Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48087 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48087 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Chapter 5
Liliana
At first, I thought it was a dream. The blood and violence… death.
I kept seeing my father and Logan hanging from rafters, their bodies mutilated as Matteo stood back and laughed.
But I knew that vision wasn’t reality. I’d never seen gore and violence at Matteo’s hands. But I remembered the conversation in the living room.
He stood in front of me as he told me what he did to my father and brother as if it were everyday conversation.
It had slowly sunk in that they were gone, no doubt killed so slowly the last words out of their mouths were the sounds of gurgling as blood filled their lungs.
I felt zero sadness. No remorse.
I’d actually felt relief… a type of euphoria that I would never again have to be put in the hard situations they threw me in. I’d never again have to fend off their anger or defend myself from their drug-induced high and drunken abuse.
Once the shock of that new reality had faded, the only thing I focused on was survival.
I remembered everything after that, although it felt like a jumbled mix of bits and pieces from a movie running full speed in my head.
I’d been running on adrenaline after kneeing Matteo in the balls. All I’d thought about was getting away. Although, in the back of my head, I knew escape was futile. I knew he’d find me no matter where I was, no matter where I hid.
But I hadn’t cared. I had to get away from him. I had to try.
But then I’d slammed into a big ass concrete wall… or so I’d thought. The beast of a man had been blocking my escape, and my momentum had been so intense that I’d catapulted backward, landing on the floor and cracking the back of my head.
After that, things had been a chaotic mess in my brain, but it was all slowly filtering back like a gentle wave lapping at the shore.
I heard voices—deep, male ones—but I couldn’t quite make out what was being said at first. There was a little more conversation between the two of them.
I didn’t dare open my eyes, didn’t want to draw attention to myself any more than there was.
The voices became clearer the longer I lay there and concentrated.
“She’ll be fine with rest.”
I didn’t recognize the voice of the man who spoke, but I didn’t have time to sift through my memories and try to place it before a soft touch landed on my forehead.
The fingers were rough yet gentle.
“You’re sure? Because I’ll gut you from navel to throat if you’re wrong.”
Matteo’s deep voice came through like a serrated knife, and despite the severity of his tone, I felt something relax in me at the obvious concern—and deadly promise—laced within his words.
The digits touching my forehead stroked my skin in an almost soothing manner, and although I couldn’t see who touched me, I knew it was Matteo.
It was a strange sensation knowing a man like him didn’t feel compassion or empathy. That a man who could torture and kill two people didn’t have empathy yet could touch me as if he feared I’d break.
I heard them retreat from me then their voices dropped low as they murmured to one another. I couldn’t make out what was being said. The sound of the door opening and closing should have made me feel relieved that I was finally alone.
But I wasn’t.
I could still feel another presence in the room… could feel him watching me although he was silent, so still I envisioned him being a statue.
I felt the same sensation of his gaze upon me as I did when he sat in my living room, watching me from the darkened corner like a demon wanting to possess my soul.
For long moments, I just controlled my breathing, but I felt tense, and with each passing second, my muscles contracted harder, painfully. The sensation of being weighed down, of sinking into the bed, was almost too much to handle.
“I know you’re awake, Liliana.” Matteo’s voice was deep and dark, smooth like the whiskey I was sure he drank frequently.
I didn’t open my eyes, didn’t speak or change positions. I heard him come closer, though I could tell the floor was carpeted because of his muted footsteps. I picked up on the heavy thump of his shoes on the plush carpet as he came closer.
When he stopped at the foot of the bed, I felt his presence. It was heavy, like a straitjacket. Suffocating. Contradicting. Yet… comforting in the same breath.
“Open your eyes.”
I did what he said. Slowly.
I was thankful the lights were low, my head throbbing now that my eyes were open. I clenched the sheets tightly in my hands, not showing the pain outward where Matteo could see.
He wrapped his hands around the footboard of the bed, the black button-down shirt he wore rolled up at the sleeves showcasing his thick, tattooed forearms.