Chapter 51 - Angela

I wasn't joking when I said that if Marco wanted to help, he should take me to Filippo. In my nightmares, he was loose, torturing me, wandering freely in my mind and planting fear in every possible place.

That piece of shit had managed to destroy me from the inside out, affecting me in ways I never thought possible. After my mother, I'd sworn I wouldn't be manipulated by anyone else, but there I was, being manipulated by my fears. Seeing him chained and suffering would help me face my own thoughts.

"Let's go home!" Marco ordered, as I'd already imagined, fleeing from what I so desperately wanted. I didn't think he'd accept so quickly—I'd have to do it alone later.

I couldn't even look at Marco without feeling shame and disgust for myself, as well as fear of him and dread of his touch. In my mind, Filippo's voice screamed that he'd discover everything they'd done to me and how broken I was when he touched me—I couldn't let that happen; I couldn't bear Marco's revulsion.

I'd rather he hated me and drowned in doubt about how to deal with me than face his disgust—and that's what would happen if he touched me; he wouldn't want to stay married to me anymore.

The driver followed calmly through the streets while I watched the raindrops trickle down the window, trying to pretend he wasn't beside me.

As soon as we arrived home, I got out without waiting for the door to be opened and hurried inside the mansion, ignoring Marco's voice behind me—not even caring about the rain until the entrance.

"It's so good to see you here," Giovanna was the one who stopped me when her plump arms enveloped me in a warm hug. "I wanted to hug you at the funeral, but it wasn't the time."

"Thank you, Gio. It's good to be back," I murmured, trying to be strong and not collapse into those comfortable, cozy arms.

"I made your favorite foods—you must be starving after all that hospital food," she smiled so brightly at me that it seemed she didn't know what had happened; I saw no pity in her eyes that I expected to find, and that's why I managed a smile.

But my whole body stiffened when I heard the footsteps behind me and his scent reached me.

"We'll eat soon, Giovanna," Marco's voice sounded very close to me, and I didn't need to turn to know he was a step away from touching my back, as my entire body tingled and prickled with the proximity. "Angel wants to take care of something first. Shall we?"

I turned, confused, and for the first time, allowed myself to look at his face. He seemed to have changed so much in those five days apart—his beard was longer, and his cheeks seemed even more hollow, as were his eyes, which even had dark circles surrounding them.

He nodded toward outside the house, and I followed his steps back into the rain. Nero was standing in the distance, facing the training room and looking our way, and that's where Marco walked with long strides.

"What's happening? What did we come here to do?" I questioned when the soldier opened the door, letting us in.

Everything in the place looked exactly as I remembered, but Marco went straight to the bar beside the table where they usually discussed strategies and pressed a button, making a trapdoor appear in the floor, revealing a staircase I'd never seen.

"You wanted to see that worm—just go down the stairs," I approached, staring at the iron steps spiraling down, bringing an unusual chill that made me shiver, along with the foul smell that assaulted my nose. "Are you sure about this, Angela?" He grabbed my arm when I gripped the railing, ready to descend.

"I can't get him out of my head anyway—it's not like it'll make a difference," I confessed, staring at the steps in front of me, and Marco's fingers slowly left my skin.

The footsteps echoed as I descended straight into the dark silence, but as we went down, my eyes adjusted to the low lights, and I spotted the separate cells. One with just Filippo and another with five men, all handcuffed by hands and feet, looking dirty and hungry.

"Sir, ma'am," one of our soldiers greeted, standing from the chair in the corner, and the others snapped to attention when I stepped off the last step.

But I focused my eyes on Filippo's figure, hunched against the damp floor with dirty clothes and his head against his knees. I approached his cell even more, realizing what that putrid odor was—it was the urine and feces of every man locked there.

My heart raced, and a happiness bloomed in my heart seeing him like that, in the middle of his own filth, living like the rat he was—a wild, filthy animal, chained as he should always have been.

"Boss, the slut's back," I heard a man in the other cell say, and my eyes were drawn to one of Filippo's men, who smirked mockingly at me.

"Missed us, whore?" Filippo lifted his face and stared at me. The damage Marco had done to his face was evident—his nose was still broken and swollen, surrounded by various shades of bruises across his face. "Come for another round of fucking?"

"Watch how you speak, you contemptible worm!" Marco advanced, growling, but I just shook my head no.

"Frightened animals tend to make noise," I said, stepping away from the bars and heading toward the cabinet in the corner. I knew that's where they'd keep all the torture tools, and I was taken by surprise when I saw an infinity of things. "Let's see how much noise you can make. I want the two talkers out of the cell and stripped."

The soldiers just looked at me for an instant with doubt before advancing and doing exactly what I'd asked. Nero was at the foot of the stairs, watching everything with furrowed brows, while Marco walked to my side, never taking his eyes off me.

"Didn't your husband get the message?" The man questioned when his arms were tied to the arms of an old chair, just like they did with Filippo. "You're looking for a real man, aren't you?"

A smile formed on my lips as I ran my fingers over the tools, choosing which would be best, until I picked up a small knife—it looked delicate and harmless, but a trickle of blood ran down my finger when I ran it over the blade.

"I know you're thirsty to die—that's why you haven't stopped talking since you saw me," I said, approaching him with the knife, crouching in front of him and ignoring my broken ribs protesting with pain, and tapped the blade against his chin. "You'll just have to be patient with me—I'm new to this torture thing."

"You want to dance with me again, you slut," he bellowed, his eyes overflowing with fear. The images of him shaking my body like I was a doll while laughing came to my mind.

"I know how you like to solve everything quick and rough, but today, I'm the one leading," I slid the tip up to his mouth and watched the flesh open easily, letting his blood drip as he writhed in the chair.

I circled his mouth with the knife tip, watching the skin tear as I thought of every time that filthy mouth touched me, every time he laughed or asked if I'd liked it.

I didn't want to remember, but even in a near-unconscious state replaying moments with Marco in my head, somehow I still remembered every face that touched me—the things they said mixed with the others' laughter, but even the hands on my body, I could recall.

"I knew that shitty husband of yours wouldn't touch you after all this," Filippo grumbled, pulling my mind from the man in front of me, who was already covered in several cuts on his face.

"Your turn will come—don't be hasty," I said, standing and going back to the cabinet to search for something else to heighten his agony. "We're just getting started—didn't you tell me that?"

I swapped the knife for a hammer that let me break the bones in his hand, while his scream echoed through the place, bringing me an unexpected relief. Then I grabbed pliers to pull his teeth.

I knew everyone there had something to say. Filippo seemed panicked beside the man being tortured. I could see Marco out of the corner of my eye, following me with clenched jaw and fists. At times, I heard whispers from the soldiers and even Nero, but I couldn't distinguish what they were saying—I was just focused on the screams of pain and agony.

Until I held the gardening shears in my hands and laughed while cutting off that wretch's member.

"Don't cry—not now. Come on, open your eyes," I said with satisfaction seeing him faint in front of me. I slapped his face a few times, but he didn't react, and when I placed my fingers on his neck searching for a pulse, I discovered it. "This one's no longer on the dance floor."

I let out the breath, letting my shoulders slump along with the shears that hit the bloodied floor. Observing the scene in front of me, I felt like I was regaining a part of control over my own body. He'd made me bleed, hurt me—and now I'd done the same, leading him to his end.

I'd never imagined I'd find peace in torturing someone to death.

"You sick slut—looks like the Demon of the Camorra finished off the little princess I knew."

"Angela has always been like this—you just weren't able to see her potential," Marco replied to the frightened worm. Was he right? Was that why he wanted to turn me into his version? Did he know from the start that I had the potential to become my father's worst nightmare, to become the She-Devil of the Camorra?

I ignored my thoughts, knowing it wasn't the time to go back to the night Marco broke my heart into a thousand pieces. If I went there, it might take too long—and that wasn't the place for it.

"Don't cry, Filippo. Today was just so you could enjoy the show, to get an idea of what's coming," that was all I said to him before turning to leave, staring at my hands covered in that filthy blood, as well as my clothes, but in a strange way, it had helped wash part of my mind.

I smiled genuinely at Nero, who stepped aside to let me grip the railing.

"How did we make Marco watch everything we did to you?" I stopped on the first step, freezing at those words. "I'm sure he enjoyed the show."

No! That couldn't be true—Marco couldn't have watched all that shit. I wouldn't be able to bear it if it was true—I could never be his again!