My Neighbour's Wife のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

Two months later...The water in the tin can is drugged. I reach for it and drink every last drop of it. It hits the ground with a loud clank and I slump against the cold metal wall.Mice squeak as they scurry past my bare feet, biting, nibbling. I barely feel it as a numbing cold spreads through my fingers and toes, fatigue drenching into my very bones.I welcome it, chasing after the usual fog that comes over my mind after consuming the sedatives. But it never comes swiftly, and I can hear the usual shuffling of feet coming down the dark path leading to my cell.My eyelids droop slowly and I drift for mere seconds before a feminine voice, sharp and wicked, cuts through the haze temporarily. “Nothing still?”“No,” the new guard who’s been positioned outside my cell responds. It might have been days or weeks since the last one was replaced. At some point when I was thrown in here, I kept tabs on how long the shifts lasted. I don’t know why I had bothered hoping. For escape. For him t

On some days, the burden of the guilt is too heavy to lift. On those days, the pipe is never too far, filling my lungs and head with oblivion. He would discover it soon, my sin. And he would punish me for it. I often wondered if it would be a shot to the head, like he’d killed Mario for touching her, or if it would be slow and painful, like the deaths of the men he already has rotting in his basement for abducting her in the first place.Of course, I had to kill them when he left. I couldn’t risk them giving him my name, not when I knew Zefiro Visconti was the devil that never forgave. I might be his wife, but there were lines we Italians didn’t toe with each other.Lovers and wives were targets during the power wars, but everyone knew touching a single hair on the women’s heads wasn’t just a crime. It was a sin. There would be no forgiveness. Blood would call for blood, and the only way Zefiro wouldn’t have me chopped in pieces for what I have done is if I killed him.When I was yo

“You’re a long way from home, Visconti,” Jaxon says, his voice smooth but unmistakably hostile. His fingers flex on my thighs, parting them wider as he grips hard, a deliberate move because of the man at the table’s head whose gaze washes over me like honey on skin. “Most find the climate in Moscow harsh and the streets hostile. In truth, I had hoped you might get mugged to death in the streets, but it’s not too late, I assume.”I don’t flinch or look, but I hear the smile in Zefiro’s voice as he responds, “Your message was well received, though, I can’t say the same for your mercenary.” An amused glance to the left--I have no idea when my gaze drifted to his beautiful face--and Mr. Visconti’s man...another face that brings me memories and a little bit of relief, brings forward a bloodied man, beaten beyond recognition and limping on both broken legs. His ripped up suit marks him as one of ours, and his eyes turn pleading once they land on Jaxon and me. The demon at the table’s head

Fourteen months, two weeks, four days.And all I find is a husk. An empty shell of unnervingly pale skin and lifeless gray eyes.The scanner beeps an angry red, swiftly as Rizzi flips it over her neck. I snarl softly at the sight of the collar, but refrain from ripping it and the tracker off her neck.Any form of proximity seems to set her off. Rizzi already tried asking her to take it off and what did she fucking say? “Jaxon wouldn’t like that.”He treated her like an animal, and she’d looked at him like if he asked her to suck on his feet, she would have. She fought to get in the car, had raked her nails across my face when I asked her to. Blood still drips from the cut, my handkerchief pressed into my skin.I understood Jaxon’s smile then, as he’d tossed her aside like she meant nothing. He’d handed over a different woman, nothing left of the Susanna I had come to know in her. Someone so utterly broken, she clung to her master like he was her salvation, the rest of the world her en

I stepped out of the bedroom on the tenth day, only because my monthly cycle returned. I hadn’t fed well enough in the past year and it’d become irregular, coming once in every four months.My body seems to have decided that my eating habits in the past few days has become healthy enough, sending me enough blood to create a crime scene on Zefiro’s white sheets. And the cramping in my lower belly feel like knife stabs to my gut. Trying to handle it had me dangling off the side of the bed, writhing. I’m hoping I find something in the kitchen.Just as the door shuts, a scream echoes along the halls and my head snaps up in time to see a child squealing, small feet slapping against the floors.I freeze as the boy draws closer, searching for signs in his eyes, his hair, his small face that he might belong to Zefiro. But he’s a redhead and cute freckles scatter along his face. His bright blue eyes land on mine and he squeals again, spreading his arms wider. My guard lowers as he wraps his