boots on concrete.
I release my grip on her hair and turn.
Rocco.
One of my father’s men. Leather gloves. Black jacket. Dead eyes. He’s the kind of man who doesn’t ask questions, just follows orders. The cleanup crew. The final nail.
His gaze skims past me to her. It’s cold, calculated. Like he’s already sizing up how many pieces she’ll break into when it’s his turn to do what I couldn’t.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I snap, my voice dropping into something just a breath from violence.
His presence, it’s a fucking threat. A loaded gun pointed at both of us, disguised in leather and silence.
Rocco’s eyes shift to mine, slow and empty. “Boss said to check if she’s still breathing,” He says, voice flat. “Said if you weren’t making progress, maybe someone else should.”
His gaze cuts to her one final time, and fuck, that’s all it takes. Something detonates inside me, brutal and blinding, like a bomb going off behind my ribs. A rupture I can’t contain, it’s wide enough to burn through every ounce of control I thought I had.
Then Rocco speaks.
“You might want to call your father,” he says. “I’ve been given clearance. I’m the one extracting the information now.”
The words hit harder than any bullet I’ve ever taken.
I’ve been given clearance.
He’s not asking. He’s informing me. Like I’m already obsolete. As if I’m just a ghost in this room while he puts his hands on her.
He moves around me. I’m not a threat anymore. I’ve already been dismissed, discarded without a second thought, like I never fucking mattered.
My gaze follows him, every muscle coiled tight, every breath thick with the taste of blood I haven’t spilled yet.
“Touch her,” I say, voice dropping into something darker. “And I’ll bury you so fucking deep even my father won’t find you.”
He pauses.
It’s just for a second, but enough for me to see the flicker in his eyes.
I know this man. I’ve seen what he’s capable of.
The cruelty. The way he breaks people. Beats them to a pulp until they can’t see through their own blood, can’t talk through the teeth he’s forced them to swallow.
He’s stepping into a firestorm. And if he fucking touches her… if he even thinks about laying a hand on her… I’ll burn him alive. I’ll make sure his blood stains these walls, and I won’t stop until the screams I hear are his.
Rocco doesn’t flinch. His dead, soulless eyes scan me.
“You think I’m here to listen to your threats, Matteo?” he sneers, voice flat, dripping with that sickening condescension. “Call your father. Let him know you couldn’t get the job done.”
My blood fucking boils.
Rocco steps closer to her. His eyes flicker over her like she’s something to claim, something to break. He grabs her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. His fingers dig in, and he yanks her head back further, just enough to make her feel every inch of his dominance.
"Maybe I should fuck it out of you instead," he mutters, voice dripping with cruel amusement, the words slithering through the air like venom. "See how fast I can break you."
Emery’s gaze doesn't waver. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t cower. Her eyes burn with a fierce, unbroken defiance. The fire that’s always been there doesn’t die, it just flares even brighter.
She chuckles. It’s low and bitter, her lips curling into a smirk.
“Yeah, sure. Do you think your tiny cock’s gonna make me talk? Please,” she retorts.
Rocco’s eyes burn with rage, and I can see it. The insult lands. Hard. The muscle in his neck twitches, and his fist curls. I watch him, waiting, because I know exactly what’s coming.
She’s pushing all his buttons, with that mouth that’s still running. But fuck, she has no idea of who or what she’s playing with.
Rocco jerks his arm back, fist ready to smash into her.
The rage burns hotter than anything I’ve ever felt, black and searing, tearing through every part of me. I can feel it crawling under my skin, dragging me further down into the abyss. It's not just anger anymore; it’s an urge to destroy.
My hand moves without thinking, reaching into my jacket, fingers curling around the cold metal of the gun. The weight of it steadies me. Feels familiar. Feels like it belongs.
I don't think. I don’t hesitate. I step forward, with no words, just cold, brutal action.
The gun clicks into place. I line it up with the back of Rocco’s head.
One shot. One clean fucking shot.
I pull the trigger.