He didn’t exaggerate. He stated it like a fact that still burned him alive.
“One hundred and fifteen blows.”
His gaze sharpened. “Most of them aimed at her face.”
My stomach twisted despite myself.
“Her features...” He swallowed. “...obliterated.”
His hands clenched at his sides.
“She was reduced to unrecognizable pulp under that assault.”
Silence followed.
I forced my expression to remain neutral.
He continued. “And that same woman — the one responsible — didn’t stop there.”
His eyes hardened again. “Maria was eight months pregnant.”
His voice lowered. “She went after her, attacked her... cut her open... “
My breath hitched — involuntarily. “Her womb sliced with surgical precision.”
He spoke carefully now. “As if the child inside meant nothing.”
“One deliberate thrust ended my son.”
His jaw tightened. “Then she let my wife bleed out slowly while she begged for her baby’s life.”
The words were delivered like testimony in a courtroom.
“I never gave my wife the affection she deserved.”
His tone softened — guilt creeping in. “Our marriage was arranged.”
“We were partners in survival more than lovers.”
He looked away briefly. “But I loved that unborn son. And I loved her first son, Yannis. Every future I imagined was tied to them.”
His gaze returned to me. “I owed them justice. Both of them.”
The weight behind that declaration was grief weaponized into purpose.
He stepped closer again — close enough that I could feel the intensity radiating off him.
“And then...”
His eyes sharpened. “Fate mocked me. It brought you. The sister of the woman who shattered my life. Under my roof.”
His voice cracked slightly — not with anger, but conflict. “How could I allow myself to feel warmth toward you?”
“How could I sit at a table with you — eat beside you — laugh with you — knowing your bloodline carried the face of the monster who destroyed my family?”
He shook his head faintly.
“From the second week of our marriage until I had you arrested — I used to watch you sitting alone at that long dinner table. Staring at empty chairs.”
