Semua Bab CALAVERA: The Mafia’s Caged Bride : Bab 11 - Bab 20

~CÉSAR’S POV~She looked small in that bed. Too small for the noise she had made earlier, the screams that had carved themselves into my chest like music. Now she lay still, bandage wrapped tight around her foot, lips bruised and swollen from my mouth.I liked her like this. Shaken. Reduced. Breathing only because I let her.My father’s voice came back the way it always did in moments like this. That voice never fades; it clings like smoke. “If you want something, take it. If it screams, break it. If it runs, hunt it. But never let it go.”I had been ten the first time he said it. He gripped the back of my neck hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises, forced my eyes to his, and made sure I understood. That was his way of teaching—no lectures, no softness, just force. His voice lives inside me still, steady and absolute, the only law I’ve ever believed in.Every time she resists, I hear him again.She thinks tears can soften me. She thinks pain will make me loosen my grip. Foolis

~ANYA POV~‎‎The maids came into my room early. They did not talk, as always. They only carried a big black box and set it on the bed. Then they left.‎‎I sat up slowly. My ankle still hurts sometimes but walking was bearable and my body felt weak. I opened the box and Inside was a red dress, shiny and heavy, and shoes with thin black heels. There was also a small bag that sparkled too much, it probably cost more than my father's house.‎‎I stared at it for a long time. I wanted to laugh or cry. It looked too beautiful for me.‎‎The door opened again and César walked in. His shirt was half buttoned. His hair was slicked back. He had a cigar in his hand, smoke curling around him.‎‎He came close and sat down on the bed. His eyes moved over the dress, then over me. He said nothing at first, only stared like he always did.‎‎“You’ll wear that tonight,” he said at last. His voice was deep and slow.‎‎I did not answer. My throat felt dry. He put his hand on my chin, forcing me to l

~ANYA’S POV~At some point, the fear burns out and what is left is this deep emptiness. Reciting the same thoughts in my head until they felt worn out like an old record. Even pain or danger feels more alive than this stillness.That’s boredom. It’s not just having “Nothing to do” but being trapped with yourself, with no escape from repetition, no fresh air of change. It is a kind of prison where even time feels like it’s mocking me.It’s the same routine every day. Wake up, bath, eat, sleep, eat, bath, sleep all like a vicious never-ending cycle, like time has stopped altogether.I shivered looking at the blurry sky with tears in my eyes. I had to hand it to myself, I was handling everything better than I expected.It was now getting dark and I was still sitting in the garden on a picnic mat surrounded by fluffy pillows, my coffee had long gone cold. I’ve been up since 6 a.m. hoping to find a solution, asking myself the same questions over and over again.I felt at some point I wa

~ANYA’S POV~I slowly opened my eyes with a groan. My body felt like lead, the space beside me was empty and my throat was indescribably dehydrated and sore.I dazedly ran a hand through my hair and smelled the faint scent of shampoo; it wasn't rough, but smooth, like someone had taken their time to comb through the locks.Recalling the events of the previous night, a slight pain rose from between my legs as I tried to sit up."Good morning Love." A deep voice sounded from the door, making me almost yelp in shock."G-good morning." I croaked out, my throat on fire.He was clad in a White suit; the first two buttons of his inner shirt were undone, and he held his tie in his hands."How're you feeling?". He asked as he handed me the glass of water that I downed greedily, the memories of the last time he drugged my water temporarily flashing in my head."Tired," I said softly as I looked up to meet his gaze.I placed my hand in his outstretched own and let him take me to the bathroom.Ha

~ANYA POV~He finally let me go my chest burned and my throat screamed for air. I fell Hard to the floor, he smacked me, my knees scraped and my palms stung.Air rushed back into me and I coughed mixed with sobbing.I cried like a child, my body shaking I didn’t want to look at the dead waiter lying on the floor but I couldn’t help it. The gash on his neck was deep and brutal, he had suffered before dying. Choking on his blood He didn’t even get the chance to beg for his life.César bent down, calm as always. His face didn’t even break a sweat like this was a daily routine for him. He scooped me up like I weighed nothing. I tried to fight but my arms felt like jelly. He smelled of cologne and iron, and my tears fell on his shoulder. He carried me out like a groom carrying his bride. Only I was no bride. I was his prisoner.The night air hit the tears on my face sending a chill through my body. He took me to the car and set me down on the passenger seat gently. My stomach twisted a