Something flickered in Remo’s eyes, but Samuel and Danilo wrenched him away from my view, down the corridor into their torture chamber.
Dad kissed my temple. “We will avenge you, make him pay for what he did.”
He walked away, leaving me with Dante, who regarded me with calm scrutiny. He touched my shoulder lightly, and I met his gaze. “He will ask for forgiveness in the end,” he promised.
I briefly touched his hand. “I don’t want him to because it would be false.”
Remo did everything with unbridled passion, with ferocious rage, without an ounce of regret.
He consumed, obliterated, ruined.
He took everything and left nothing in his wake. He was an unrepentant sinner. He was a destroyer, a murderer, a torturer.
A monster.
The father of my children.
The man who held my heart in his cruel, brutal hand.
“You will castrate him?” It was an unnecessary question. I knew they would, and it was only one of the many atrocities they’d planned. All I needed to know was when.
Dante gave a terse nod. “Tomorrow. Not today. It would speed up his death too much. Danilo and Samuel will do it. I’m not sure you should watch any of this, but maybe you need to. Today will be easier to stomach than tomorrow, so stay if it’s what you want.”
“Thanks,” I whispered. Slowly I made my way toward the screen on the table and turned it on.
My brother and Danilo were kicking Remo in the stomach, in the side, and Remo made no move to defend himself. When they finally let up, because Dante had entered, Remo rolled onto his back and looked directly into the camera, knowing I was watching.
He didn’t look away when my father took out his knife and cut his chest. Not when it was Samuel’s turn. Not when it was Danilo’s turn. Not when it was Dante’s turn.
I’d spent so many hours, day and night, wondering how it would feel to see Remo broken, to see him on his knees.
This wasn’t how I imagined things to be, my heart clenching in my chest so tightly I could hardly breathe, the tears pressing against my eyelids so fiercely I had to bite the inside of my cheek to hold them back. And even through the torture, Remo didn’t look broken because he couldn’t be broken, not with violence and pain. Maybe not at all.
I turned away from the screen and walked away. My bodyguards followed close behind, their steps slow and measured. Shadows meant to protect and save me. But I was beyond saving. My family tried to mend me, but I didn’t need it because I wasn’t broken.
Slipping behind the steering wheel of the Mercedes limousine, I revved the engine the second my bodyguards were inside. My foot pressed down on the gas. They slanted looks my way but didn’t comment. They were meant to protect not judge.
I was allowed this freedom because my family’s guilt had paid for it. They couldn’t bear keeping the dove with broken wings in a gilded cage.
The second I had the car parked in front of my family’s home, I killed the engine and got out, not waiting for them. I stepped inside and hurried upstairs, didn’t stop until I entered the nursery. Both Nevio and Greta were asleep in their shared crib, looking peaceful and painstakingly beautiful.
I stroked their heads, the thick black hair like their father’s. When my fingers brushed Nevio’s temple, his eyes peeled open with those dark brown, almost black eyes. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead then to Greta’s, breathed in their scent, then sank down in a chair and watched them sleep.
I wasn’t sure how long I stayed like that when the door opened. Familiar steps sounded behind me, steps that had accompanied me almost all my life. A warm hand came down on my shoulder, and I covered it with mine.
Samuel pressed a kiss to the crown of my head then rested his forehead against it for a couple of moments. So gentle and caring, so very different from the man I’d seen torturing Remo. He straightened and I tilted my head back, peering up at him. His gaze rested on Greta and Nevio, but for him there was nothing beautiful about them. As always, his eyes shone with guilt and aversion when he regarded them before he noticed my scrutiny and lowered his gaze to me.
Warmth filled his expression. I wished he could spare some of it for the children I loved more than life itself. Samuel was my blood. He would always be. He was part of me as I was part of him, and I didn’t resent him for his feelings toward my children. I knew he hated their father, not them, but more than that he hated himself.
I stood, grabbed his neck, and pulled him down until his forehead rested against mine. “Please, Sam, stop blaming yourself. Please, I beg you. I’m not broken. You have no reason to feel guilty.”