Semua Bab The Silence Of His Vows: Bab 51 - Bab 60

A murmur of approval moved through the crowd.The Bishop turned to me.Every camera in the cathedral swiveled to focus on my face.Silence fell.Complete and absolute.I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears."And do you, Luna Vitiello," the Bishop's voice seemed to echo forever, "take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, to love, honor, and obey, until death do you part?"The question hung in the air.This was it. The moment. The end of everything.I looked at Moretti's face. At his wet, hungry eyes.I looked at Father in the front pew, his expression warm and proud but his eyes cold and watchful.I looked at Volkov.He was looking at his watch.Nod or die, Father's threat echoed through my skull.I closed my eyes.Took a breath.And nodded.The sigh that moved through the cathedral was like wind.Relief. Satisfaction. Completion."Then by the power vested in me by—"Volkov ra

I grabbed his lapels with both hands and shook him as hard as I could, tears streaming down my face, my vision blurred, nothing in my mind but animal terror.Get away get away get awayVolkov grabbed my wrists.I twisted violently, trying to break free. Slammed my forehead into his chest.I wasn't the obedient doll anymore. I wasn't performing. I was fighting for my life."STOP IT!" Volkov snarled, his voice harsh. "Stop fighting me!"I didn't stop. Couldn't stop.I wrenched one wrist free and reached for his face, my nails aimed at his eyes.My nails grazed his cheek, drawing four parallel lines of blood.His eyes flashed something dark and dangerous.He released my other wrist.CRACK.His open hand connected with my face.The slap wasn't a warning. It was brutal. Full force. The sound echoed in the metal truck like a gunshot.My head snapped to the side. Pain exploded across my cheek. My ear rang. The world tilted.The force of it threw me backward. I hit the metal bench and collapse

Time died in the dark.I didn't know if hours had passed or days. The darkness in the cellar was absolute. It pressed against my eyes like something physical. Filled my nose with the smell of wet earth and mold that had grown there for decades.I was still in my wedding dress.The fifty pounds of satin and lace that had been a cage in the cathedral was a torture device now. The corset dug into my bruised ribs with every shallow breath. Greta's severe hands had tightened it hours ago. Days ago. I didn't know anymore. The wire boning felt like claws raking my skin from the inside.I tried to shift position.Clank.The chains rattled against the wall. They were short. Too short. They forced my wrists up above my head, anchored to the stone. I couldn't sit. Couldn't lie down. I could only kneel on the cold flagstones, my arms stretched up in permanent surrender.My knees screamed. The skin had rubbed away against the stone. I could feel the wetness. Blood, probably. The fabric of my dress

The darkness had a taste. Wet stone and rust and the copper tang of my own blood drying in sticky trails down my arms. I hung from the wall with my knees barely touching the cold floor, my wrists screaming where the iron cuffs had bitten through skin hours ago. Days ago. I couldn't tell anymore. Time had stopped meaning anything down here in this hole that smelled like mold and old death.I drifted in and out. Sometimes I was back at the altar watching Moretti's legs explode. Sometimes I was in the truck with the needle piercing my neck. Sometimes I was nowhere at all, just floating in black nothing where the pain couldn't reach me.But mostly I was just thirsty.Not normal thirst. This was different. This was a thirst so deep and consuming it felt like someone had poured sand down my throat and lit it on fire. Every breath scraped. Every attempt to swallow made a dry clicking sound that echoed in my skull. My tongue was swollen, stuck to the roof of my mouth like old leather.Clang.T

The question came out quiet, conversational, like we were sitting across from each other at a dinner table having a normal discussion instead of him holding me by the hair in a dungeon.I stared up at the moldy ceiling, at the water stains and darkness above. I tried to shake my head but couldn't move with his grip so tight.Damon. Damon Volkov. The bodyguard Father hired. The man who saved me from the attack. Who drove me to the cabin. Who I trusted with everything because I had no choice."Look at me."He used his grip on my hair to force my head back down, yanking hard enough that pain shot down my neck. He made me meet his eyes.Those grey eyes that had haunted my nightmares for weeks."Three weeks," he said softly, his voice going quiet and deadly in a way that was somehow worse than shouting. "You slept while I watched you in that cabin. You let me touch you. You followed every order I gave you like a good little girl."His grip tightened until I thought my scalp would tear compl