I sat on the bed, tears slowly sliding down my cheeks. My eyes focused on a single dot on the wall—present, but distant.
Apollo lay trapped in a coma, and the suffocating thought that it was all my fault inundated my mind. If it weren't for my selfishness, if he hadn't lowered his guard chasing after me, he would be okay. Yet here I am, my heart submerged in pain, tears falling for a man I barely knew but cared for more than myself.
Now I understand the ache of losing something you didn't realize you had, and I nearly lost him.
Elena stood beside me, silently sharing in her own worry. She, too, stared off into the distance. Despite her composed appearance, I could sense her racing heartbeat. She was trying to be strong for all of us, but deep down, her inner turmoil screamed. And the screams no one can hear are the loudest.
I reached for her hand, our eyes locking, a tear streaming down her cheek.
She wanted to scream, and I was ready to listen.
Footsteps approached, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of a cane tapping against the floor. It was Apollo's father, Leo Colucci.
He entered, coughing into his handkerchief, his voice heavy and hoarse, "Belle, you have to come with me," he said.
I looked up, my eyes blurred with tears.
"Where?" I asked, my voice a mere whisper, heavy with grief. "I'm not going anywhere until Apollo wakes up."
"Leo, it's not a good idea," Elena interjected softly, her voice a soothing balm.
"Elena, it's not the time," his voice broke through the thick tension, urgent yet cautious.
"Coletti and De Lauro are downstairs too."
Elena's response was fierce.
"What the fuck?" she shouted.
"Who called the meetings?"
"Giovanni," he replied, his tone a blend of solemnity and urgency.
"You know I'm not to ask anymore. I just have to be present instead of Apollo."
His hand reached for me, gripping firmly under my arm as he helped me to my feet.
"We can't afford to wait any longer," he said, his voice echoing with an unspoken command.
I shook off his hand.
"I can walk on my own. Thank you," I said.
With each step towards the door, memories clawed at me, reminders of a past soaked in shadows and fear, and Apollo was not here to defend me.
Descending the stairs felt like stepping into a nightmare.
I was alone.
At the bottom stood two men. One was older, aged, and skinny, his hair and eyebrows white with age. The other was younger, tall, and muscular, his hazel eyes concealed behind a scar that stretched from his left temple to his full lips. His hair bore streaks of brown with a few strands of silver.
He reminded me of a boy I used to know from high school, but his dark hazel eyes dispelled that possibility.
They didn't introduce themselves, nor did they offer any gestures. Instead, they silently followed us through the dimly lit hallway to the basement. The darkness seemed to cling to my skin, and fear crept down my spine.
The older man opened a door to a room that masqueraded as a library but was, in truth, a den where mafia bosses held important meetings.
No wonder I never heard Apollo talking business in front of me.
They seated themselves, and Leo gestured to me to sit down next to him as he slowly settled into his seat, placing his cane at the side table, and nodding to the men to begin.
"Giovanni gave us this contract," the elder man announced, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken threats.
I eyed the contract with a mix of dread and defiance.
"What's this?" I demanded, my voice a thin veil over my brewing storm of emotions.
My heart plummeted as I read the contents.
"No fucking way," I whispered, aghast.
It was a contract binding me in chains I thought I had broken - sold by my father at eighteen for two million dollars. Its terms were merciless, a death sentence in fine print: it could only be severed if one of the parties died.
"I will kill him," I declared, my voice seething with a cold, lethal resolve.
The younger man raised an eyebrow, a hint of intrigue in his gaze.
The older one shouted, "That's not an option."
He said, "Take this as an opportunity. You'll inherit an old man's fortune soon enough."
His laugh was a cruel echo in the dim room.
"You must be greedy, Coletti," I said, tearing the contract into shreds.
"I didn't ask for your opinion."
"Watch your mouth..." he began, a threat simmering in his tone.
"Or what? You'll kill me so your daughter can usurp my place?" I stepped forward, defiance blazing in my eyes.
"Go ahead, shoot. I'd rather die than be a pawn in Giovanni's twisted game."
"Enough!" Leo's command cut through the tension like a knife.
I retreated, sinking back into the chair, my heart racing with a mix of fear and fury.
"You must go with Giovanni for the family's sake. Apollo is in a coma, and we have no other options until he's awake," Leo declared, his voice final.
"Bullshit," I spat, suspicion and anger intertwining.
"Convenient that Apollo's not here to challenge this, isn't it?"
"What are you implying?" the younger man asked, a trace of curiosity in his tone.
"Apollo broke family traditions, chose his own path, his own bride," I sighed, my voice laced with bitterness. "So, this is your retribution? A bullet to teach him a lesson?"
Leo's hand struck my face with a sharp slap.
"I would never harm my son."
"So, you had your brother do your dirty work," I shot back, my voice a mix of accusation and despair.
The younger man laughed, "I like her spirit."
"You're going with Giovanni. That's final," Leo stated coldly.
"I'm married to Apollo," I protested, clinging to the last shred of hope.
"Since Giovanni's claim predates yours, and since your sister was meant for Apollo, she'll stay until he awakens to decide. You belong to Giovanni," he declared, his words like a death sentence.
"Just wait until Apollo awakens," I spat, standing up and slamming my fist on the table.
"By the time he wakes, you'll already be long gone," Coletti sneered with a malicious grin.
Leo stood up slowly, his cane hitting the ground.
"De Lauro, escort her to Giovanni's car," he said as Coletti grabbed his hand, walking from the office.
"Give her a hard time," Coletti added, his words cold and callous.
De Lauro approached his eyes now a different shade of blue. He locked the door behind them and leaned in, whispering, "I will have to hit you," before punching me in the gut and then whispering again, "Apologies, but that was necessary. This place is under surveillance."
"Go to hell," I spat, pushing him away.
He grabbed my hand, twisting it behind my back with a forceful grip. Leaning in close, he whispered urgently, "You have to kill Giovanni."
"I..." I began, but his hand quickly covered my lips.
"Once you do, find me at my club. Ask for Aurelio De Lauro," he instructed in a hushed tone.
He unlocked the door, guiding me upstairs.
"Trust no one, and dispose of the body," he advised, his voice low and serious.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked, my confusion evident.
"Maybe you will remember me later. We went to high school together," he said, a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.
For a moment, I allowed my eyelids to fall shut as he gently ushered me up the staircase. He was the boy who had filled my high school daydreams. He was the one who had captured my heart, only to vanish on the eve of my eighteenth birthday.
We had made plans to escape together, to build a life that was ours alone. First love is its promise of truth, a promise that it will etch itself into our hearts forever. Yet, when darkness swallowed my world, that love felt more like a fleeting dream, a stark contrast to the harsh reality I found myself in.
I halted our ascent, wrenching my hand from his grasp.
"Elio?" My voice wavered as I turned to face him, a solitary tear tracing a path down my cheek.
"Why?" The question hung in the air, as much a mystery to me as it was to him.
He bore his pain in silence, continuing to guide me upwards until we stood before the imposing front door of the house.
Giovanni's car idled nearby.
He was there, his body marred by the aftermath of his brawl with Apollo, yet the satisfied smirk on his face suggested that everything had fallen into place just as he had desired.
"Damn you," I turned to Aurelio. He gently guided me to Giovanni, unable to meet my gaze as he hurriedly stepped away.
"Thank you, De Lauro," Giovanni said, his voice oozing false gratitude.
Aurelio simply waved his hand, not bothering to turn around. As soon as the door closed, Giovanni turned towards me, pulling me towards him.
"I told you you'd be mine," he sneered.
"You're disgusting," I said, spitting in his face in defiance.
One of his bodyguards came out from the car and grabbed my hair, pulling me inside and slapping my face with his strong hands.
"You said something?" Giovanni taunted as he sat next to him.
"You're disgusting," I repeated, my voice unwavering.
Another punch landed on my face, tearing my lip against my teeth.
Tasting blood, I laughed mockingly, "That's it?"
This time, Giovanni approached me, kicking me in the gut.
"You will pay for every word you say," he hissed as he continued to pummel me until darkness enveloped my vision.
I woke up in a dark room without a window, surrounded only by bare walls. A flimsy mattress lay in the middle of the floor, with a small hole nearby serving as a makeshift toilet.
My hands were free, but the disgust I felt brought back memories—this was the very room where I was assaulted many years ago.
"Oh, God, no," I whispered to myself, a wave of dread washing over me. "No, this can't be."
This place was a mirror of the past, unchanged as if time had stood still. The mattress, worn and uninviting, bore the weight of eight long years. The scent of decay and the metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the air, a grim reminder of what once was. The distant scurrying of rats in the adjoining room echoed in my ears, each sound amplifying the rapid drumming of my heart. I knew his game—he was aware that forgetting was a challenge, but forcing me to remember here, in this place, was a torment far greater.
I made a vow to myself—I will survive today.
I paced the confines of the room, each step a silent protest, each pound on the door a plea for freedom.
Trauma is not bound by the hands of a clock, nor can it be erased by some magical formula. It can only be buried deep within, hidden away until the pain subsides.
We tell ourselves that time is a healer, but time cannot mend all wounds. I remember the countless hours I spent piecing myself back together, and I know I have the strength to do it again. I chastised myself for not being stronger before, but now, I will be my own pillar of strength.
I may be caged like a bird, but every bird takes flight in its own time, soaring toward the freedom it rightfully deserves.
As I gathered the remnants of my shattered self, holding back the tears that threatened to spill, the door groaned open.
Giovanni sauntered in, flanked by his two henchmen. He held a bottle in his hand, the room quickly filling with the pungent aroma of whiskey and stale cigarettes.
A sense of foreboding washed over me, a chilling premonition of the events about to unfold.
With each step they took towards me, I retreated twice as far, until the cold, unforgiving wall halted my escape.
"Boys, let's have some fun," Giovanni declared a twisted smirk on his face.
He carelessly flung the bottle against the wall, shattering it.
"This time, I won't repeat my mistake."
The men closed in, their intentions clear in their steely gazes. One seized my right hand, and the other grabbed my left. Desperate, I kicked and thrashed, but their grip was unyielding, pinning me mercilessly against the wall.
Giovanni, wielding a broken bottle, approached with a menacing glare. He tore at my shirt, revealing my skin beneath.
I recoiled in disgust, turning my head away, and screamed, "NO!"
Summoning every ounce of strength I had, I delivered a powerful kick to his gut. The bottle slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor.
"You bitch," he hissed, his face twisted in anger.
They lifted me and took me to the mattress, pinning me down. As they ripped my pants down, I could hear the metallic clink of their belts hitting the ground.
They started to thrust inside me, one by one. In that moment of despair, I fought with every fiber of my being, struggling to pull away from their merciless grasp. But as the struggle continued, something within me began to wither and fade.
It could have been hope, perhaps even the last remnants of positivity.
They say there comes a point when you hit rock bottom, when you're stripped of everything, and in that void, you face a choice: to succumb or to endure.
That realization struck me with a force stronger than any physical blow.
In that dark, harrowing moment, I understood the truth of survival. It was not just about the physical battle, but the fight within oneself to keep the flame of resilience, no matter how dim, alive.
As they momentarily relaxed their guard, thinking I had ceased to resist, I seized my chance. My right hand slid down, just within reach of the shattered glass from the bottle.
Their moans filled the room, giving me the brief window, I needed. In just one swift move, I turned around and grasped the shard of glass, whirling it around, and using it defensively against one of the men. The suddenness of my action caught them off guard. Another man lunged towards me, but with desperation, I used the glass once more to protect myself.
In a tense standoff, Giovanni's eyes narrowed as he drew his gun.
In a split-second decision, I used the man beside me, who was already weakened from his wounds, as a makeshift shield.
The gunfire erupted, the sound deafening, as seven bullets found their mark in the man's body. Seizing the moment of chaos, I lunged towards Giovanni with fierce resolve.
My strike sent him reeling to the ground, and he scrambled desperately towards the wall, seeking escape.
But the threat wasn't over. Another man tried to overpower me from behind. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I fought back with relentless ferocity, striking him repeatedly. My efforts paid off as he lost his balance and stumbled, crashing into the shattered glass on the floor.
Giovanni, now all alone, stood frozen in horror.
A glint of metal caught my eye — the fallen man had a knife.
Without hesitation, I grabbed it and advanced towards Giovanni, my resolve hardened, and my eyes fixed on just him.
I plunged the knife into Giovanni once, my voice barely a whisper, "This is for a year of tears I spent crying for what happened."
I struck again, fueled by years of betrayal and anguish, "This is for shattering my trust in any man."
The blade descended; each strike driven by the ghosts of eight tormenting years. My hands moved with a force, unleashing the pent-up rage, the sharp edge cutting through the darkness of the room. The air echoed with the brutal impact; a symphony of vengeance conducted by my trembling hands.
As Giovanni crumpled to the floor, the final strike punctuating the end of my relentless battle, I sprinted out into the hallway.
The dim light revealed hooks hanging like killer artifacts, and the wetness beneath my feet was a gruesome mix of water and blood. My breath caught for a moment, but the fire within urged me back.
Returning to the room, the hook in my grip felt heavy. Giovanni's sprawled body lay vulnerable, a twisted mirror of the past. With the last spark of strength burning in my eyes, I drove the hook into him one last time, a chilling echo of his past transgressions.
Adrenaline surged through me, an unexpected reservoir of strength against the backdrop of his monstrous size. A shirt hastily torn and knotted around him, I dragged Giovanni through the desolate hallways, each step a defiant promise that no man would ever harm me again.
Walking into the grand entrance of his mansion, I encountered two identical figures, dark-skinned and dark-haired. Their eyes, like mirrors, met mine. Without a word exchanged, they swiftly took Giovanni from my blood-stained hands.
Kneeling in the aftermath, they helped me rise, the coat one of them draped over my nakedness a shield against the cold reality. The desire to return and complete the grim task tugged at me, but their gentle guidance led me away, towards the waiting car.
"Donna," one of them spoke, concern etched in his voice.
"We need to take you far away from here."
"Does any one of you know how to drive?" I asked, my tone still laced with shock, my body trembling from the aftermath.
"We do," one replied, settling into the driver's seat, ready to carry me away from the echoes of my past.