“Control?” He laughed softly, the sound wet and unhinged. “Control is an illusion, my love. Santino taught me that when he put a bullet through my face in front of God and everyone. But I’m better now. Clearer. I see what needs to be done.”
He leaned closer, his breath brushing my face. “I’ll keep you safe. Keep the baby safe too… until it’s time. Then we’ll start over. You and me. Like it was always meant to be.”
His hand moved down to rest gently, almost reverently, on my stomach. I froze, every instinct screaming at me to slap it away, but terror kept me paralyzed.
“Mine,” he whispered to my belly, eyes glazing over with that insane tenderness. “Or it will be. Once I fix what he broke.”
The SUV continued speeding through the trees as Sergio kept talking to himself in that gentle, broken voice, planning our new life, apologizing to me for failing to protect me at the altar, promising he would be a better husband than Santino ever could.
I closed my eyes and cried silently, guilt and horror twisting together in my chest until I could barely breathe.
Santino had created this monster.
And I had helped him.
The SUV finally slowed after what felt like hours, turning onto a narrow, overgrown dirt path that wound deep into the forest.
The trees pressed in close on both sides, their branches scraping against the windows like skeletal fingers trying to claw their way inside. When the vehicle came to a stop, I could barely see anything through the tinted glass except the dark silhouette of an abandoned house looming ahead.
Sergio turned in his seat, that gentle, deranged smile still fixed on the undamaged half of his face. “We’re home, my love.”
Home.
The word sent ice sliding down my spine.
His men opened the door and pulled me out with careful hands, almost respectful, like they were handling something fragile that belonged to their broken master. Sergio stepped out after me, moving with that eerie steadiness, and took my arm again. Not bruising this time. Gentle. Possessive. Like a groom guiding his bride across the threshold.
The house was old, rotting, half-swallowed by ivy and neglect. Windows were boarded up or shattered. The front door hungslightly crooked on rusted hinges. It looked like no one had lived here in decades. A perfect tomb for whatever insanity Sergio had planned.
He led me inside, humming softly under his breath. An old wedding march, twisted and off-key. The interior smelled of damp wood, mold, and something faintly metallic. A few candles had already been lit, casting flickering shadows across peeling wallpaper and dust-covered furniture.
“See?” Sergio said proudly, gesturing around the dim room with his scarred hand. “I prepared it for you. For us. No Morettis. No devils. Just you and me… and the little one.”
His gaze dropped to my stomach with that glassy, reverent look again. “We’ll make it a proper home. I’ll fix everything he broke.”
He was completely insane.
The man I had once been promised to, the quiet, controlled right-hand to Leo, had been replaced by this… thing. A deranged phantom wearing Sergio’s skin. He spoke with such tender certainty, as if we were on some romantic getaway instead of a kidnapping.
He guided me to a dusty old couch and gently pushed me down to sit, then knelt in front of me like a devoted husband. His ruined face was inches from mine, the contrast between tenderness and horror making my stomach churn.
“You’re safe now,” he whispered, stroking my hair with that twitching, scarred hand. “No one will take you from me again. Not even him. I’ll kill him slowly. Make him watch while I take back what’s mine.”
Tears kept falling down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop them. This was the man Santino had created. This broken, gentle monster who spoke of murder and marriage in the same breath.
“I’ll be a good husband,” Sergio continued, his good eye shining with manic devotion. “Better than before. I see clearlynow. The bullet… it took the weakness away. I understand what real love is. Real love means keeping you here. Keeping you safe. Even if I have to tie you down. Even if I have to… fix the baby.”
My blood ran cold. “Sergio… please. Don’t…”
“Shhh.” He pressed a finger to my lips, smiling that lopsided, nightmarish smile. “I know you’re scared. But I’ll take care of everything. We’ll be a family. Just the three of us. Forever.”
He stood and began pacing the room, muttering plans to himself again, how he would reinforce the doors, how he would cleanse me of Santino’s touch, how the child would learn to call him Papa.
I curled into myself on the filthy couch, hands wrapped protectively around my belly, sobbing quietly as the full weight of my guilt crushed me.
Santino had pulled the trigger.
But I had lit the fuse.
