Chapter 21

RENZO'S POV

"Let him go!" my mother screamed, writhing in agony on the floor. "I beg of you. Just let go of my son, and I will do everything you want of me."

My hand clenched into a tight fist as anger and pain consumed me. My brother—my half-brother—grabbed me by the neck, squeezing my throat until I began to see stars.

"Mo—mother," I gasped, stuttering as my beast of a brother tightened his grip around my neck.

I shook my head, silently praying that my mother would stop crawling toward us. She had been stabbed severely, but she might survive her wounds if she left me behind and ran. Instead, she kept crawling closer, her body dragging through her own pool of blood.

"Give it to me, Nadia!" my father growled, watching me struggle against my brother's grip. He didn't seem to care whether they killed me or not. He didn't even bat an eye at my mother, who was losing so much blood.

Whatever he believed my mother possessed, that was all he cared about. Nothing more.

"I... I don't have... it." My mother coughed up blood.

I was beginning to lose the battle against the firm grip around my neck.

Life was slipping away from me as I watched my father rise from the couch, looking every bit the beastly king he was. He stared at my mother for so long that I began to think he had changed his mind.

"Suit yourself," he sneered.

He pulled a dagger from his jacket and marched toward me.

"Watch and live with the regret for the rest of your life," he spat venomously.

I didn't understand what he meant until I felt him drag me out of my brother's grip. I thought he wanted to save me from my brother, who had seemed determined to end my life for as long as I could remember.

I thought he had finally felt guilty for torturing the child he had never considered his own and wanted to make amends.

My lips parted in a faint smile. I opened my mouth to say something, but all that escaped me was a deep grunt as something cold and sharp pierced my gut, cutting through my intestines.

He stabbed me!

My father had stabbed me with a fucking dagger.

"Fa—father!" I screamed as I crashed to the floor with a loud thud.

My eyes flew open.

Balls of sweat covered my body, soaking my clothes.

"Father." A deep grunt rumbled through my chest as I panted heavily, struggling to catch my breath. My chest tightened, and pain surged through my gut. I moved a hand to my stomach, clutching the spot where my father's dagger had pierced me.

I rubbed the spot where the wound lay before bringing my hand to my face, only to find fresh blood smeared across my palm.

"Hhmph." I groaned in pain. My lower body felt heavy as I sat on the floor of my office, breathing hard. It felt as though I had just been stabbed all over again.

My father had stabbed me with a dagger coated in an unidentified toxic substance when I was five. Over something I knew nothing about.

Twenty-seven years later, the wound still hadn't healed, and the pain continued to eat away at my insides. My father still refused to tell me what tonic could neutralize the poison.

He wanted me dead in the most painful way possible.

"Ahh!" I gasped, clutching my side.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was only two in the morning.

Slowly, I dragged myself off the floor, clutching my side as I staggered out of my office. I was heading for the underground dungeon hidden beneath the office building—the same office that had once belonged to my father.

I descended the dark staircase leading to the dungeon beneath my office. The place was cold and damp, and it hadn't been renovated since I took over the building years ago.

No one could know about it.

"It's nice to know you still haven't found a remedy for the poison eating away at your insides."

A grumbling snicker came from the only cell in the dungeon, followed by the sound of rattling shackles.

"It's nice to know you still haven't lost your voice," I growled, my voice reverberating through the underground dungeon like an explosion.

What no one knew was that my father was still alive.

Although I had declared him dead years ago, after forcing my way onto the throne, I couldn't let him die just yet. Not when I still hadn't obtained the remedy for the wormlike poison eating away at my insides, slowly draining the life out of me.

"I know why you're here, and my answer is still no. Kill me. You're only wasting your life by keeping me alive." He coughed, struggling against the shackles that bound him to the examination table.

I ignored his taunt and turned to light the lamp beside the table. He looked as good as dead, and I felt no remorse for what I was doing to him.

He had done far worse to me.

"I'm not going to waste my time," I grumbled, biting down on my lower lip to keep myself from growling in pain. The pain was becoming unbearable, but I refused to break down in front of my father.

No.

That would never happen.

I would show him that I could endure more than this. I would never let him see how much I was suffering inside. He would never know my pain.

No one would.

"Tell me what poison you used on me. Tell me what tonic I need, and I'll give you the most painless death I can."

I pulled the dagger from my pocket and stared at the same silver blade my father had used to stab me twenty-seven years ago.

"Like I'm going to tell you," he spat, an evil grin spreading across his face as he watched his saliva slide down my cheek.

He must have thought I was a garbage can, just as he had always treated me like one.

"I don't care what you do to me," I hissed, wiping my face. "Trust me, I don't want to be here either. Tell me what I want to know, and I'll leave."

My father said nothing. Instead, he relaxed against the examination table and closed his eyes.

"Do whatever you want and get out of my face."

"As you wish."

I raised the dagger—his dagger, which now belonged to me—and plunged it into his chest several times. His blood splashed across my face, but I didn't stop.

He wouldn't die anyway.

No matter how much pain I inflicted on him, he wouldn't die until I switched off the machine keeping him alive. I wanted him to feel the pain, to suffer far more than he had made me suffer since the day I was born.

My father struggled against the shackles, but he refused to cry out. Just as I masked my own pain, he wouldn't let me feast on his suffering.

We would both rather endure the agony than let the other know how much we were hurting.

I used to think I was different from my father.

But in truth, I was just like him.

Just as he had always wanted me to be.

"Is that all you've got, kid?" he groaned, spitting blood. The disgusting substance landed on my shoes. "Do more. I dare you. After all that hard training I put you through, is this really the best you can do? Tsk."

He shook his head and threw it back against the table.

"You're a disgrace."

My hands trembled with anger and pain as I pulled the dagger from his chest and drove it into his neck, slicing through the side of it.

He writhed against the table, but no sound escaped his mouth.

"I'll come back again," I growled, pulling out the dagger. "But next time, I won't be in pain. I'll be able to do much more to you."

I stared at him one last time before turning my back and switching off the lamp.

I had barely taken two steps away from the table when my father gasped for breath.

"I hope I live to see your son tie you to a table here, too. After all, you're just like me."

My shoulders jerked with anguish. My chest tightened with fear and pain, and my fists clenched in anger.

"I'm never going to have a son," I muttered through gritted teeth. "That way, I'll put an end to this cursed generation of ours."

I didn't wait for his reply.

My head was a jumble of thoughts as I staggered out of the underground dungeon. By the time I emerged, my clothes were drenched in blood. My body trembled, and a flood of memories overwhelmed me.

Screams filled my head, cutting through my senses.

The screams of my brothers as I took their lives in the most vicious ways imaginable.

The screams of my mother as she fought for her life, struggling until she finally met her demise.

Screams.

Screams.

There were so many screams.

"Make it stop," I groaned, staggering forward without looking where I was going.

I had no idea where I was heading. I just kept walking, letting my legs carry me as I blindly followed wherever they led.

I pushed open a door.

The scent of rose-scented candles filled my nostrils. I lifted my head and inhaled deeply, searching for the familiar fragrance of my mother—the scent that had always brought me peace.

"Mother?" I whispered to myself, stepping farther into the room.

I heard a faint voice, but I couldn't make out what it was saying.

A hand caught my wrist and pulled me closer.

The hand was soft and inviting. I clutched it, pulling its owner toward me until a soft body collided with mine.

The scent of rose-scented candles.

My mother's scent.

It filled my nostrils, clouding my senses. It soothed me, bringing peace to my troubled soul.

"Please, make it stop," I pleaded, wrapping my arms around the tender body.

We crashed to the floor, but I couldn't find the strength to get back on my feet, even when I tried.

The comforting scent of rose-scented candles was the last thing I registered before my mind shut down and I slowly drifted into unconsciousness.

"Mother... please make it stop," I mumbled as I fell into a deep sleep.