Page 12 of Merciless Queen (Moretti Mafia #1)

Harlow

Everything in this house terrified me.

Everyone was watching me, waiting for the moment I shattered, but what could I expect when the slightest noise petrified me?

The look on Antonio’s face when I screamed bloody murder mortified him.

And it made me feel horrible, but I couldn’t help my reaction.

He didn’t even hurt me, simply brushed against me after I fumbled with my cutlery and he was being nice.

Lizzy helped me back to my room, and I cried in her arms for ten minutes before telling her I wanted to be alone.

Being away from him was a battle itself.

The demons were tumultuous. Vincenzo’s words echoed in my mind like a twisted lullaby, and I felt like I was in a constant warzone with my mind.

My scars ached. Lena said it could happen with trauma, but it felt like he was here carving my skin to show that he would never be away from me.

It’d only been a few days, but I felt like I would never be free of the shadows he cast and be in a constant state of fear because of him.

Freedom was fucking terrifying.

The bathroom filled with steam as I stripped out of the clothes Caterina gave me.

No matter how many times I showered or scrubbed my skin raw, I still felt him on me.

His touch was a numbing and callous memory.

Every forceful touch burned in my mind, every salacious word screamed in my head as I tried to force the thought of him away, but his grip was paralyzing.

Would I always be like this? Petrified by another’s touch when I’d been deprived of human contact for years, all because I was haunted by my tormentor?

Vincenzo Mancini was my devil, my tormentor, and my monster.

His grip was a vise that squeezed with relentless pressure and left permanent marks.

It wasn’t just physical. He wormed his way into my bones and subconscious.

Lizzy, Caterina, and everyone else I met in this house, said I was safe and promised my protection, but I would never be free of Vincenzo’s grasp.

He wanted me. He wanted me every day for the last ten years, and he wouldn’t stop just because I was temporarily out of his reach.

I fiddled with the edge of the damp bandage, my fingers working attentively as I tried to distract myself from the sting underneath.

The adhesive tugged at my skin, pulling away in tiny, stubborn pieces until I peeled it completely off of my wrist. The air and hot water hitting the wound caused a quick, sharp sensation of pain to ricochet through me.

The wound was still fresh, but healing slowly with the redness around it starting to fade into a subtle pink.

The skin was tender and irritated, but a scab was starting to form.

I winced as I gently cleansed the area, my fingers lingering on the scabbed edges.

I never realized chains could create such an ugly mark.

When I used the broken mirror on my skin, I didn’t think, I just did.

I wanted to end my misery, but I wasn’t quick enough, or maybe Vincenzo’s men heard the glass shatter.

Either way, death would have been better than the punishment I received after that failed attempt.

I didn’t need to think like this, not now. My mental health was already spiraling.

It would be easy to kill myself and end the constant screaming in my head, to silence the demons that would haunt me forever, but Lizzy was the only reason I was not going to attempt it.

I told her I would be strong, but fuck, was it harder than I thought.

Surviving was fucking hard, and I was so goddamn tired already.

It’d only been four days since I’d been brought here, and tonight was the first full day that I was awake.

But this was just the beginning.

The water turned to ice, and I finally peeled myself off of the shower tile and got out, wrapping a fluffy, white towel around my body.

I still felt revolting, but it was a feeling that wouldn’t leave with a simple shower, no matter how long I scrubbed my skin.

I was trapped for ten excruciatingly long years, deprived of basic human necessities because Vincenzo had a sordid obsession and fucked-up fantasy life involving me.

I would never have a normal life, and I would never forgive my father for ruining our lives.

Why couldn’t he deal with his own consequences instead of involving us?

Better yet, why couldn’t he not get involved in the first place?

I wished I could go back in time and kill my father before all of this happened, but this was reality, and I had to live with my father’s actions so my life could go on the correct path.

This was not the future I spent years obsessing over. I had goals, aspirations, and plans on how my life would go. Detailed vision boards about art and teaching with the best colleges in highest paying states. I knew the future I wanted, but like my innocence, it was ripped from my hands.

Tired of my self-loathing, I rewrapped my wound carefully and got ready for bed.

After sliding into a baggy nightgown that draped down to my ankles, I crawled back into bed.

I’d slept for almost two days, but I felt like fatigue had embedded itself into my very core, making me numb.

Everyone kept saying I would be okay, but their words fell on deaf ears.

I was lost in a fog of despair, struggling to imagine a future where my life was better, but that felt like a distant dream.

I pulled the comforter tightly around me, enveloping myself in heavy, blanketing warmth.

The weight was constricting, yet comforting like a cocoon.

I’d like to pretend I could sleep peacefully, but that was like wishing for a snowstorm in a desert.

The quiet was a battlefield, and the only reason I slept as long as I did was because of the blood loss.

My mind was a constant warzone trampled with restless thoughts and screaming demons, leaving me searching for elusive peace.

His footsteps were a dreadful cadence of sounds. There was no escape. I was trapped. I was a defenseless pawn in his sadistic games. He would find me. He would always find me.

“Did you think you could escape me, you fucking whore?” His presence was suffocating.

Excruciating pain shot through my scalp like a thousand tiny needles.

As he closed in, the lingering darkness swallowed all hope as the cold grip of terror consumed me.

“You belong to me. Every part of you is mine.”

No one escaped.

Why did I think she could save me from him? What Vincenzo wanted, he got. I would never be free. This was my life, trapped in the chains of my tormentor, no matter where I went or who tried to save me.

He dragged me through glass and who knows what else, the sharp debris tearing into the skin of my legs and back. “Vincenzo, please. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll show you how sorry you’re going to be.”

No, no, no!

Vincenzo!

Stop. Please!

I screamed, my eyes flying open and meeting pools of green.