Chapter 124: Moretti

The apartment is a dump. A cramped, rotting box, its walls crawling with damp stains, and the stench of mildew clings to everything. I let out a sneer, disgust curling my lip as I glance around. A single cockroach scuttles across the cracked linoleum, vanishing into a dark corner by the peeling wallpaper. Luxury—this is the price I pay for getting close to her again, to remind her what she’s lost. I’m used to marble floors, fine linens, and endless tables of food, exotic and decadent. I’m used to women fawning over me, draped in jewels and silk. Sofia could have had that life, if only she hadn’t made the worst mistake of her miserable little life.

But no. She chose to run off with those pathetic, flea-ridden strays who think they can protect her. She traded gold and silk for dirt and scars, choosing them over me. I watch their house through the grimy window across the street, feeling the kind of rage that I usually have others handle for me. I never have to get my hands dirty. That’s what loyal men are for, or so I thought—until those same men couldn’t finish the job. Until those rats of hers took them all down, leaving me to fend for myself.

Pathetic. I was surrounded by weaklings who didn’t understand that when you want something, you take it. You don’t let anyone stand in the way, and you don’t settle for less. And I won’t start now.

In the far corner of the room, what’s left of their guard lies bundled in a cheap tarp, a sickly stain of red spreading across the floorboards beneath him. The head was sloppy work, rushed. I’ve never handled something so directly before, but that’s where things are now. It doesn’t matter that I had to do it myself; what matters is that they know I’m close. That they know I’m watching.

A low chuckle slips from my lips as I imagine Sofia’s face when I finally drag her back, broken, humiliated, realizing what she could have had and chose to throw away. She’ll know then that she belongs to me, that I am the one who could’ve given her everything, had she only obeyed. And that baby? That disgusting little parasite? I’ll cut it out of her myself if I have to. She’ll learn what happens when you defy me, and they will watch as I take back what’s mine.

I’ll wait for the right moment. Watch. Plan. They think they’ve seen the worst, but they don’t know me. Not yet. But they will. Soon enough.

I remember the first time I saw her, like it was a vision meant only for me. Sofia was just a child, barely a teenager, standing there with those wide, innocent eyes. She looked so pure, untouched by the world’s filth, and I felt this pull—a sense of destiny, almost. She was meant for something greater. For me. I thought, what would it be like to mold something that perfect? To shape her, to twist that innocence into something powerful, deadly.

My empire needs an heir, someone with that purity, that look of softness, but capable of ruling without flinching. When I saw her again, all grown up, she’d become a woman—a beautiful, captivating woman with a body that could bring anyone to their knees. But in her eyes, that same pure light still shone, untouched, unspoiled. She was perfect. She would have been like an angel seated beside a demon, reigning over a kingdom of shadows. And she would give me a child, one with her looks, her innocence, but who would carry my ruthlessness, my ambition.

But now? She’s tainted herself with those rats. She’s carrying a child from one of them—a filthy, useless child, born of those pathetic, grimy men. They’ve defiled her, stained what was meant to be mine. I had plans for her, for us. I would have made her queen of everything. And she chose to give all of that up for them.

But it’s not over. She’s still mine, whether she knows it or not. And when I take her back, I’ll remind her of what she could have had. I’ll strip away every trace of them from her, remind her what loyalty means. She’ll see. I’ll take that pathetic excuse for an heir she’s carrying and destroy it, cut it out of her like the disease it is. And then she’ll know that she was meant to carry my legacy, and mine alone.

It’s almost poetic, really—an angel ruling over hell, drenched in blood and power, beside the one who owns her. I’ve built empires, burned cities, crushed men with a look, and Sofia? She’ll be my final masterpiece.

Sitting in the shadows of this filthy apartment, I pull up my phone, typing a new message. I keep it short, precise, just enough to hit the right nerve. A threat to remind them how close I am, how easily I can reach her.

_“You can keep her locked up, surrounded, guarded all you want. It won’t matter. Soon, you’ll see her lying in blood. And all your efforts will have been for nothing.”_

I press send, then shift slightly, angling myself to get a clear view of their front window. A few seconds pass, and then I see it—their heads bow as they check their phones, each face hardening as they read my message. The panic flickers, followed by anger. Danny shoves the phone in his pocket, his face tight, his body tense like he’s ready to tear something apart. Another paces, barely containing himself. There it is—panic and rage, pure and raw.

A grin spreads across my face as I watch their little reactions. Pathetic. They think they can shield her from me, that their walls, their security systems, even their constant hovering, can keep her safe. They’re scrambling, rattled like rats in a trap, and that panic tastes sweeter than any victory I’ve had in years. Because I know I’m closing in.

Soon, they’ll feel me, in every shadow, every breath. They’ll watch her slip through their fingers. And when they’re standing over her, helpless, they’ll know they were never enough to keep her from me.