Sold To The Devil: Escaping My Ruthless Husband

Alessia POV

The water in the shower had long since turned cold, but I didn't reach to turn it off.

I needed the noise. I needed the deafening roar of the water to drown out the sound of my own heart breaking.

I looked down at the pills trembling in my hand. They were potent—high-grade muscle relaxants and labor inducers I had swiped from the clinic weeks ago. Just in case. Just in case I needed an exit.

I never thought the exit would be for him.

My hand shook violently as I brought the cup to my lips. I swallowed them dry. One by one. Gritty and bitter against my tongue.

I sat on the tiled floor of the shower, the freezing water beating down on my swollen belly. I apologized to him. I whispered his name, Leo, over and over again until the syllables lost their meaning and dissolved into a rhythm of grief.

I couldn't let them have him. I couldn't let Clara cut him out of me and claim him as her own. I couldn't let Luca raise him to be a butcher.

It was better this way. It was a mercy. Better for him to never breathe the same poisoned air as the Vittis.

The pain started an hour later. It wasn't just a cramp; it was a searing, twisting knife grinding into my lower back. I bit down hard on a folded towel to keep from screaming, my jaw aching from the pressure.

I clawed at the grout between the tiles until my fingernails cracked and bled.

It went on for hours. The blood mixed with the water, swirling down the drain in diluted pink ribbons.

When it was over, I didn't look at him. I couldn't. If I looked at his face, if I saw Luca's nose or my father's chin, I wouldn't be able to do what came next.

With trembling hands, I wrapped him in the silk pillowcase I had brought into the bathroom. It was soft. It was the only soft thing he would ever know.

I placed him inside the airtight container I had prepared. I didn't cry. I had wept all my tears before I took the pills. Now, I was just a machine. A vessel that had been emptied and scraped hollow.

I hid the container in the back of the ventilation shaft behind the vanity, a place I knew no one ever checked.

Then came the hardest part.

I cleaned the floor. I scrubbed every inch of grout with bleach until my hands were raw and burning. I showered again, washing the scent of birth and death off my skin, scrubbing until I was red.

Moving like a ghost, I took the foam padding from the decorative pillows on the chaise lounge. I shaped it. I taped it to my stomach.

The adhesive pulled at my skin, a sharp sting against the dull agony inside me, but I ignored it.

I put my nightgown back on.

I looked in the mirror. I still looked pregnant. I still looked like the vessel they wanted.

But I was a tomb.

I unlocked the door and walked back into the bedroom. Luca was asleep. He didn't move. He didn't know that his legacy was already gone.

I climbed into bed beside him, my body screaming in protest. I lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, feeling the phantom weight of the child I had just sent back to the stars.

You wanted a Vitti, Luca.

I closed my eyes.

I will give you one.