Page 36 of Always A Villain (Revenge Duet #2)

He grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking me upright and dragging me to a chair, securing my wrists with zip ties so tight they bite into my skin.

“Stop being a fucking brat, or you’ll regret it,” he sneers before storming out.

The silence that follows is suffocating. I blink through tears, my head pounding, the ties digging in deeper with every small shift I make. For a long moment, there’s nothing but the pain, and I let myself break, just a little, the soft plea slipping through clenched teeth. “Axe… please…”

The minutes crawl by, each one stretching like hours.

Eventually, heavy footsteps sound outside, and the door opens.

A man strides in—with a buzz cut and a jagged scar across his cheek.

His face is blank, eyes hard as he tosses a bundle of clothes to the floor.

A baggy t-shirt, sweatpants, and sneakers.

He cuts the zip ties, then shoves me roughly back into the chair. “Put these on,” he snaps.

“Fuck you,” I rasp, my voice scraping out just enough defiance.

His response is swift—a punishing blow that sends me sprawling off the chair, stars bursting behind my eyes .

“Get dressed,” he commands.

With a glare, I struggle into the oversized shirt and sagging pants, my bruised hands trembling as I force myself through each painful motion. The shirt drapes loosely, and the pants barely cling to my hips, but I hold his gaze as I shove my feet into the worn sneakers he threw at me.

He watches with a detached sneer, as if I’m just one more task to check off. “Five minutes.” Yanking me up by my arm, he steers me roughly toward the door.

“Let’s go, love,” Creed mutters with a smirk, meeting me out the door. Rain lashes down as we step outside. A sleek black SUV waits in the parking lot, its engine idling, lights reflecting off the slick pavement. Creed opens the door and roughly shoves me inside, another man sliding in beside me.

I try to keep my voice steady. “Where are we going?”

Silence. Only the hum of the engine and the relentless patter of rain answer me.

“I asked you a question,” I say, fighting to keep the fear out of my voice.

Creed’s wicked grin reflects in the mirror. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Minutes tick by in tense silence until the SUV turns down a narrow road and comes to a halt at a small airstrip. The driver kills the engine, and both men get out, one of them jerking the door open, gesturing impatiently for me to step out.

As I climb out into the downpour, a jet looms through the mist and rain.

Creed’s grip tightens around my arm as he guides me up the narrow stairs.

Inside, the cabin is dimly lit, plush seats and polished wood barely visible in the shadowed interior.

A stewardess greets us with a strained smile, but Creed ignores her, shoving me into a seat and tying my wrists down with zip ties.

He fastens the seatbelt around my waist, securing it tight enough to hurt, then leans close, inspecting his handiwork.

“This is where our time together ends,” he says with mocking sadness.

“Go to hell.” I stare him down with all the defiance I can muster.

“Try not to miss me too much, love. I know I’ll miss watching that tight little ass of yours up on stage.” He winks before he stands and leaves the plane.

Moments later, Antonio appears, settling into the seat across from me. “We’re ready for takeoff,” he says, as if it’s a casual flight to paradise. I glance at the stewardess, who moves around, preparing as the plane starts its taxi down the runway.

“It won’t always be this difficult. Once you embrace your role, understand what’s expected, it will become easier.”

I glare at him, my voice filled with everything I wish I could make him feel. “I’ll never be what you want. Puoi marcire all'inferno .”

“Rot in hell?” He chuckles, the sound low and dark.

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your Italian,” he taunts.

“Your mother had that same spark. But fire can be extinguished, principessa . You'll come to understand that. You’ll be exactly what I want, Victoria. You’ll marry the man I choose, and you’ll continue the DeLuca bloodline.

Your mother made a fatal choice, chose a life with the Sovereign.

” His voice twists with disdain. “I won’t make the same mistakes Marco made.

The bastard child of the great Marco DeLuca will not be a Servant. ”

A lump forms in my throat. “What happened to my mother? I remember you and?—”

“Marco,” he sneers, cutting me off.

“Why?”

His face hardens. “Marco visited her that night. She planned to leave Conrad for him. But by the time we arrived, it was too late. Conrad had already killed her, locked you away, and fled.”

He killed her. He raped her—his own wife.

Her screams. Her pleading. Her terror.

How could he do that?

“No!” The denial tears from my chest.

Antonio doesn’t flinch. “She chose you, Victoria. You’re the reason she stayed. And Marco was stupid enough to get her pregnant—again. That’s when she made plans to leave Conrad for good. But she underestimated just how far he would go to keep her.”

The air leaves my lungs. “What…”

“She ended things with him, told him she was leaving, that Marco was your father. She should’ve known the consequences.” His tone hardens, eyes dark with memories. “By the time we arrived, Conrad had beaten her, shot her… left her bleeding out on the floor. She died calling your name.”

“No…” I whisper, the weight of it crushing me. “No… How could…”

“Marco wanted to take you, but I stopped him. He was in no position to care for a child.” His expression softens, almost looking like regret. “After that night, he was never the same. He let the Dolore slip from his grasp. You were better off with Conrad.”

I barely hear him.

My mother’s blood. Marco’s face twisted in agony as he held me—my real father.

“Marco refused to have any more children. And cancer took my ability away. But none of that matters anymore.” His voice drops, calculating.

“Now, I’m in charge of the Dolore. I won’t repeat Marco’s mistakes.

That begins with you. You’re his daughter—his only child—and you will carry on the DeLuca legacy. ”

My mind’s spinning, every emotion crashing together—grief, rage, fear, despair. But there’s one that steadies me, giving me hope.

“Axe will kill you all,” I whisper.

Antonio lets out a cruel laugh. “The great Reaper. He’s just a man, Victoria. And men”—he leans forward—“they break. There are no gods among us, only flesh and blood.”

He’s wrong.

Axe will come for me.

I know he will.

I close my eyes, clinging to the last time I felt his touch, the way he made the whole world fade away. I should have told him. My throat tightens. I should have told him that I love him.

What if I never get the chance?