49 ~ Hate, Resentment And Desperation

With Brinda in his arms, Francesco stepped into the grand entrance of the Dante Mansion. Rainwater dripped from their soaked clothes, forming a small puddle beneath his boots. The dim chandelier lights reflected off the marble floors, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

Brinda coughed, her body trembling slightly against his chest. As Francesco strode deeper into the mansion, she shifted slightly. “Francesco… put me down. Your mother will…”

“Don’t worry about her,” he cut in, his voice firm.

She sighed but didn’t protest further, her fingers tightening around his damp shirt as he carried her up the stairs.

A sharp intake of breath came from one of Francesco's men. He was tending to Guerrero’s reopened bleeding wound in the corner of the living room.

“Should I prepare some warm water for you?”

Francesco’s lips twitched into a small smile which is something rare. “Yes, please.”

Brinda remained silent, keeping her hold on his shoulder while he climbed the stairs with careful precision, as though dropping her wasn’t an option.

Inside her room, Elizabeth paced furiously, her silk robe flowing behind her. Her sharp eyes darted around, scanning Bullet's face who knelt on the floor before her with her head bowed.

Her voice was laced with venom. “How will we know who killed my husband?”

“I… The investigation always reaches a dead end,” Bullet muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Elizabeth’s grip on the glass of chilled water in her hand tightened.

“How long will it take, huh?” She hissed. “I came back to find out who murdered Ronald, and yet…” she slammed the glass onto the table beside her. “You’re still running in circles!”

Bullet tensed, her shoulders rising slightly in frustration.

“I know why.” Elizabeth scoffed. “Francesco is too busy with that woman of his to care about real business.” She rolled her eyes. “Forget it. Just find Ronald’s killer.”

She flung the door open as she ordered Bullet to leave the room.

Elizabeth’s breath hitched as her gaze landed on her son. Francesco was dripping wet. Holding Brinda in his arms. Her entire body tensed. “Francesco!” She shrieked.

At that moment, Brinda knew they had been caught. She quickly tapped Francesco’s shoulder, signaling for him to put her down. As soon as her feet touched the cold floor, a cough escaped her lips.

Francesco instinctively pulled her closer.

“Mom… What… I mean…” He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Good morning.”

Elizabeth’s glare was ice-cold. “What’s good about this morning?” She spat. “It’s already a disaster! We lost over fifteen men overnight. We lost over a million dollars. And we still have no idea who killed your father.”

“Father, my foot.” Francesco whispered. 

Her eyes darted to Brinda, full of disgust.

“And you…” She sneered, voice dripping with contempt. “Here you are, romancing this woman… who smells like garbage.”

Brinda straightened her posture, forcing a small, taunting smile even as she coughed again. “How about this garbage help you find out who actually killed your husband?” She said, voice hoarse but firm. “Trust me. Just this once.”

Elizabeth’s lips parted, ready to throw another insult, but then, Francesco shook his head ever so slightly.

A silent warning.

She understood it immediately. Not now. Instead, she exhaled sharply, her knuckles turning white as she clenched her fists.

Bullet’s sharp eyes flicked toward Brinda, her expression unreadable. Envy? Resentment? Fear?

She had spent months gathering intel, crawling through blood and bullets, and yet — this woman — this outsider — was about to take credit because of Francesco’s influence.

Bullet’s fingers twitched against her thigh.

Elizabeth’s gaze remained locked onto Brinda’s. “Fine.” Her voice was flat. Emotionless. “You have a chance. Just one.” Her next words were laced with quiet cruelty. “If you fail… I will slit your throat myself.”

Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and slammed the door shut behind her.

Inside her bedroom, Elizabeth stood still, her fingers curling into the sheets of her bed. Her breathing was shallow, her nails digging into her palm. Her lips parted slightly as she whispered to herself.

“Brinda…” She exhaled, voice low and dangerous. “I will separate you from my son. Not only that…” She chuckled bitterly. Her eyes darkened. “I will kill you with my bare hands when the time is right.”

Back in the hallway, Bullet lowered her head as a show of respect as Francesco passed by with Brinda in his arms. He didn’t spare her a glance.

With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed her, pushing the door to his room open and shutting it behind him.

Bullet’s fists clenched. Her mind was a whirlwind of chaos.

Hate. For Brinda.

Resentment. For Francesco.

Desperation. For revenge.

She had spent years working to earn her place in the Dante family. But now? Now, it felt like she was being pushed aside.

She gritted her teeth. Her thoughts spiraled. Brinda needs to go. Francesco needs to suffer. And most of all… She needs to escape with her lover. Her nails dug into her palm as a slow, sinister smile spread across her lips.

Back in his mansion, Marshall's breathing increased rapidly. The walls of his room closed in on him as Alessia delivered a message to him on the phone. 

“We couldn't get Brinda. Francesco was busy romancing her. If we had tried to attack them, things might have taken a new toll. We will think of another solution later.” Alessia explained as calmly as possible. 

“Now, I believe that you are also not very capable of your job. How can you tell me that shit? I am giving you ten percent of my shares in the company for fuck’s sake. I think it is time that we end this.” 

“Are you going nuts? Are you mad? Are you crazy? Hell… Are you still in love with that bitch that…” 

Marshall did not let Alessia conclude her words before he slammed his phone to the tiled floor. His eyes burned with anger — Strong as that of a serial killer on a hunt. 

“Sooner or later… I will invoke a storm.”