Chapter 21
Angelo survived.
Barely.
He was breathing through tubes. Skin pale. Machines doing the work. But he was alive. And that was enough. For now, Word spread like wildfire, though–families pulling back, switching sides, whispering about weakness. About age. About his daughter playing soldier while the old lion slept.
So I let them think he died.
The funeral was fake–crafted in shadows, invitations sealed with black wax, the media fed a sanitized obituary. Just long enough to bait them. To make the snakes slither from their holes.
I wore crimson. A gown tailored to bleed with me. Lace veil over my face like the ghost they made me. I stood at the altar like royalty, unshaken.
“My father wasn’t a saint,” I told them; voice low but lethal. “He was a storm in a man’s body. You didn’t bury a lion. You buried a king who taught me how to roar.”
I watched their eyes. Watched the fear sink in. That was all I needed.
That night, we moved.
Lucien was driving. I trusted him with that. Ten of our best men in armored cars flanking us, each one handpicked by me.
The city was quiet. Too quiet.
We were halfway through the lower district when the world flipped sideways.
The first explosion hit the second car. Shook the street so hard my ears rang.
‘Get down!” Lucien shouted, throwing the wheel.
I hit the floor just as bullets screamed through the windshield. The car spun, tires shredding. Gunfire echoed in a choir of chaos.
‘AMBUSH!” one of the guards screamed.
Too late.
Flames bloomed on the right. Metal twisted. I heard someone scream–cut short.
Lucien fired back through the window, blood already pouring from his side. “Stay down, Doris!”
‘I’m not leaving you!”
‘You don’t have a choice!”
Then came the second wave.
Edmund. I saw him first. Walking through the smoke like a goddamn executioner, flanked by Lester, Elizabeth, and Loisa in black like a family photo from hell.
Lester grinned when he saw me.
“Told you she’d come wrapped in blood,” he said. “Didn’t I tell you, Ed?”
I reached for my gun. Too slow.
A shot cracked out. My shoulder exploded in pain. I dropped. Hard. The taste of blood hit my
Chapter 21
ES
5:22 am
tongue.
“Lucien-!”
He turned toward me, wild–eyed–then a bullet slammed into his back. He dropped beside me with a thud that made my heart stop.
“LUCIEN!”
“Doris-” he gasped. “Run-”
He didn’t finish.
Hands grabbed me. Yanked me up. A bag over my head. Rope tight around my wrists. Kicking Thrashing. Useless.
Lester whispered in my ear as they dragged me to a different car.
“Don’t worry, Ma. We’re just gonna have a little chat. Maybe bleed out some of that fire you carry.”
I bit his hand. He laughed.
“Still got bite,” he said. “Good. Dad’s likes ‘em angry.”
They threw me in the backseat. Slammed the door.
And as the car peeled off into the night, I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just memorized the sound of Lucien gasping for air behind me.
I woke to the sound of water dripping. Slow. Incessant. Cold against the back of my neck.
The air was damp, thick with mildew and rust. Concrete scraped under my spine. My wrists burned where the zip ties cut in, slick with dried blood. A gag pressed into the corners of my mouth, tasting of old cloth and something bitter. My jaw ached.
Dim, flickering light bulbs swung overhead–maybe five or six strung along a corroded pipe. The kind of light that made everything look haunted. Chains clinked in the distance. I could hear the faint moan of wind through tunnel grates. Subway blacksite. Below the city. Off–grid.
And I knew immediately–I wasn’t supposed to leave this place breathing.
Footsteps echoed. Slow, deliberate.
Then came his voice.
Lester.
“Hey, Ma…” he said from the dark, stepping just into the edge of the light. His boots made soft crunches over broken tile. Gun loose in one hand. “Surprised to see us? Thought we were gone, huh? Thought you could play duchess in your dead dad’s throne and forget your little bastard son in the shadows?”
He squatted next to me, looking down like I was roadkill he wasn’t sure if he should poke or eat.
“I’m your son, remember?” he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “The one you abandoned in that filthy house while you climbed your way into Rosinni silk. Did you ever think about me, Ma? Or was it all just easier once you decided to trade blood for glory?”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. I just stared at him. Let the gag hold back everything I wanted to
scream
Happy Divorce My Husband!
1/3 75.3%
5:22 am DDDD.
Then came Edmund.
He stepped out from behind a wall of shadow, slow, smug, wearing the same cashmere coat he wore when he toasted my father’s funeral from Milan.
“You don’t want us, huh?” he said, voice oily. “Well, look who’s bleeding now. Rosinni heiress? Is that what you call yourself these days?”
He knelt beside me. His breath was close enough to choke on.
“You know, Doris… you should’ve stayed hidden. You were perfect as my maid. Quiet. Obedient. My little wife in the dark. You scrubbed my floors like a dream. But then you had to go and grow teeth. Taunting me. Claiming your throne. Pretending like you weren’t mine first.”
He spat near my foot. It splattered red against the concrete.
“You’re still my maid. Just wearing different rags.”
I looked past him. Counted them.
Seven men. Not soldiers. Mercenaries. Ex–military, maybe. One Serbian flag patch. One hollowed eye socket. Loisa’s fingerprints, no doubt.
She appeared next–smiling like the devil’s mistress, hips swaying like it was a runway, not a torture room.
“Hi Mum,” she purred in Serbian, her voice laced with venom and mockery. “If only you had taken us in. Me and Lester. We were yours to save. You didn’t. So we made a deal with Daddy. To drag you down like you left us under.”
She leaned closer, her perfume sickeningly sweet. I could smell the blood still crusted in her earrings.
‘My twins miss you, you know,” she added with a giggle. “They say, ‘bring Grandma Doris back. We miss her rags personality.”
didn’t give her the satisfaction. I stayed still. Not a sound. Not a twitch.
They wanted me to cry. To beg. To show fear.
gave them silence.
Chapter 21
