And the fucked-up part… I don’t know if I want to tear her down or fall to my knees and beg her to forgive me for what comes next.
There’s blood on her wrists.Rage in her eyes.She’s bruised and bound to a chair built to break her, and still… still she doesn’t fucking flinch.She doesn’t look down.Doesn’t give me a single crack to crawl into.She radiates strength like it’s stitched into her goddamn bones.
She’s still got it.That thing that slides under my skin with the sensation of barbed wire.Twisted in deep, impossible to rip out without tearing muscle.That thing that’s been in me since the first time she looked at me as if I wasn’t just a cocky son of a bitch with blood on his hands.
She’s still beautiful.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
Even now.
That face.The same one I used to cradle between my hands like it was the only soft thing this fucked-up world ever gave me.Those lips… fuck, those lips that I used to lose myself in, imagining that if I kissed her long enough, all the hard parts of me would finally break away.
She’s still her.Still, the girl I burned for.Still, the girl who knew how to cut through every mask I wore and drove her fingers into the heart I swore I didn’t have.
And now how the fuck am I supposed to break her.
But that’s the job.There’s no room for hesitation.My father made it clear that she knows something.And now it’s on me to rip it out of her, piece by fucking piece.Strip her down, break her open, drag the truth from her lips no matter how hard she fights.Crush what’s left of that fire until all that’s left is ash and the truth.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.It’s short, sharp, and demanding.
Of course it’s Him.
He’s checking in, expecting the job to be done already, expecting her broken and bleeding truth at my feet.
I let it ring once more.Breathe in, like it’ll settle the shit unraveling in my chest.
It doesn’t.
I press the phone to my ear.“Yeah.”
“Status.”
No warmth.
No patience.
Just that clipped, surgical tone that always says more than the words do.My father doesn’t ask questions, he issues expectations.
“She’s here,” I say, jaw tight.
A pause.Not hesitation.Just pressure.The kind that builds behind your ribs and waits to snap.
“And the information?”
Like it should’ve already been spilled.Breaking her should’ve been as easy as flipping a switch.
“Nothing yet.”
“You’re dragging your feet.”
I grit my teeth.“I’m working her.”
“She’s here to be emptied, Matteo.I don’t give a shit that she was your childhood friend, or whatever the fuck she meant to you back then.None of that matters.You get the information, names, codes, everything.Rip it out of her, fuck it out of her if you have to.Just get it done.”
My hand tightens around the phone.“I said I’ve got it.”
“Then fucking act like it.If you can’t get the information, I’ll get someone who can.”
