Standing there, a goddamn reckoning.The fury of every storm that’s ever swallowed a man whole wrapped in skin and fire.Her eyes are locked on my father, and fuck, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.More terrifying.
She’s not afraid.
She’s fucking magnificent.
My fucking queen.
Standing in this destruction like it’s a red carpet, daring the monsters to take one more step.
This isn’t chaos.This is her coronation.Every scar, every scream, every ounce of fire in her veins is her crown.
And fuck, if I wasn’t pinned to the floor, I’d be on my knees still worshipping her with my tongue.
I’d start slow, because she fucking deserves that.Mouth on her thighs, hands anchoring her in place, dragging my tongue over every inch until she’s trembling.Until her fingers knot in my hair and her breath catches on my name, a broken prayer gasped into the dark.
I’d kiss her as if she’s sacred.Lick her the way a sinner chases redemption.Then I’d fuck her with the kind of devotion that turns need into worship.My goddamn religion carved between her thighs.
The seconds stretch long.
Too fucking long and then the pressure eases.
Not all at once.
The barrel drags against my forehead for a beat like it’s reluctant to let go, and wants me to remember it was there… then slowly, he lowers the gun.
I don’t know how much time has passed.Seconds, minutes.I don’t even know if I’m allowed to breathe yet.But something shifts.Loosens.Like whatever’s been coiled tight in my chest, ready to snap, finally lets go.
And for the first time since they pushed me to the floor I feel it.A flicker of something dangerous.Hope.That maybe, just maybe, I’ll walk out of this room alive.
I stare at my father.He hasn’t moved.He’s still standing there with the gun gripped tight in his hand, like it's the only thing tethering him to control.His eyes are locked on me, but there’s something different now.Something I never thought I’d see in that cold, ruthless gaze.
Fear.The fucker’s scared.And it’s not me he’s afraid of.It’s her.
She’s already won, and he knows it.Every second that ticks by is a noose tightening around his neck.
“Five minutes,” she says. “If you don’t move and let us go, everything goes live.”
Her words don’t just hang in the air, they land on him, like bullets hitting center mass.
“Get him up,” she demands.
My father’s jaw ticks.For a second, I think he might refuse.But then, just the slightest nod, and his men spring into action.
Rough hands haul me off the ground.My legs almost give out, blood rushing back into places gone numb, but I hold myself steady.
Emery steps closer, her gaze never leaving my father.“Let him go.”
One of the men hesitates, then finally lets go.The second follows, shoving my arms away with a grunt.
My shoulders burn as blood rushes back through my limbs, nerves screaming like they’ve been lit on fire.I roll my wrists and flex my fingers.
“You think you’ve won, Matteo?”My father says, his voice scraping the air with caged fury.“You think you can negotiate your way out of this.You’re my blood.You will always answer to me.”
Something breaks loose inside me.Years of being his puppet, his pawn, of being molded into something I never asked to be.
“You’re fucking wrong,” I say, voice rough, steady.“I will never answer to you again.”
His eyes narrow dangerously.“You think you can walk away?”he snarls, stepping forward like he’s still got any power left to wield.“From me?From this family?I’ll fucking hunt you down, you hear me.You’ll spend every second looking over your shoulder, praying I don’t find you.”
