Alberto's POV:
Walking into my bar half an hour later after getting the call from my men, I find everything out of place. Bullets through the bar, my bartender, whatever her name was, one of my men carrying her outside, and chairs and tables toppled everywhere. More men came to guard the place in case Fillip and his men decided to show up again. He is not that stupid, though. He would pursue trying to find Emma, just not today.
The rest of the dead men were getting carried out in cars to get rid of their bodies. My men...and one of Fillip's. Only one was left standing. Raffael.
Raffael had his head laid backwards as a doctor was healing his gunshot wound. The only one of my men left alive—a coincidence? I don't think so. Ever since he came to work with me instead of Fillip, problems have been all over my head. This was just another problem, although not the least passable. My bars have never been attacked in broad daylight like that before.
Pushing the doctor off of Raffael, I press my hand on his wounded shoulder, applying pressure as his hand flies up to mine, trying to remove it, but he can't. Instead, he groans, removing his hand. "I would rather say that problems keep getting in my way since the fucking moment you stepped foot on my doorstep. Don't you think Raffael?"
"I don't."
I applied more pressure. "You don't? Because them not killing you was quite the surprise given that you left them to come work for me."
"They wanted to know about Emma; they thought I was close enough to you that I would know."
"They haven't guessed."
He looked at me, repelled, before answering. "No, they didn't."
"Get this shit done and to my office immediately. I want a way to get back at them. The moment I am back, you better have a fucking plan, or I will finish their job for them."
"Where are you going?"
"You aren't close enough to know." Until I have proof that he was connected to any of the attacks and failed exchanges I have been having, he's done. Rather than that, I am a modest man; he is still of minor use to me, and if I plan to get back at them, then I would need him.
Getting into my car, I said, "Get me to my hill house quickly. I need to be back at the mansion in half an hour."
The streets weren't clogged, so we got there quickly. I unlock the hill house door, and I find her sitting there on the couch. Coal-black hair has fallen on her shoulder, just like the ridiculous tears on her cheeks every time I see her. She was waiting for me—how sweet! Her knees were tucked up to her chin, and she sat on the couch, looking at the closed curtains. I told her a lot to keep them open.
"Sweetheart," I lean in for a kiss, but she only backs away, so I grab her face, "Careful, Emma, you've been making me quite angry lately." Her eyes shut, and her petite nose wrinkles in pain.
Emma's POV:
I sat silently counting the seconds, the minutes, and the hours as they passed so achingly slowly. The very small seep of air through the tightly locked windows caused me to shiver, but I didn't even have the energy to change into something warmer. Maybe if I get sick enough, I will finally leave this world.
Everything was red. He loved that colour. The colour of blood, the colour of violence, the colour of death. His leather couch was crimson, and his curtains were all cherry red. If he could, he would have painted the oak wood that held this house together red. I'm starting to see this colour everywhere. Not just in my sleep, but even when I closed my eyes, instead of the trapping darkness, I got choked by his violence.
He always told me to open up the curtains 'Show your stunning beauty.' Well, that's exactly why I never open them up when he's not here. The door unlocks, and I fight the urge to turn to look at him; there is no need to take any more of his face.
With all the audacity in the world, he leans down for a kiss while calling me 'sweetheart'. When I backed away, his hand grabbed my face harshly. "You've been making me quite angry lately," he said, but I couldn't look him in the eye, disgusted. When his lock on my jaws only got stronger, a single tear, stinging my eye, fell. When he saw that, he let go of my face. Instead, he replaced the grab with such a soft touch that it could truly fool.
"Look at me,' He ordered, so I listened and looked at him. After too long, I couldn't fight him anymore. I never learned how to fight in my life, and in the past few years, I have been paying the price for not being able to. She always did; she did everything for me as a sister, a friend, and a mother. Fleur did my fighting for me; she paved the way for me, and her mistakes were never mine.
After all the stories Alberto has been telling me about Fleur, I tried to stay as strong as she was. I tried to stop him, but I just couldn't. I was sixteen when he first got me here, and I couldn't. The best days were the ones where I would just pass out. Not the days where he wouldn't show up in this cursed house because even then I would be in fear. I was scared, anticipating whether he might show up or not. It was best when I just blacked out and could take a break from the world.
"Darling, don't make me hurt you; you know how much it pains me." How can his voice be this deceiving? This soothing. I never knew, but I stopped falling for it long ago. He feeds on the pain and fear inside me—that much I know.
"Clearly it does."
"You're trying to get smart with me again, are you?" he asked, his gaze going from soft to threatening. "I am tired; I came here to relax. Your sister has been causing me a lot of problems, you know," he said, sitting down next to me and wrapped his arm around me while laughing a bit. I could feel the inside of my stomach churning in disgust at his touch. I have no idea what exactly he found amusing about the situation.
"I thought you sold her to another man," I said with a sting in my voice. He never let a story about her go.
"A gift. Your sister was a gift. and it was a mistake; I should have never given her to that man. Fillip De Marco, the youngest don of New York, the righteous man. Go figure. We are all criminals in this circle, and yet he still thinks he's a good person."
Fillip de Marco... I never knew it was him that Alberto had given Fleur to.
"Wh-what did he do?"
His head snapped in my direction, causing a shudder to go through my spine. "They came looking for you."
"They did what?"
"Don't worry, though; they fell for a trap I made since I came back from LA." When he was hit in the face, he refused to tell me what that was about. "The way Fillip cared about her, I knew he would do anything she asked for; hence, today. Again, it was just a trap; they got caught anyway."
"Got caught how?" The question slipped out of my mouth involuntarily: I wanted to make sure Fleur and Fillip, because he's helping her, are okay. Alberto's gaze turned to stone as he frowned at me. Suddenly, the hand that was around my shoulder was landing on my face with an echoing sound through the living room of the house.
Tears stung my eyes once more when he grabbed my face again and said, "So eager to leave are we? I told you once, Emma, I wouldn't be repeating it again. You are mine. No one is finding you here. No one is taking you away from me."
"I was never yours," I rasped. I haven't argued and talked back to him like that in a long time, but the fact that I know Fleur is out there. Alive and well, with the Don of New York City by her side, that caused courage to flutter through my chest.
Another slap.
"Wrong answer," were his words while wearing a misogynistic smile. "You are, and nothing. NOT EVEN THAT MAN FILLIP WOULD CHANGE THAT." he said, pushing my face away, as he got up unbuckling his belt. For a minute it was landing on my bare arms, before he unbuttoned his pants, dropping the belt on the ground with a thud. Then, he pushed me back on the couch, making me land on my back, not giving me a chance to even get up as he got on top of me.
He took me there, pain penetrating me with his harsh thrust, and with every one he would breathe in my ears the words, "you are mine." Like he hasn't made that clear for the past 6 years, imprisoning me here with him.
When he was finally done, he got up and left me there crying on that red couch. He left, but not before planting a small kiss on my forehead. "You are mine Emma. Don't you ever forget that. I hope this was your lesson. Don't make me do that again," he said.
My arms and parts of my body were bleeding from his belt, but nothing was as painful as my heard breaking when he slammed the door of the house behind him, locking it, he never forgot to lock it. He will be coming back, and I hope Fleur does before him. I was left alone in the endless pain and draining sobs, as he always did on 'his relaxing visits'.