You Chose Her, Now Watch Me Disappear

Elena POV

The double doors crashed open, rebounding against the walls.

Dante was the first one through.

He took in the tableau instantly: Sofia collapsed on the floor, clutching her bleeding arm, the pristine white of her dress blooming with a stark, violent red.

And then there was me, standing over her, my face a mask of frozen shock, the knife lying damningly by the hem of my black gown.

"She stabbed me!" Sofia screamed, her voice shrill and wet with tears. She pointed a trembling finger at me. "She said she was going to kill me!"

Dante looked at the knife. Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to me.

There was no question in his eyes. No hesitation. No search for the truth. Just pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Grab her," he barked to his guards.

Two men seized my arms before I could even draw a breath. I didn't fight. The verdict was already written on his face.

"Dante, she did it herself," I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. "Please, just look at the angle-"

"Silence!" he roared.

He knelt beside Sofia, pressing his fine linen handkerchief to her wound. "Get the doctor. Now!"

Once the order was given, he stood up and stalked over to me.

The back of his hand connected with my cheekbone before I saw it coming.

The force of it snapped my head back. Pain exploded behind my eyes, and I tasted copper.

"I told you," he snarled, looming over me like a dark god. "I told you if you touched her..."

"I didn't," I choked out, spitting blood onto the terrace stones.

"Take her to the cellar," Dante ordered, turning his back on me. "The soundproof room."

The guards dragged me away. My heels scraped uselessly against the floor as I was thrown into the damp, cold darkness beneath the estate.

It smelled of mold, stagnant water, and old fear. In the center of the room sat a metal chair equipped with heavy leather straps.

They strapped me in. Tight.

Ten minutes later, Dante entered.

He had removed his jacket. He rolled up his sleeves with precise, methodical movements. He wasn't holding a whip or a knife.

He was holding a simple plastic pitcher of water.

Behind him, a guard carried a folded towel.

My blood ran cold. Ice filled my veins.

He knew. He knew my nightmare.

When I was in the cage, before he saved me, the traffickers used to hold my head underwater in a bucket of filth to keep me quiet. Drowning was my terror. It was the thing that made me wake up screaming in the middle of the night, clutching at his chest for safety.

"Dante," I whispered. "Please."

"You need to learn," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, hollowed out. "You attacked a family member. You broke Omertà. You need to be disciplined."

"I didn't touch her!"

He nodded to the guard. The guard stepped forward and placed the towel over my face.

Darkness swallowed me.

"Admit it," Dante said.

"No."

He tipped the pitcher.

The water poured.

The towel soaked instantly. It clung to my nose and mouth like a second, suffocating skin. I tried to inhale, but I sucked in only fluid. My lungs spasmed violently.

The panic was instant, primal. Time dissolved. I was back in the cage. I was drowning. I was dying.

My body thrashed against the leather straps, straining the buckles. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see. There was only the darkness and the water filling my throat.

He stopped pouring.

The guard ripped the towel off.

I gasped, retching, coughing up water as my chest heaved in desperate, ragged rhythms. I was shaking so hard the metal chair rattled against the concrete floor.

"Admit it," Dante said softly. "Say you hurt her because you were jealous. Apologize."

I looked up at him through wet, stinging lashes. My hair was plastered to my skull. My makeup was running in dark streaks down my cheeks. I must have looked pathetic.

But inside, something fractured and reassembled into steel.

"I..." I wheezed.

"Yes?"

"I hate you," I rasped, my voice raw and broken. "I hate you more than I ever loved you."

Dante's eyes flickered. For a second, a crack appeared in the armor-he looked hurt. Then the mask slammed back down, harder than before.

"Again," he ordered.

The towel went back on. The water poured.

As I drowned in the darkness of my own home, tortured by the man who had sworn to protect me, I made a silent promise.

I wasn't going to leave him.

I was going to destroy him.