Chapter 6 He is a monster

ELARA

“I want to see your face when you destroy them yourself.”

His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t shake.

It was calm almost gentle.

That was what made my chest tighten.

Before I could speak, his fingers were in my hair. The grip was sudden, brutal, and I barely had time to gasp before he yanked me forward. The world tilted. My body slammed into the floor, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. Pain tore through my back, sharp and blinding.

I tasted blood.

The room swayed as I tried to push myself up, but my arms gave out. My hands trembled against the cold floor, useless. Tears spilled before I could stop them, streaking down my face.

Why is he doing this?

Our families were bound long before we were. Dinners that stretched late into the night. Laughter that never quite reached the eyes. Rules spoken without words. We were raised side by side, taught loyalty, taught restraint.

So why

Pain ripped through my abdomen without warning. I gasped, the sound thin and broken, curling inward as my body betrayed me. My hand moved on instinct, shaking as I pressed it between my legs.

When I pulled it back, my fingers were slick.

Red.

A sound tore out of me, raw and animal. I lifted my head slowly, dread coiling in my chest, and looked at him.

He was watching.

Not startled. Not conflicted.

Just watching.

His eyes were empty. Cold. Like whatever once lived behind them had burned away long ago. There was no hesitation in his gaze, no trace of mercy.

Only hatred.

It wrapped around me, thick and suffocating.

“I… I can’t move,” I whispered. The words barely made it past my throat.

He didn’t answer.

His grip tightened, fingers biting into my scalp as he dragged me up. A cry slipped from my lips as pain shot through my head. My legs folded beneath me, shaking violently, but he forced me upright anyway.

My feet scraped against the floor as he pulled me forward.

Every step was agony. A sharp, relentless burn that traveled up my spine, through my stomach, into my chest. My body screamed for rest for relief but he didn’t slow.

Why won’t he just kill me?

This was worse.

Much worse.

My womb throbbed, hollow and aching. The absence was louder than any scream. He had taken my child ripped it from me without warning, without consent. The emptiness inside me felt endless.

And then there was my husband.

The way he’d held up his head. The way he’d made me look. Made sure I saw. Made sure I understood what defiance cost.

My throat closed.

What did my family do to deserve this?

The corridor stretched ahead of us, long and dim. The floor was icy beneath my bare feet, each step sending a shock through my body. My toes curled, searching for balance that never came.

Five men stood guard at the end of the hall.

Silent. Armed.

And then I saw him.

Dave.

Alessandro’s shadow. His right hand. The boy who used to sit beside me when Sandro ignored my existence. The one who slipped sweets into my pocket and told me not to cry.

Focus on your studies, he’d said once. Maybe one day he’ll see you.

Our eyes met.

Something flickered across his face quick and fragile.

Pity.

Then he looked away.

My chest tightened, the hope I hadn’t known I was holding snapping clean in two.

The door opened.

Alessandro shoved me forward.

I stumbled inside, my knees giving out as I hit the floor hard. Pain exploded through me, white and blinding. My dress clung to my skin, heavy and soaked, the fabric dark with blood.

A groan slipped from me, low and broken.

The pain was everywhere now too deep, too constant. I didn’t scream. I couldn’t. I just lay there, staring at the floor, wishing it would open.

Wishing it would swallow me whole.

“Elara…”

That voice.

I lifted my head.

“Mom. Dad.”

They were tied to chairs. Bruised. Bloodied. My mother’s lip was split, my father’s face swollen beyond recognition. They looked so small. So fragile.

“Mom! Dad!” I tried to crawl to them, but my body refused to cooperate.

My mother’s eyes dropped to my stomach. Her breath hitched.

“What happened to your baby?”

The question crushed me.

My throat closed. Words lodged painfully in my chest. I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t say your grandson is gone because the man who vowed to protect me tore him away.

My father lifted his head despite the pain.

“What have you done to my daughter?” His voice was rough but commanding. “You bastard.”

Alessandro stepped forward and hauled me to my feet, forcing me to face them.

“Remember why we are here,” he said coolly.

“Ricorda perché siamo qui.”

I broke.

“Please,” I sobbed. “Please let my parents go. I’ll do anything. Just don’t make me do this.”

He laughed softly behind me.

“Why should I?” he murmured. “When they killed my father.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

No.

This is wrong.

My parents would never kill their closest friend. Never. Yes, we were mafia but not like this. Not traitors. Not murderers.

Something doesn’t add up.

A gun was shoved into my hand.

It felt too heavy. Too real.

My fingers shook violently, the metal cold against my skin. I tried to drop it, but his hand closed over mine, forcing my arm up. Forcing the barrel forward.

Pointing it at my parents.

My mother smiled through her pain.

“It’s okay, Elara,” she whispered. “We know.”

Tears spilled freely now, blinding me.

“We love you,” my father said softly.

They closed their eyes.

“No no please,” I cried. “Please don’t do this. Someone help me. Please… beg him. Please.”

My breath came in broken gasps. My whole body was shaking.

“I don’t want to kill my parents.”

Warm breath brushed my neck. His lips hovered close to my skin.

“You have no other choice,” he whispered.

“Non hai altra scelta.”