Semua Bab Promised To The Don: The Runaway Mafia Princess: Bab 21 - Bab 26

Alessia ─ ∘❉∘ ─ I woke up to the kind of silence that didn’t feel right. My eyes fluttered open. Everything was blurry at first, golden sunlight bleeding through heavy curtains, the scent of cologne I didn’t recognize sticking to the back of my throat. I blinked hard. My head pounded. My mouth was dry, tongue heavy like I’d swallowed cotton. Where the…? This wasn’t my room. The sheets were soft, the headboard some massive carved thing that looked like it belonged in a castle, it wasn't mine, none of it was mine. And me, Jesus Christ, I was naked, completely bare. I never slept naked. Panic shot straight through me, my chest locked up. I dragged the blanket over me, clutching it to my skin like it could undo the fact that I was stripped down to nothing. I tried to sit up but froze. Pain ripped between my thighs, sharp and real, not just soreness. My body felt wrecked, hollowed out, trembling when I tried to squeeze my legs shut. My pink birthday dress was on the

Alessia ─ ∘❉∘ ─ I could hear my heart beating in my ears, my breathing ragged and uneven, my skin still raw from his touch, from his words. I couldn’t stay here a second longer, I needed to move, needed to do something before the panic swallowed me whole. I forced myself up on trembling legs, holding onto the edge of the coffee table for balance. My knees buckled once, twice, and I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood just to keep myself from crying again. I couldn’t walk out like this, not barefoot. Not in this torn, dirty dress, not with every inch of me on display like proof of what he’d done. I stumbled toward his closet like I was walking through mud, my body aching, hips sore, thighs burning with the bruises of the night before. My fingers were clumsy as I opened the closet and stared into the rows of tailored suits, pressed shirts, and expensive jackets. Everything smelled like him. Cedarwood. It filled my nose, slid down my throat, clung to my skin

Antonio ⊶⊷⊶⊷“What kind of sick motherfucker does that to an eighteen-year-old girl?!”My voice ripped out of me, bouncing off the walls, too loud. I couldn’t stop pacing, my boots pounding against the floor. Back and forth. Back and forth. Every time I tried to stand still, my body jolted like I was about to explode.“He raped her?!” the words tasted like acid in my mouth. I spat them, choking on the fury boiling up my throat. “He fucking raped her on the night she turned eighteen?”I dug both hands into my hair until my scalp burned, then tore them down my face like I could scrape the rage out of me. My chest heaved, breath coming hard and fast, like I’d sprinted a mile.My fists clenched so tight my knuckles cracked. I slammed one against the wall, the sound rattling the frame. Plaster dust rained down but it wasn’t enough, nothing was enough.“That piece of shit—” my words broke off in a growl. I wanted blood. I wanted his throat under my hand, his eyes bulging, his screams fill