Chapter 38 Evi
EVI
The heart-stopping fear of a moment before vanishes as I watch in stunned disbelief as Sandro literally rips the thick chains restraining him from the wall.
The crazed look of murder in his eyes is enough to steal my voice.
But he doesn’t need me to speak as he lunges, headlong, toward me, making Kenji take a step back.
I can breathe again as the tip of his blade vanishes from my navel so he can wield it defensively, and he quickly retreats behind his two guards—one with the cattle prod, the other with a rifle—all semblance of arrogant mockery gone.
It’s all I can do to stay on my feet as chaos erupts around me, the cattle-prod guard charging forward to use the length of his weapon to hold Sandro at bay while the other guard unslings his rifle from his back.
But the electric rod might as well be a twig for all the attention Sandro gives it.
Whipping his arm up and around, he wields the very chains that bound him like a weapon.
The heavy, metallic anchor slings forward, missing me by a large margin, despite the relatively small space.
A second later, it finds the side of the first guard’s head with a sickening crunch.
The man drops like a rock, stone dead in an instant.
The second guard is clearly rattled as he struggles to load a round into the chamber of his rifle.
Sandro smirks, his eyes flicking down to watch the futile battle for just a moment.
Then he closes the space between them in two long strides, one hand jerking the muzzle toward the ceiling as he clamps his other hand around the man’s throat—and lifts him off his feet.
I have no idea where this strength came from, when a few short hours ago, he was too weak to sit up straight. But I watch with a mixture of awe and horror as he crushes the man’s windpipe with one hand, then slams him down onto the cold, hard floor with such force that I hear his neck break.
It’s terrifying to watch, and yet, I can’t look away.
And my heart flutters, my neck craning to keep Sandro in my sights as he slowly stalks toward Kenji. He moves like a lion on the prowl, ready to close in on his prey.
And Kenji must know it. Because, while he’s still holding his knife as if it has a prayer of protecting him, his face is white with fear, his one dark eye wild with panic. He shifts, as if to turn and run, but there’s no time.
Sandro is upon him in an instant, one hand snatching Kenji’s wrist with inhuman speed, then wrenching it back until Kenji screams. It’s nothing for Sandro to take the knife from him now, and I see why as he shifts his grip to Kenji’s hand, exposing his crushed, useless wrist.
With one fluid motion, Sandro straightens Kenji’s arm—and brings the stolen blade down, severing his hand cleanly from his body. Kenji stares in wide-eyed shock as blood spurts from his truncated wrist.
Then a bloodcurdling howl rushes past his lips.
“My hand! You took my hand, you animal!” he shrieks.
But Sandro’s not done.
Grabbing Kenji’s remaining hand, he slams it against the wall—and pins it there as he thrusts Kenji’s blade into the center of his palm.
Kenji thrashes, his howls of agony intensifying.
“I told you I would cut them off for touching my wife,” Sandro snarls, and while I’ve never found him more terrifying, heat blossoms in my chest at the way he says those two words.
Like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. And I’m his.
Sandro’s hand wraps around Kenji’s throat, slamming him back against the wall, and Kenji’s mutilated stump of a wrist batters helplessly against Sandro’s bare shoulder and bruised ribs. Then his one good eye widens as he seems to realize just how screwed he really is.
“I’ve wanted to strangle you with my bare hands for a long time now, Kenji,” Sandro hisses, his voice low and deadly.
A shiver races up my spine at their murderous edge.
“But after these last few days to really think about it in my cell, I’ve decided that death’s too good for you.”
Kenji shudders violently, and he thrashes helplessly in Sandro’s grip. “Please, have mercy!” he begs, all semblance of his cocky arrogance vanishing.
“I want you to beg,” Sandro snarls.
“Please, please, God, I’ll do anything!” Kenji screams, the words echoing with jarring familiarity as the tables are suddenly reversed. Only, when I said those words, I was pleading for my child’s life. Kenji’s only pleading for his own.
“No. Not me, you piece of garbage. I want you to plead for my wife’s forgiveness.” Grasping the handle of the blade, Sandro wrenches it back out of the stone, then he hauls Kenji by his collar across the room to kneel before me like a sacred offering.
My heart stutters. He doesn’t truly expect me to forgive Kenji, does he?
If I did, would Sandro spare him?
My eyes flick up to my husband’s battered face, the gleam in his eye that screams for blood. But all I see when he looks at me is overwhelming love.
Then my gaze snaps back down to Kenji as he sobs piteously.
“Please, please, Evi—”
“Signora Chiaroscuro,” Sandro snarls, bringing a knee to the side of Kenji’s head as punishment. “You will speak to my wife with respect.”
Kenji lifts his arms defensively, his one remaining hand so tattered, I can’t imagine it would heal properly even if he lived long enough to see a doctor.
“Please, forgive me, Signora. I offer you my humblest apologies.”
Silence falls heavily as I stand there, still trussed like a stuck pig.
Then Sandro’s voice is soft, soothing as he speaks to me. “It’s up to you, amore. Whatever is right for you. He tried to sully your goodness. I only want to offer you the opportunity to forgive if that will bring you peace.”
My heart floods with overwhelming love for Sandro. Even in all this violent chaos, he’s still so compassionate to recognize that this world is so far from anything I know. He’s trying to safeguard my humanity. And suddenly, I know what to do.
“I forgive you,” I say as Kenji continues to blubber at my feet, looking anything but the terrifying warlord he envisioned mere minutes ago.
He looks up, startled, disbelief in his eye, and I know why.
Because what reason could I possibly have to offer him mercy?
It’s not for his sake. That’s for sure. It’s entirely for Sandro’s.
Because, while he can see the good in me, I can see it in him as well, a deep, unbreakable sense of compassion that I want to cherish and nurture.
“You are an angel,” Kenji murmurs, relief plain on his face.
“She truly is, isn’t she?” Sandro says, his eyes glowing with pride and devotion, then his voice turns cold and brutal. “Unfortunately for you, I’m the devil. This is for Raf and the wife you stole from him.”
And with a violent jerk, Sandro rips Kenji’s throat open to the bone, the knife cutting cleanly through.
I gasp, my jaw dropping as I stare at the grotesque display. I watch as the life drains from Kenji’s eye, his blood seeping from the ugly red smile that gurgles and spurts. Then he collapses in a heap. Dead.
He even incapacitates Kenji and breaks his neck, refusing to let go of the man until he’s sure, once and for all, that Kenji is dead.
Sandro’s at my side in the next instant, the guards’ keys in his hand as he slips them into the lock at my wrist and releases me with a hushed click.
I stumble into him as I come down to the flats of my feet, and he catches me, one arm wrapping around my waist as his other hand reaches up to free my second wrist.
Then he’s collecting me into his arms, holding me so tight it makes my ribs groan in protest. But I don’t mind.
It feels so good to have him wrapped around me, his familiar smell filling my nose, comforting me.
I can hear the powerful beat of his heart, and I soak up the warmth of his feverish skin.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice deep and rumbling as he keeps my head cradled to his chest.
“I am now,” I breathe, my stomach fluttering nervously. Because now that we’re past the danger, I know he’ll have questions for me. And it takes no time at all for him to reach that same conclusion.
“Are you really pregnant?” he asks, the sweetest hint of hope tinging his words.
And it tugs at my heartstrings. When I pull back to look at him, Sandro loosens his grip almost reluctantly, but he doesn’t release me completely, and his arms lend me strength that I desperately need.
“Yes,” I breathe. “I found out a few days before we were captured.”
I can see the hurt flit through his eyes when he realizes I’ve been keeping it from him all this time, and it guts me.
I can’t do this. I can’t lie to Sandro any longer.
He risked everything for me—gave everything to protect me—and all this time, he hasn’t known the real me.
I’m not the angel he thinks I am, and while I’m terrified that he’ll hate me when he learns the truth, I can’t stand the thought of keeping it from him anymore.
Sandro has been nothing but honest with me from the start, and he deserves my honesty.
Now that he knows I’m pregnant, I can’t let him have the false hope that I’ll carry to term.
He needs to know.
“Sandro, I’m so sorry,” I sob, my head hanging in shame as I fail to look him in the eye. “I lied to you—I’ve been lying to you all this time.”
I can feel him stiffen, his hands tightening reflexively around my arms, and I close my eyes, willing myself to find the courage I need.
“I’ve known for a long time now that I won’t likely be able to bear children. I knew it when I married you, but I kept it secret to ensure my family’s position among your brother’s men. I—” I choke, the words cutting off abruptly, and it takes me a moment to pull myself back together.
And all the while, Sandro remains silent, still.