Chapter 47 - Angela

I was still furious at Marco and at myself for my stupidity—I hadn't even been able to sleep, and before the sun rose, I'd left the house with Enrico and Alessia, taking them to the next destinations in their lives far from me.

I took only two soldiers; I'd trained with these men and knew full well they'd protect them with their lives if necessary.

Saying goodbye to them was the hardest thing I'd ever done, and at the most difficult moment of my life. These were dark times, and even though we weren't at war or expecting an attack, I felt like I couldn't trust anyone else.

Melissa had been my confidante from the start, the only one who'd been honest with me, and I'd lost her—to the damned, blind woman who'd been my mother. And Marco had broken my heart a little more, showing me I couldn't believe him anymore.

My entire foundation had been ripped from under me in a single night, leaving me regretting choosing him. That's what I thought as I twisted the ring on my finger while walking to the parking lot.

I even looked like a normal woman walking among all those people, but the truth was I was a killer and the wife of a cold, calculating killer.

"Long time no see, fiancée." Filippo's voice made me pull the gun from inside my coat in an instant, but I didn't even have time to spot him before a shot hit my hand, sending the weapon flying and making me grunt in pain. "Easy, darling—don't cry now. This is just the beginning of what I've prepared for you."

"What do you want, you worm?" I growled, clutching my trembling hand with my coat, seeing that the bullet had taken the bridge of my thumb.

Three men appeared beside him, and I wanted to be strong enough to resist. I crouched, grabbing the knife from my ankle, ready to fight to break free from him, but as soon as I stood, the guns were aimed at me.

"Seems you've learned a few things from your husband. I want to know if he also taught you how to please a man in bed," Filippo said, making my stomach churn with disgust, and I didn't hesitate before plunging the knife into the chest of one of his men.

"I know you won't shoot me," I said through gritted teeth, staring at him while keeping my hand on the dagger lodged in his man's chest. "You need me alive."

"That's true—I plan to make you cry and scream in pain, and I'll record every minute and send it to Falcone. A different recording every day—videos, photos. Who knows, maybe a piece of you," he said, pinching my cheek. "I'll drive him mad a little more each day, unable to save you."

His words only made me think of what would happen to me; Filippo wouldn't spare his wrath and madness—he'd hurt me in every way possible. But I was more worried about how Marco would react, after what he and his mother had been through.

I should have been more concerned about what was about to happen to me as I was dragged through the parking lot with a gun at my back, but I couldn't stop thinking about how he'd cope with everything already happening.

"Marco doesn't care what happens to me," I lied, wanting Filippo to be as stupid as we thought and abandon that plan. "He only wanted me to destroy my father, and he's already done that."

"That's what you think—if he just wanted to attack your father, he wouldn't have done everything he did."

"If you're talking about losing men and merchandise, that was just to anger my father even more, showing he had no power against him..."

"That was small change. Falcone lost several casinos—his businesses are being investigated after all the gruesome deaths your father caused." I froze at his words and was shoved into the car, which sped out of the parking lot, lost in the city streets. "He could have allied with the Russians a long time ago, but he only did it after marrying you, ensuring they wouldn't ask him to marry because he only wanted you."

I'd never stopped to think that way, to analyze every step Marco had taken until now—I didn't even know he'd lost so much and was dealing with more problems than he'd told me.

But I couldn't show my surprise about it—Filippo would use any feeling between us as a weapon to destroy us.

"He doesn't love me," I tried to dissuade him, remembering his words during the engagement dinner.

"Oh, poor thing," he tried to place his hands on my face, but I dodged his touch and was hit with a punch in the same instant. "There are many ways to love, fiancée—especially in the mafia, and you'll learn that."

My eyes burned from the force of the blow to my nose; tears streamed as I tried to process the pain spreading through it.

The sound of my phone echoed in the car, and even with my blurred vision, I managed to see Filippo waving the phone in front of me with a devilish smile on his face.

Why did Marco have to call right now? He should have waited for me to come home, but he'd just entered Filippo's dirty game. The bastard slapped my face, in the same spot he'd punched, just to make me moan in pain while Marco was on the line.

"You're a dead man—hear me? A dead man!" That was the last thing I heard from Marco before he hung up and gave me a dark look.

"I told you he loved you."

That was the worst thing that could have happened—if Marco had just ignored him, Filippo would have killed me faster, abandoning that sick game. But with Marco's threat, he'd hurt me slowly to hit him even harder.

The car drove for about twenty minutes before stopping at an abandoned warehouse, falling to pieces. When I was yanked from the car and dragged inside, my blood ran cold at the sight of chains dangling from the ceiling, the floor stained with blood, and the putrid smell filling the place.

That was their torture spot—the place where they extracted everything they wanted from a person.

"Hang the slut up—I'll make her suffer after I'm done with her body." My stomach churned, and the chill of death rose from my feet, dominating my entire body.

I fought, thrashed, punched, and shook my body, trying to avoid them chaining my arms from the ceiling. But it was useless—the men held me with crushing force, to the point of breaking my bones as they tried to immobilize me.

"You'll regret this, Filippo."

"Won't beg for mercy, fiancée, like you did when I shoved my tongue in your mouth the first time?"

He circled my body, and then his hands were on me, ripping my clothes, stripping me without caring about any of the men around us. Filippo took everything until I was naked and hanging, immobile, unable to defend myself.

"I swear I'll make you suffer slowly for everything you do to me!" That was my promise before he touched my breast, filling me with revulsion.

"You won't leave alive this time, slut." He held me in place, ready to violate my body.

I was in panic, my heart racing, my whole body on alert for the attack—my brain had fired a warning to brace for the worst. But I clung to the promise I'd made: for every touch, every grunt of pain and disgust, every stab he inflicted on my body, I repeated to myself that I'd do worse to him.

At some point, I'd escape—maybe not sure when, but I would, and make him suffer double.