Doomed to Love the Mafia Boss.

Chapter 23

I would choose every time I had to, but I would never again resign myself to being a mere spectator to the atrocities I knew were happening.

Today, I no longer needed to admire or envy Elinor. Today, I was like her—and I was eager to see many others become like me, even in silence.

I slip out through the window that leads to the garden and circle the property, using the blind spots where no camera can catch my silhouette. Silent as a fox, I observe the South Wing building.

I wait for fear to come, but I feel nothing. I only absorb the darkness and silence, trying to take in everything around me. Hidden among the trees, becoming one of them, I hear them arrive.

Bruno.

He is the only man I truly fear.

I can see the guest unconscious in his arms as he carries her inside. They are always taken there before they disappear completely. I move closer and get a clear view of the… guest. She has black hair, pale skin, and a small tattoo on her arm. A violet—simple, but beautifully done. Filled in. Beautiful. Probably made during some happy night in Palermo.

Considering the weekend is just beginning, she will leave here in a day or two, taken to Bruno’s den after my father inspects her, approves her, and my brothers play with her. At least, that was the modus operandi years ago.

He leaves her and locks the door.

Tick-tock.

I have forty-eight hours to save the girl—Violet.

With the disposable phone, I send a message to Elinor.

“We begin.”

It’s not the first time I’ve acted alone, but it is the first time here in Sicily, in my own home. In London, she allowed me to do what we call a “solo act” when I was nineteen. She stayed back, watching from a distance, ready to help me if I screwed up.

I remember it perfectly.

I fled in the middle of the night from the University Center, integrated into the old boarding school where I was raised, to meet Elinor. Dressed as a man, in loose gardening overalls, I made my way toward Central London. Many attacks were happening at the time, especially against women with no chance to defend themselves.

I’ve helped men in those circumstances, of course, but my focus was always on the women.

We’d spend hours undercover, waiting.

At one point, I heard her.

The girl screamed for help once, in the dead of night. Just once, but it was enough to catch our attention. I focused on locating the sound and walked quickly, like a laborer hurrying home.

A dead-end street between abandoned buildings, in a rougher part of the city center—another wretch was preying on his victim. I approached slowly because I didn’t want him to run. I wanted him to attack me.

I tore off the overalls and left them in a nearby dumpster. Underneath, I wore tight, black, extremely form-fitting clothing that accentuated my curves. Acting feeble, like a desperate girl, I approached them. I was initially shocked by the sheer amount of tears on the victim’s face, as she was pinned against the wall. The uniform from some pub where she worked was completely torn, and the man was beginning to penetrate her.

I regretted not arriving sooner.

“Let her go!”

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? You wanna join in too?” he replied, showing his yellowed teeth, his prominent nose, and glassy eyes that betrayed his drunkenness.

I lunged forward as if I were crazy, just to make him focus on me and leave the girl alone. I hit his shoulder in some feeble way, and he quickly got angry, just as I knew he would.

“You b***h! I’ll destroy you!” he shouted as he positioned himself in front of me.

“Hide!” I managed to yell at the girl.

“Yo-you…”

“I can take care of myself!” Her staying there wouldn’t help me at all. “Go!”

I paid her no more attention. That excuse for a man and I grappled, struggling for the knife in his hand. I was armed, of course, but I preferred to leave him defenseless first.

Yes, I don’t fight with honor, and I don’t give my opponent a fair fight. It was me armed and him unarmed. Isn’t that what they do to their victims?

That’s life!

With one move, I pinned him against the wall and dislocated his thumb—I needed to compensate for and overcome his physical strength, since he was burly. He howled in pain and let go of the knife to hold his dislocated hand, trying to ease the pain.

“Damn you! You’re going to die!”

“Just try it!”

He managed to knock me down using his shoulders, as if I were an opponent in a football game, and I hit my head on the ground. I only lost my balance temporarily, but it was enough for him to put me in a chokehold and trap me against his torso, immobilizing me.

His lips touched my left ear, and I could feel his c**k throbbing against my ass.

“Little girl, you’re going to regret sticking your nose in this.”

I didn’t even bother to answer, focused on reaching my own waist. Overcoming my limited mobility, I reached the knife I kept there, small as a dagger but sharp enough to kill.

I pulled it out and struck in a thirty-degree incision to my opponent’s eye, leaving the knife slightly tilted, pulling it with enough precision to rip out his left eye.

Red.

The amount of blood that gushes from an eye is unimaginable.

“Ahhhhhhh, you b***h! My eye! My eye!” he screamed pathetically.

“Let me get this straight,” I said as I stood up and watched him writhe on the ground. I was panting from the exertion, my vision blurry with pure hatred. “You were going to rape that girl. Then you wanted to rape me. And now you’re going to lie there crying like a little girl? Oh! Little girl, no. I am one, and I’m here like a vampire, wanting to feed on your blood, you son of a b***h!” I snarled. It was impossible not to remember, at that moment, the first time I witnessed a rape.

“Stay away from me! You demon!”

“Really, I’m no saint. But demon? That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Leave me alone!” He tried to get up and run away from me, just like the girl wanted to do when he attacked her and didn’t let her.