Capitolo V

When I got inside my room, I ran towards the bathroom and got the first aid kit from the cabinet.

The pain became so unbearable tears were running down my eyes and sweat rolled down my temple. I hissed and panted as I looked at my pale face in the mirror. My mother's eyes look back at me with shock and anger. My hair that I earlier tied into a careless bun was now so loose that some strands were raining down to frame my face.

I removed my right hand which was earlier cupping my left shoulder. It was covered with blood and I breathed through the pain. I wash my hand with water from the sink and slowly remove my robe. I let it pool down my feet and stare at the eyesore wound in my shoulder. Without thinking and with the last intake of breath, I jam my thumb and my index finger inside.

I scream so loud I'm afraid the guards might hear me through the soundproof walls. Burning pain crawled through my shoulders, through my spine, my skull, bulldozing through my brain and eyes. I flexed my head back for relaxation but I was nowhere near it.

This isn't the first time I was shot, nor was it the first time I had to remove the bullet by hand all by myself. And I know it wouldn't be the last.

I pushed my fingers deeper and screamed my lungs out, wheezing in pain. I have to get the bullet out before I bleed to death. When I feel the damp and solid bullet, I press my fingers together and yank it out, taking a few of my skin with it. I grunt and scream with relief, throwing the bullet in the sink and turning on the faucet. The blood and pus slides away from the bullet's body and down the drain. Slowly, the carved signature of the family totem, that is the serifed S, started to show. It was red in color with the family Sententia; the bravest is the most fragile in Italian was scribbled below the letter.

I ignored the bullet as I turned off the faucet and looked for the needle to stitch myself up. Again, this isn't the first time I got stitched up. However, it is the first time I'll sew this one up myself. When the needle and medical thread was in place, I braced myself for the worst kind of pain. The pain that makes you feel weak.

I got myself a cloth this time in my mouth. I bite into it and bring the needle to my bleeding shoulder. I gave a muffled scream and let the needle and thread slide through my skin. I cannot fucking believe my father shot me.

Feel the pain, Caterina. Those were the hideous words he says to me every time I am in agony. Feel the pain until it pains no more. So I did. Even though I'd kill my father right now out of hatred, I'd still follow his words. But as I do, I kept thinking about the things I hate the most to fuel my adrenaline. My father, my life, my position right now and Lucas fucking De Marchi.

I cannot fucking believe that Lucas will have his ass sitting on one of our expensive chairs!

I cannot fucking believe that Lucas will step his cheap shoes on one of nonna's Victorian carpets!

I cannot fucking believe that Lucas will lay on my damn bed every night and I have to wake up with his foul breath in the morning!

I cannot fucking believe that Lucas will be the fucking hero in the fucking picture!

And I cannot fucking believe that Lucas fucking De Marchi will be my fucking husband and will be the man who fucking saves my fucking bloodline to fucking humiliation from the fucking Mafia!

Before I knew it, I was locking up the thread. I bite to free it from the needle and thoroughly return it inside the box. I wasn't in shock now, I was steaming with rage. I finally cover it with gauze and firmly lock it up. I may have the shittiest evening, but I sure will not have the shittiest life. Lucas fucking De Marchi will.

I storm out the bathroom and slam the door shut behind me. I walk towards the door in a very ungracious manner, my etiquette instructor would have hit me with a stick. And I'd fucking shoot her with a gun. I sit on the bed and click open my lamp, reaching on the nightstand for my phone.

Chase Clifford, my publicist, profiler, secretary, personal shopper, personal driver and personal punching bag answers before the second ring. Gladly, he doesn't want to die too early.

"Bloody fucking hell—" His voice was hoarse. He must have been sleeping. And I glance at the digital clock and it says 1:30 in the morning. Fuck. A glint of regret washed through me. But that disappeared with what he answered me with. My British personal everything doesn't have a filter and I don't either. That is why we work well together. But now isn't a good time for him to play fucking pissed-off.

"Better be here first thing tomorrow morning with three of the strongest coffee in the entire fucking America or, I swear to God, I will fucking fire you and have your bitch of a pug killed before you can even fucking blink," I hissed and without waiting for him to respond, I ended the call and threw my phone across the room.

Fuck! I need to get a new one.

I pressed my fingers on the bridge of my nose. How the hell am I gonna motherfucking sleep? I usually sleep on my left. I get sleep paralysis when I sleep on my right and I get fucking nightmares when I sleep on my back.

"Fuck this," I groan and I lift my feet off the cold floor and drag them inside my comforter. I initially sag back when my head felt the soft pillow. I ignore the pain on my shoulder and lay facing the ceiling. I didn't even bother to shut the lamp. Times like this call for at least a little brightness and I'm not even a fan of dark. I have fucking nyctophobia. I don't know where I got it, but I can't seem to compose myself when I'm in complete and pure darkness.

I shift on the bed and when I finally find the right spot, it wasn't long before my eyelids become heavy. I ready myself for the fucking nightmare I'm about to see.

Usually, the nightmare would start off with the eleven-year-old me strapped in the electric chair. No matter how old I get, it always starts with the frightened and innocent little girl in my past. Her hair was darker, her skin a little too tan and her eyes full of fear and frustration. I cannot believe that the scared girl was once me. It's a complete humiliation.

This time was different. There wasn't a little girl anymore. It isn't me standing and looking how her father electrocuted her. It's me being electrocuted. Me. My 20-year-old self was sitting on the chair. My wrist strapped on its arms and my ankles tied around its legs. I cannot fucking move. I cannot fucking breathe. I cannot fucking see. Of all the things that would frighten me, it's the darkness that keeps reminding me that I am weak.

But I wasn't letting fear win. Not this time. Not again. I focus on my other senses. I tried to listen. To hold on to something, a faint noise. Nothing. The only sounds I could hear were my ragged breathing, the hammering of my heart and the almost absent noise of dripping water. Water. Dripping water. I might be inside a watering station or a water refilling company. A trashy house, maybe or an abandoned place where the pipes are so old and rusted, they cannot keep the water flowing without letting some drip. I cannot be near the ocean or river because there weren't waves that I heard. Thin water drops like rain.

I tried my best to get a scent. Just a little bit, I prayed. And the faint smell of rust and... Fuck! Is that urine? That was when I concluded that I may be in a gutter—a filthy one. Or I'm in a very unsanitary room.

"Fucking bastards!" I yelled. "You cannot fucking do this anymore. I know it's you, father!" They can't fool me anymore. They might have fooled the little me, but not the fucking woman I am now.

When the darkness became too much and it lingered on too long, that was when my breathing caught. My chest tightened and, damn, it felt as if my heart was gonna blow up.

"Aiutami! Non dovete fare questo, padre!" Help me! You don't have to do this, father. I tried again. If they aren't going to let me go, at least open a fucking door. I'd rather they electrocute me than having me in this dark and filthy room. Before I realized that it was happening, a tear rolled down the side of my cheek. I knew there was nobody out there to save me. I knew I was out on my own. So I struggled through the tight leather that is holding my wrist together. I grunt, turning clockwise, then counterclockwise. I twist and pull my wrist apart but there was no use. The more I struggle, the more pain I felt. The more tears and more frustrating screams.

I only stopped when I heard the sound of a metal door slammed open. There was blinding light that followed. I thank whoever came in for it, but I knew that I was supposed to kill him.

Faint footsteps grew louder and louder. I can see nothing except the outline of a man, who was now standing in front of me and the light that formed like a halo behind him.

"I was afraid you were gonna sleep the entire day, mi amore." The voice wasn't familiar. It didn't belong to my father. It didn't even belong to his good old friend, Benjamin, who was the one tasked to tie me up and torture information out of me. "Now, if you want to make things easier, all you have to do is admit it and say yes."

What the fuck is he talking about?! I frowned and struggled through my restraints despite knowing the fact that there was no point.

"Bella, we've talked about this," the voice sounded humorous at least with a little venom. The footsteps continued as the man decided to circle me. "There's no point in struggling. You can either admit to me your fault or I'll have to turn up the voltage this time. Take your pick."

"I don't fucking know what you mean," I hissed at him. "You have let me go or you'll regret this."

"Baby, you've been saying that since you got here. They're all words, darling. They're useless to me." He stops circling me and stops at my right. I jumped when I suddenly felt his touch. He traced the side of my face with his fingers and tucks the small curtain of hair behind my ear. I shuddered from his touch, but it only got worse when he brought his lips to my ears and whispered, "Your daddy isn't here to save you. So better fucking admit it or I'll slit his throat right here, right now."

"What the hell do you want me to fucking admit?" I hissed back at him with intense venom.

"What else, love?" His breath blew through my face and I couldn't pinpoint what it smelled like. "That you killed your own mother."

I froze and a chill went up my spine. No. How on earth did he know about my mother? I don't even know who this vicious man is. But what angers me most is that he got information about me killing my mother. And fuck I didn't kill my mother. I'd die a thousand deaths to get a chance to see her. But who am I kidding? If it wasn't for me, my mother would still be alive.

"Who are you?" I whispered. I don't like my situation right now. The entire world was sitting on me. I don't like being vulnerable. It makes you weak and it makes your enemy stronger. I wasn't going to let it happen.

"Ouch, love," the voice teased as if I was a child he needed to entertain. "You don't know me? We've been spending quality time together for a while now and you've already forgotten about your husband?"

My eyes grew, but I doubt that he can see them. I try my best to hide my confusion. I didn't want him to know I was dumb clueless. Lucas De Marchi. I shudder at his name in my mind. I cannot fucking believe it.

"Now that we've got that cleared out, answer my question. Did you or did you not kill your mother?" His voice was without humor. He became stern and serious. I heard the sound of a gun being released from its holster.

I believe that it was out of fear that I answered his question. And I'm not frightened very easily. There was something about the room, the atmosphere—something about Lucas and the thought of not knowing frightened me to submit . It was worse than being electrocuted.

"No," I sobbed, only realizing that heavy and thick tears are already rolling. "I didn't kill her. I would never."

"Wrong fucking answer, love," Lucas said.

"I—"

I didn't get to finish my sentence before I heard the gunshot and felt the fire of bullets passing through my shoulder. It didn't come once. It came simultaneously until the gun was empty. I didn't get to see what happened next because darkness and firing pain drifted me off towards the silent darkness.