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I flex my hands from the white-knuckled fists I have them clenched in. But as I lose sight of Maricela, and turn to take in the pale, trembling form of my sister, suddenly fragile and forlorn now she’s no longer putting on a brave face, I vow that Vito - the Viper - Rossi will take his last breath at my hand if I ever get close enough to the feckin’ cowardly bastard.
That man will rue the day he ever crossed me.
And if there’s any kind of chance I can save Maricela, then guaranteed I will be taking the opportunity.
That slithering feckin’ Viper better watch over his shoulder because he’s messed with the wrong man, and his days are numbered if I have anything to do with it.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
MARICELA
My brain has switched off. I’m not exactly numb; there’s far too much pain for that to be the case. But I’ve shut down, and everything that happens to me feels like I’m watching it from a distance.
I got a brief reprieve as we drove back to the city so Vito could dole out his punishment in the privacy of his own home, without the prying eyes of others seeing him at his brutal worst. But now that’s over, and I really do think this might be the end…. And I welcome it.
An end to the pain.
An end to the torment, the captivity, the agony of returning to this life after knowing something different for one brief, beautiful moment, suspended in time.
My one eye is already swollen shut, and the other’s not far behind. My jaw feels… not right, and I absently wonder if it’s dislocated or maybe even broken.
The warm trickle of blood runs from my nose and pools at the corner of my mouth, the taste metallic on my tongue.
“Did you let one of those Irish bastards have you, bitch?” Spittle sprays from Vito’s lips and joins the rest of the bodily fluids. I’d wipe it away, but I’m pretty sure my arm is broken.
“Or did you allow both of them to sample that tight little pussy of yours, like the slut you are?”
His words roll off me. Once, they might have incensed me, but they mean nothing anymore.
Allow! Hah, as if permission is a word in Vito Rossi’s vocabulary.
He yanks at the neckline of my shirt, buttons flying as he tears through fastenings and fabric until I’m bared down to the virginal white of the bra I was forced to wear for our wedding day.
I wonder if he knows that’s what it is?
Yeah… My thoughts are a little skewed right now.
His meaty paws dig into my breasts, and I know I’m about to be violated in a different way. Bile climbs up my throat at the thought, but before he goes that far, he jabs one of his vicious, fat fingers into the side of my neck, and I know he’s seen the fading bruises Callum left on my skin the day they found out Róisín had been abducted. “Looks like someone got their jollies,” Vito chuckles with his usual black humor.
He takes his time fitting his fingers to the marks that are already there, then he squeezes little by little.
“Did they throttle you while they pounded your cunt raw?” he asks, waiting for a beat as if he expects me to reply while he’s blocking my airway.
Throwing his head back, he laughs, loosening his grip for long enough for me to drag in a much-needed breath.
Gasping the air I so urgently need is an instinctive thing, even while my brain is begging him to cut it off for a few moments more and put me out of my misery. Funny thing that. The body grasping onto life, even when the brain has already checked out.
The reprieve doesn’t last long. The Viper’s fingers tighten again, and this time I know I’ve taken my last breath.
There’s no white light.
No images of my life flashing before my eyes.
Instead, I fill my mind with happier times, determined that on the brink of death, I will engage one final act of defiance against this snake and allow only the beautiful to accompany me into the afterlife.
I focus on my mother, kind and loving, surrounding me with reassurance and laughter. That’s where I want to stay. In the comfort of her arms as I leave this world.
Except images of Ciaran hijack those sweet moments with a different kind of love; ones of bliss and passion…
