“When I said I would take your womb if Violet lost her child, I meant it,” he continued, voice sharp and controlled.
“But I will go further. I will take your heart from your chest and give it to her. Her life depends on it, and your suffering will ensure it. You will feel every second of what I do to you, Elena.”
My lungs tightened, my chest caving as if the air itself had been stolen.
I could barely remain seated under the weight of what he promised.
The room was dead silent.
Renzo and Ciro didn’t move.
They knew better than to interrupt their Don when he was savoring his prey.
Vincenzo adjusted his cuffs, bored now.
He turned to his men.
“Bind her legs.”
Renzo and Ciro moved instantly.
I didn’t fight—there was no point.
Their hands closed around my ankles like steel bands.
Heavy chain rattled as they wrapped it around my legs—once, twice—padlock clicking shut.
The metal was cold.
Rough links bit into my skin through the thin leggings.
Vincenzo watched impassively, his expression carved from stone as if whatever stood before him was nothing more than a routine inconvenience.
“Take her to the inverted V ridge at the back of the property,” he ordered, voice final. “The artificial one—the training peak we built for endurance drills. Force her to kneel on it. Bare knees. No padding. No shoes.”
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Renzo’s hands tightened fractionally on the chain, the smallest betrayal of tension.
His jaw flexed, but he said nothing.
Vincenzo didn’t look at him.
“It will rain tonight,” he continued, almost casually, as if discussing the weather.
“Cold, heavy rain. She will shiver. She will ache. I want her to feel every drop. Let her kneel there and think. Let her imagine every consequence of her defiance. Do not remove her until I give the order.”
A pause—calculated.
Ciro stepped forward first, gripping one of my arms.
Renzo took the other.
Their hold was practiced and efficient—but not cruel.
They dragged me toward the door.
I didn’t cry. Didn’t beg.
