"A weak one." Ronan spits blood onto the floor. "Mickey would be rolling in his grave knowing his son turned into such a pussy. All that talk about modernizing. About leaving the old ways behind. Making peace with the Italians." He says the last part like a curse. "Traitor to his own blood."
"So Liam didn't want war," I press. "He disagreed with his father's methods."
"Disagreed?" Ronan laughs again. It turns into a coughing fit. "That spineless fuck hated everything his father stood for. Wanted to marry that little bitch Rina because he thought it would open the door to an alliance with the Italians. Said the violence had to stop." His lip curls. "Mickey died ashamed of his own son."
The picture becomes clearer. Liam was never on board with the violence. And sure, maybe he went about trying to secure Rina's hand in marraige the wrong way, but it still showed me that his intentions were good.
"Did Liam know about me? About what you did?"
"Fuck no. He disappeared after Vito's wedding. Lovesick bastard convinced himself he was in love with that girl. Fucking dumbass. Been in hiding like the coward he is." Ronan's eye focuses on me with sudden intensity. "But I knew. I planned it. Every second of your suffering was mine."
My hands clench at my sides.
"You want to know what kind of man Liam is? He's weak. Soft. Nothing like his father." Ronan leans forward as much as his chains allow. "But you want to know what kind of man I am? I'm the kind who knows exactly how sweet your cunt tasted. How tight you were when I fucked you while you were unconscious."
The words should break me. Should send me spiraling back to that cell. Instead, something cold and sharp settles in my chest.
"You felt so good wrapped around my cock," he continues. His voice takes on a dreamy quality. Like he's savoring the memory. "All limp and pliant. No fighting. No screaming. Just taking it like the good little whore you are."
Marco moves behind me. I can feel the rage radiating off him.
But I don't need him to fight this battle. Because, it's my turn now.
"My men took turns with you," Ronan says. "One after another. We passed you around like a party favor. And the best part? You'll never know how many times we fucked you. How many cocks were inside you. You'll spend the rest of your life wondering?—"
"You're wrong."
My voice cuts through his monologue. Clear and strong.
I turn to look at Marco. He's standing there with murder in his eyes and his fists clenched so tight his knuckles are white.
But when our eyes meet, something shifts inside me. Clicks into place.
This ends here. Now.
I turn back to Ronan. "You think you broke me. Think you took something from me that I can't get back."
"Didn't I?" His smile is grotesque through the blood and swelling.
"No. You hurt me. You violated me. You made me terrified and ashamed." I take a step closer. "But you didn't break me. And you don't get to have power over me anymore."
"Such brave words from a broken little bird?—"
"Dante." I don't raise my voice not even looking away from Ronan. "Give me a knife."
The cell goes silent.
Then I hear Dante move. Feel the weight of the blade pressed into my palm.
I look at the knife. It's small. Sharp. The handle is wrapped in leather.
"Elena—" Marco starts.
"I'm okay." I meet his eyes again. And I mean it. For the first time since he found me in that warehouse, I actually mean it. "I need to do this."
He searches my face. Then nods.
I turn back to Ronan. His expression has shifted from smug to uncertain.
