“She’ll grow up fast enough.”
“She still sleeps with stuffed animals,” I told him. He looked irritated by the statement.
“And Matteo,” I continued, rage building hotter beneath every word, “isn’t weak because he reads books. He’s smarter than you already.”
Lorenzo sneered. “He’ll never survive this world.”
“Maybe that’s because this world is full of men like you,” I said.
The monitor accelerated again. Pain twisted visibly through Lorenzo’s body now. Sweat soaked through his robe completely. His fingers trembled violently against the blankets. Good.
“You wretched bastard,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You think you’re different? You threatened my daughter. You trapped her. You forced her into your bed.”
My expression darkened. “I never touched Chiara without her wanting me to.”
The old man laughed bitterly. “That girl doesn’t know what she wants.”
My vision went black for half a second. I leaned down slowly until we were eye level. “Watch how you speak about my wife.”
Lorenzo stared back at me stubbornly despite the agony breaking him apart piece by piece. Then he smiled. A disgusting, knowing smile.
“She already hates you,” he whispered. The words landed harder than they should have. Because part of me feared he was right. Chiara looked at me like I was the villain in every story she’d ever been told. Maybe I was. But I still wasn’t him.
“She cries when you touch her,” Lorenzo continued viciously. “I know girls like her. Sensitive little things. You’ll ruin her eventually.”
I straightened abruptly before I wrapped my hands around his throat.
“She’s already survived one monster,” I said coldly. “She’ll survive me too.”
For the first time all night… Lorenzo looked uncertain. I reached down and placed the antidote vial carefully on the floor, just out of his reach. His eyes locked onto it. Hope surged across his ruined face so quickly it almost looked painful. Then I stepped back.
And crushed the vial beneath my heel. Glass cracked sharply across the hospital floor. The clear liquid spread across white marble tiles. Lorenzo made a horrible sound. Not anger. Desperation.
“No,” he rasped. I stared down at the shattered antidote.
“You had daughters who still loved you after everything,” I said quietly. “Do you understand how rare that is?”
His breathing turned ragged. “You had children who would’ve forgiven you forever.”
“Signore Moretti,” he rasped, desperate. “Please…”
“But instead of loving them back…” My voice hardened. “You planned to sell them piece by piece to monsters.”
Lightning flashed outside the windows. The entire room flickered white for one violent second. When darkness settled again, Lorenzo looked terrified. Not of dying. Of losing control.
“Your family,” I said coldly, “will be safer once you’re dead.”
Hatred twisted his face. “You don’t get to decide what happens to my children.”
“I already did,” I reminded him. His expression faltered. I pulled my phone from my pocket without breaking eye contact.
Lorenzo’s breathing sharpened. “What are you doing?”
I hit call. One ring. “Sergio.”
“Boss.”
“Get men to the Ventura estate,” I instructed.
