Page 45 of Forgive Me, Father (Don #1)

THIRTY-SEVEN

THE LITTLE RUNAWAY

I woke with a jolt, disoriented. At first, I thought I was in Alfonso’s dungeon—Heaven knew I’d seen enough of it—but as my vision sharpened, I realized this wasn’t his.

It felt like one, sure, stone walls, damp air, iron restraints—but something was off. Colder. Crueler.

My wrists were shackled, stretched so far above me that pain radiated from my shoulders down my spine. This wasn’t Alfonso’s doing. He never let it get this far.

My toes barely grazed the ground, just enough to tease balance, not enough to give relief. I could already feel the ache settling into my joints, the promise of agony that would last for weeks.

I remembered the sharp prick just below my ear, the sting, the wave of dizziness that followed, and then, nothing.

Now my heart thudded faster, panic creeping in. Where the hell am I?

My head was still foggy, like I was underwater. If not for the searing pain in my arms, I might’ve believed I was dreaming. Everything around me felt distant, unreal, blurred at the edges.

I hated this, hated the vulnerability, the confusion. And I was starving.

The pain in my shoulders deepened with every second, like my arms might tear clean from their sockets. The dizziness kept dragging me under, pulling me in and out of consciousness, and each time I surfaced, the room looked a little brighter, like dawn was bleeding in through a crack I couldn’t see.

Somewhere beyond the walls, I heard the city, honking horns, the murmur of traffic.

I wasn’t far from civilization.

“Help me!” I yelled. Even that felt like a battle, forcing sound from my throat. My voice came out strange, warped, like it didn’t belong to me.

Still, I kept screaming. Over and over. I’m here. I need help.

But no one came. Not a single footstep. Not a single voice.

Just my own echo, swallowed by stone.

The door clicked, then creaked open. I screamed again, raw and desperate, praying someone, anyone , might hear me.

But the door shut just as quickly, sealing the sound inside.

Then came the laugh, low, mocking.

A figure stepped closer, just a blur in the dim light. All I could make out was the shock of white hair falling over his forehead, and the sick amusement in his voice.

When he finally stepped into the light, I knew he was a Don, or at least tied to one.

The mark below his eye matched Alfonso’s, the same number inked into his skin like a badge of blood and legacy.

He said something in Italian, voice smooth and deliberate, eyes dragging over me with that same cold calculation I’d seen in men like him before.

As he came closer, the air shifted; he wasn’t just here to look. He leaned down and bit my left breast through my blouse.

The pain seared through my chest, felt as if my flesh was going to rip open. I cried out in pain.

My limbs were leaden, too heavy to move. I couldn’t even lift a foot to kick him.

He spoke Italian again and when I didn’t answer, he hit me. I literally saw stars and then darkness.

A sharp, unfamiliar scent pulled me back to reality. My cheek throbbed with pain as he spoke in Italian again, his words cold and deliberate.

“I don’t understand.” The words barely left my lips.

He chuckled, a dark amusement in his voice. “You’re feisty. I can see why he likes you.”

“Who?” I demanded, my voice rough.

“Your husband. It was a shock when he didn’t marry that slut of his. I get it,” he said with a sly grin. “Who wants a second-hand car when you’ve been promised a brand-new Rolls-Royce?” His accent was thick, rolling the words in a way that made them feel even sharper.

I stared at him. “Do you know my husband?”

He let out a low laugh, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “We have some unfinished business. I promised him an eye for an eye. Thought it’d be fitting if the debt was paid by his sister, but the bitch got away and you were the next best thing.”

His sister. The accident. I had misunderstood him.

“Don’t do this,” I begged. “It’s not going to end well. I promise you.”

“He’ll get over you, just like he got over all his other bitches,” the man said with a sneer.

"Yeah, it's not like that with us," I said, trying to convince him of something I wasn’t entirely sure of myself.

He smirked. “It’s what they all say. But trust me, sweetheart, he has no feelings. He’s a Pezzo di merda . Worse than a fucking pig.”

"Whatever's between you and my husband, sir, is none of my business," I said, my voice steady, though my mind raced. I'd tell him whatever he wanted to hear. I just needed to buy time, time until Alfonso found me.

“I don’t care if you are part of it or not.

Now that I have you, I’m going to make your last few hours of living hell.

Hopefully, when I drop your broken body outside his home, he can finally feel something.

I hoped it would push him to come after me, to finally put an end to this once and for all. ”

“You are crazy,” I whispered lowly. “Alfonso will tear you limb from limb before wiping everyone you love from the face of the earth.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “You have no idea who your husband is, do you? A rapist and a murderer.”

Shock crashed up my spine. No. There was no way… but then that night jumped into my thoughts. That night when he had me pinned against the wall, wanting to teach me a lesson.

I swallowed hard as a tear blurred my sight.

He spoke in Italian, sweet and softly, brushing the side of my cheek lovingly as if he cared.

Anger rose up. “You all are. You have the one underneath your eye too.”

“Oh no, no, no, little girl. I kill who they tell me to kill. Your Pezzo Di Merda , he likes to kill everyone. Kids, women, elderly.”

“You’re a liar!” I spat.

The asshole laughed. Clearly enjoying it. “Why do you think I hate him so much?”

I shook my head, refusing to hear another word of his lies.

He spat out a stream of Italian—sharp, bitter—curses I didn’t need to understand to feel their venom.

“He fucking killed the only woman I have ever loved. He dragged it out, raped her over and over, and slit her throat. Just because he could.”

Alfonso had his darkness, I wasn’t stupid, but it was not that kind of darkness. “I know you’re lying,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

Still, a flicker of doubt crept in. If left unchecked, could his darkness drive him that far?

“Oh, so what? I’m the sick one? I like to kill innocent women?” He laughed. “No, bella . I’m done. He unraveled me the moment he silenced her. Now, he has to pay for what he’s done. An eye for a fucking eye.”

I heard his words, but they didn’t add up. First, he said this was about his sister—now he was calling her the only woman he’d ever loved.

None of it made sense.

Unless. “You were in love with your sister?”

He snarled, and I knew I’d hit a nerve.

The laugh escaped before I could stop it—sharp, reckless, defiant. I didn’t even know why. I just couldn’t help myself.

He struck me across the face again—harder this time, the crack of it ringing in my ears.

The pain was sharp, blinding, but at least I didn’t black out. This time, I stayed conscious.

It felt like he was trying to knock my head clean off my shoulders.

When the haze cleared, the first thing I felt was the burning in my arms, then the throb pulsing along one side of my face.

I lifted my head slowly and glared at him through the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut.

“Good,” he said, voice low and cruel. “Now you’re starting to understand how this is going to work. I know your husband likes to cut, found Feliz covered in them.”

He picked up a knife, the blade catching the light.

My stomach turned. Alfonso had never touched me with anything like that .

The man came over.

“It’s not like that,” I tried to say, but the words barely left my mouth before his hand slashed across the skin of my stomach.

A searing burn followed, white-hot and instant.

The bastard laughed—like it was a game.

First came the warmth, then the wetness that trickled down my legs. When it hit the floor, the sound echoed in my ears, sharp and unrelenting.

He cursed under his breath. “You pissed yourself? It’s just a fucking cut—and not even deep. What sort of a Don wife are you?”

Shame—the kind no one should ever have to feel—flooded through me, cold and suffocating.

“I know how to cut, bella , how to make a killing last. Torture is not just your husband’s preferred method.

It’s mine too. And everything he did to my Feliz?

I’m going to do twenty thousand times worse to you.

I’m going to take off your face and send that to him first. And then rape you, over and over, before I’ll send him whatever is left of your cunt. ”

His words twisted in my gut, fear coiling tight as the cut burned through me.

The heat spread, searing across my skin.

He kept talking, but I had stopped listening the moment he said that. I knew he was twisted enough to follow through. His words weren’t just threats—they were meant to break me, to make me fear him. And he was getting a sick thrill from it.

“What shall we start with?” he sneered, his laugh low and twisted. “Ah, I know. Wait right here.”

He turned on his heel, leaving me alone, the sound of his footsteps fading as the air around me thickened with dread.

I screamed as loud as I could while he was gone, desperate for someone— anyone —to hear me.

But there was nothing. No one stopped, no one came. No one answered. Just silence, thick and suffocating.

The door creaked open again, and he stepped inside, holding a bucket of water and a sponge.

He set the bucket down beside me, then yanked my pants off without a word. Cold tears—ones I hadn’t even realized were waiting—spilled onto the floor as he scrubbed me with the icy water, the sensation sharp and degrading.

"Please, don't do this," I pleaded, the words tasting like ashes in my mouth. I hated myself for begging, but there was no other choice.

“It’s what your husband did," he sneered. "Blame him, not me."

I shot him a furious glare, but he just laughed, finding my defiance amusing.

"You’re like a little Chihuahua," he mocked, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

“What?”

“You know the little dogs. Feisty as hell but one kick and they are dead.”

“You are insane.”

“I might be, but not as crazy as your husband.”

He grabbed my legs, and I tried to fight. He struck me again, this time in the stomach, and my body went limp.

When I came to, every inch of me throbbed with pain.

“Your pussy is so tight,” he screamed as he plunged himself into me. Spoke a few curse words again.

The scream tore from my lungs, raw and unrestrained, as the pain—both physical and emotional—overwhelmed me. It was all-consuming, a jagged wave that drowned everything else.

His fingers dented into my hips, the pain equivalent of someone trying to rip off my skin.

I let another scream rip.

I didn’t want this.

He came inside of me and didn’t pull out.

His heavy, ragged breaths and that dry, haunting chuckle would echo in my mind forever, a sound that would never leave me.

He was out of breath and hung onto me. I felt numb.

On the line of deranged.

I wanted to kill this motherfucker. I wanted to rip his limbs from his body.

He pulled out.

“You are a good fuck,” he said, grabbing my chin hard. Forcing me to look at him. “Tell you what. I’ll hold off on sending him your pussy. Because I’m going to fuck you until you are dry, bella . So hard that nobody will ever find pleasure inside of you again.”

The movement was so fast. His head connected hard with mine. The pain overpowered my essence, and he sent me immediately into the comfort of oblivion.