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He Chose Her Lies, I Chose Revenge Novel Cover

He Chose Her Lies, I Chose Revenge

Born as a mere organ donor for her sister Isabella, Vitiello family outcast 'Seven' saved Mafia Don Dante Moretti, only for Isabella to steal the credit. Now, Dante treats Seven with cruelty, even demanding she be lashed for 'stealing' her own mementos. After being discarded by her parents and tortured at Dante's command, her love dies. She leaves a tape proving her identity and flees to Sydney, leaving Dante to realize his fatal mistake too late.
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Chapter 5

Seraphina Vitiello POV:

I exhaled a shallow breath, watching the faint plume of white mist dissipate into the absolute darkness of the underground morgue. The chill wasn't just in the air; it was a physical entity, clawing at my skin, dragging me back to the freezer they used to lock me in when I was seven. My shoulders convulsed uncontrollably.

The blood oozing from the gash on my forehead had already crystallized into dark red ice. I tried to pull my knees to my chest to preserve whatever body heat I had left, but my joints popped and ground together, screaming in stiff protest. The paper-thin hospital gown offered zero protection. The freezing air pierced straight through the cotton, sinking its teeth into my bone marrow.

My brain started playing tricks on me, starved of oxygen and warmth. The edges of my vision blurred into a gray static. Inside my chest, my heartbeat slowed to a sluggish, heavy thud. *Thump... pause... thump.* It was so faint I could barely feel it against my own ribs.

A harsh, metallic grinding noise shattered the silence. The heavy steel door of the morgue groaned open.

The sickly yellow light from the hallway sliced through the pitch-black room like a physical blade. The sudden glare stabbed my pupils. I squeezed my eyes shut, and the involuntary movement forced a single, physiological tear from the corner of my eye. The second the teardrop slid down my cheek, the freezing air caught it, hardening it into a solid bead of ice against my skin.

Heavy, muffled footsteps echoed against the frosted concrete floor. Custom Italian leather shoes. I didn't need to open my eyes to know who it was.

Dante's massive shadow swallowed my curled-up form entirely. He stopped exactly two feet away from my face. The sheer, suffocating weight of his presence pressed down on my crushed lungs.

"Do you know what you did wrong?" Dante's voice bounced off the frozen steel cabinets, devoid of any warmth, completely empty of the man I had bled for.

I tried to draw breath to answer, but the freezing air hit my lungs like I was swallowing a handful of shattered glass. A violent spasm of pain wracked my chest, stealing my voice. I forced my heavy, purple eyelids open, looking up at the man I had loved with my very life for seven years.

He looked down at me, and in his ice-blue eyes, I saw nothing but absolute disgust. There was only his fierce protection for Isabella.

Deep inside my chest, the tight, frayed string that I had labeled 'hope' made a crisp, snapping sound. It didn't stretch. It didn't fray further. It just broke.

I didn't scream. I didn't hysterically beg him to check the security cameras or look at the trajectory of Isabella's fall. I let my frozen eyelids droop, completely shadowing the last dying spark of light in my pupils.

I forced my jaw to unlock. My lips were stiff, numb pieces of meat.

"I'm sorry," I pushed the words out. My voice was a mechanical, hoarse rasp. There was no soul in it. No defense. Just an empty echo.

Dante's brow snapped together. The dead, lifeless submission in my tone seemed to irritate him instantly. His jaw clenched tight.

"Look at me when you speak," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave.

I tilted my head back numbly. I stared right into his eyes, but my gaze was entirely vacant. I looked at him with the exact same eyes as the corpses occupying the steel drawers around us.

That dead stare seemed to sting him. Anger flashed across his features. He leaned down, his large hand shooting out to grip my chin in a bruising hold.

The second his warm palm made contact with my jaw, his entire body flinched. He froze.

The extreme, corpse-like temperature of my skin shot straight through his fingertips, traveling up his arm and slamming into his spine. A violent shudder ripped through his massive frame. For a split second, a raw, primal panic seized his features—a terror that bypassed all his mafia training and struck his core.

He violently yanked me off the frosted floor, crushing my freezing body against his chest. He turned toward the open doorway, his composure completely shattered.

"Get a doctor! Now!"

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