Chapter 6

Genevieve's Point of View

I watched as my mother walked out the gate after assuring her that I'd convince Enzo to let Fred go. It was obviously not going to be an easy job, but I'd give it a try.

"Where is your mother?" Enzo asked immediately I entered the living room.

"She's gone," I answered.

"Oh." He pouted in disappointment. I guess he thought I would invite her in.

"Alright. Let's go visit that motherfucker, then I'll take you to my parents' afterwards," he said. I could only nod in agreement and follow him.

********

I shivered as we walked down a dimly lit, narrow, and suffocating passage, its stone walls slick with moisture and the stench of mildew hanging heavy in the air. The farther we went, the colder it got.

"Here." Enzo handed his jacket to me when he noticed I was shivering.

"Thank you," I muttered quietly before wearing it.

After about fifteen minutes of walking through the passage, I could finally hear an agonizing scream, and the screamer's voice sounded familiar—Fred.

"Don," Enzo's men greeted him when we finally made it to Fred's cell.

My eyes moved towards Fred, and I almost puked at the sight of him. His head hung low, his face was covered in bruises and cuts, and his blue shirt had turned red from so much bleeding. It was obvious he'd gone through different sections of torture since last night.

I was happy seeing him in this situation because of how he and his son treated me, but recalling my mother's words, I found myself growing soft.

"Sir..." I began, but one look from Enzo shut me up instantly.

"Don't call me sir. You can say my name."

I nodded. He collected a whip from the man beating Fred and handed it to me.

"Go on, beat him," he said.

"Really?" I asked excitedly.

"Yes. Go on," he encouraged me.

My grip on the whip tightened. I wanted to beat him. I wanted to make him regret everything he'd done to me, but my mother's words wouldn't stop replaying in my head.

"He..." I bit my lower lip nervously. "He's already in a vegetable state... Can we please let him go?"

He growled disapprovingly.

"Let him go? Have you forgotten how he hurt you?"

"I know he hurt me, but he's the only family my nephew has left. If he goes through any more torture, he'd die."

Enzo laughed as if I had just cracked a joke. He turned away from me and pulled something out of his pocket, then turned back—only for me to realize it was a gun. My eyes widened as I let out a brief, frightened scream, dropping the whip in the process.

He aimed the gun at Fred.

"Beat the son of a bitch, or I'll kill him right here and now!" he snarled.

"Ye-yes," I stuttered. I quickly picked up the whip and began lashing it on him—not too hard, though.

"Harder!" Enzo growled.

"Yes."

I increased my pressure a bit. Although Enzo wasn't satisfied with how I was going about it, he didn’t say anything more.

After lashing him a few times, I realized Fred wasn't moving anymore, and Enzo didn’t seem like he wanted me to stop. In order to save Fred, I decided to twist my hand, letting the whip land on me, and screamed in pain.

He threw his gun on the floor as he quickly rushed towards me, worry etched on his face.

"Baby, are you okay?" he asked.

I nodded. "Just send him home, please," I pleaded.

"Did you hurt yourself because you want me to let him go?"

"I... Just let him go, please."

He stayed silent as he murderously glared at Fred for a while, then reluctantly agreed.

"Send him home," I quickly told the guards before he'd change his mind.

"Yes, ma'am," they replied and began untying him.

Enzo's eyes stayed fixed on the part of my arm where the whip had landed. It was a bit swollen and red.

"Don't do this to yourself next time. If you hurt yourself because of someone, I will kill them."

I nodded quickly.

"Come on, let's go put some ointment," he said.

*******

The drive from Enzo's estate to his parents’ was a long one. It took us almost one hour—it was as if they lived in another city.

"Oh dear, you're so beautiful," a woman who seemed to be in her mid-forties rushed towards me the instant I alighted from the car.

"Thank you."

"Mom, this is—"

"Your wife," she cut Enzo off. "I know. You've vowed that the woman you'll bring here is your wife."

I don't know why, but hearing his mother say that made my stomach churn in excitement. I couldn't help but blush.

"Let's go inside. Your father is waiting," she said, linking our arms together and pulling me along.

Enzo's mother had a totally opposite personality to his. Maybe his father was as cold as him because his mother had a bubbly personality.

"Honey, Enzo and his wife are finally here!" she announced immediately we stepped into the house.

A man who didn't look much older than Enzo's mother came out of a room. He came straight to us and shook hands with me. I was expecting a smile, but he was as cold as Enzo—they were indeed father and son.

"Let's have a seat," Enzo's mother said.

We made ourselves comfortable on different sofas, but she made sure we both shared one.

"So, what's your name?" she asked me.

"Genevieve. Genevieve Albrecht," I answered.

"Your surname is Albrecht?" his father asked, his expression growing more serious.

I nodded. "Yes."

His parents exchanged looks after I said my full name. His father looked guilty, and his mother looked at me worriedly.

What’s going on? Why are they making the atmosphere awkward all of a sudden?

"I don't approve of this union," his father said.