CHAPTER 49

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO,

Antonio Dante's pov,

After a few days in the care center, I was sent to my room. It was fair to say that I was still traumatized. I could barely eat. I couldn't talk. I kept looking at the floor convincing myself that it wasn't blood laced.

That no blood was here and I was safe. Safe. I stared at the clock when the short hand hit twelve in the morning then twelve in the afternoon then twelve the next morning. I refused to leave the bed not quite familiar with the environment around me now. That my mother and father were this brutal. I hated my father now. And I was sure I was starting to hate my mother too. Today was different. I was lying on the bed as usual and staring at the ceiling, thinking of nothing. A knock interrupted my blankness and I turned to stare at the door.

Who could it be? My mum? Or dad? They hadn't come to see me ever since I entered my room which made my hatred justifiable.

"Who is it?" I called over forgetting my door was soundproof. My voice