Chapter 155: You'll Behave For Me, Won't You?

SANCIA

I don’t know what woke me up later that night. Maybe it was the weight of another person’s presence; it could also be my subconscious mind sensing danger and warning me, or maybe it was a sound he made.

Whatever it was, something woke me, and I sensed him before I even knew he was there. My eyes flutter, still heavy with sleep, mumbling something incoherent.

Sluggishly, I rolled over to my left, clutching my pillow tight to my chest as the dim moonlight cast eerie shadows across the room.

My eyelids lowered drowsily until I saw him lean out of the shadows, his silhouette emerging from the moonlight filtering through my open window. His legs in a man-spread, his elbows on his thighs, looking straight at me with cold, unblinking eyes, the eerie glow casting sharp shadows across his face.

For the first time, I could fully see him, and without the hoodie, his look was sharp, leaner, darker, even more dangerous. His head was completely shaved, and a scar curved through his scalp, starting at his hairline.

He looked the same yet different, gorgeous, with that same arrogant, menacing energy.

The resemblance is astounding, but Lorenzo was dead and buried, and Zetta had even taken me to his grave before we left Villa Marchetti.

“I was just thinking of creative ways I can wake you up,” he said, cool as you please, flipping a switch blade in his left hand. “But it’s good that you spare me the hassle; it wouldn’t have been pretty.”

He sounded the same, too. But the real Lorenzo would never call me Elena, not even in my dreams. I frowned at the thought.

Lorenzo has never really been this vocal in my dreams before. Whenever I dream of him, he's either calling me Sancia or Mia tigre.

For a few heartbeats, I just stared at him, watching that beautiful face stare at me, like I was his worst enemy. He suddenly stood up, and that's when I realized it wasn’t a dream. The crazy man who attacked me is really here, and my life is in danger.

My fight or flight instincts kicked in, and I was rolling to my right side of the bed before my brain even caught up.

I land on the floor hard and jump up, but before I can make it halfway across the room, hands yank me back and throw me back on the bed.

The bed frame groaned under the sudden weight as he lunged after me, trying to pin me down. Panic surged. I sank my teeth into his hand.

He swore under his breath, instinctively loosening his grip. My feet shoot out, catching him in his stomach before I roll over and try to crawl away.

His hand clamps around my ankle and flips me over. He yanked my wrists above my head.

“Help mhm…” My screams were cut short as the devil wearing my dead husband's face crawled over me, his grip tightening on my wrist, as he strangled my waist, his hand slapped over my mouth as he leaned closer, face barely an inch from mine,

“Don’t,” he gritted. “Scream or fight me, and you’ll put your son and whoever lives here in danger.” He was breathing in my face, as I panted, my chest heaving.

“You'll cease this nonsense, and nobody else has to get hurt, are we clear?” I swallowed hard at the implication of his words, no one besides me.

I nodded once. At least the crazy man, whoever he is, because there's no way I'm going to believe he's Lorenzo, doesn't intend to hurt my family, just me.

And if he'll spare my family, I can live with that. As long as my cooperation means the people I love won’t be affected, then it’s more than I could ask for from my would-be murderer.

“I’m going to put my hands down, you'll behave for me, won’t you?” I nodded frantically, blinking.

“Who are you?” I gasped the moment he lowered his hand.

“Oh, now you’re going to pretend you don’t know me?” he growled. “Well, I am Lorenzo. Are you disappointed I'm not dead?”

“But…You’re not…you can't be Lorenzo,” I stuttered, confused, just as he yanked me upright and lifted me closer to the headboard. The second I tried to move, his fingers tightened around my wrists, putting pressure.

He sat over my stomach, pinning me down on the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight, leaving me feeling utterly helpless and trapped.

“How did you come to that conclusion?” he asked, taking something out of his pocket with one hand while the other held my hands above my head.

Zip ties!

I swallowed nervously. “I know him. I don’t know why you look like or sound like him, or what you hope to achieve by impersonating a dead man, and honestly, I don’t want to know,” I blurted. “If you’re going to kill me, just get on with it.”

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” he replied, without even looking at me, still holding my hands. “If you dare make any attempts, you're dead.”

With that warning, the imposter Lorenzo tied my hands in one swift motion. He then threaded them through the iron bars of the headboard and pulled them tight; the plastic biting into my skin, sharp and unmistakable. I know they're going to bruise badly.

I twisted my hands, testing the zip ties, and instantly sucked in a sharp breath as my shoulders strained; the zip tie wouldn’t give me an inch.

His hand came up, gripping my jaw hard. He tilted my face up to his. “Don’t bother, you aren’t going to escape unless I let you out, and I’m not going to do that, so just get comfortable and answer my questions, and things might be easy for you.”

Easy? Right, because dying was supposed to be that.

“What the hell are you doing, you perverted sick fuck?!” I screeched when he suddenly got down from the bed and stood before me, spreading my legs wide, causing my short sleeping dress to ride up.

“Shut the fuck up, woman,” he growled, unamused, “I’m not trying to look at your pussy so don’t get any wild ideas.”

With that, he instantly secured each leg to the bedpost; every move was done methodically, as if he'd done it a thousand times.

But then, if he were the real Lorenzo, I wouldn't even be surprised, knowing how he takes pleasure in binding me.

“I'm going to tie your legs so you don't kick me and provoke me into killing you faster.”

For a moment, he just stood there, watching me with a familiar, unsettling expression, the resemblance to my Lorenzo so striking that I hesitated, feeling a shiver run down my spine as I recognized the dangerous familiarity in his eyes.

I can't believe I'm dying in the hands of a look-alike of someone I love, and I'm blinking back the tears that welled up in my eyes. My breath suddenly hitched when he got back on the bed and hovered over me.

He leaned closer. Close enough that his breath brushed my lips. Close enough that I could see those honey brown eyes staring at me intensely.

Despite the dire situation and the knowledge that my life was hanging by a thread, my dumb heart began to pound without a care; all it saw was the man it beat for at one point, the man it loved and refused to forget.

Lorenzo holds up the switchblade he had earlier. “Now, I’m going to ask you a couple of questions, Elena, ” he started, voice hard, those eyes watching me like a hawk, “Why did you shoot me? Lie to me, and I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life.”

My heartbeat was deafening, drowning out every sound until all I could hear was his question echoing in my head.

Why did you shoot me?! Why did you shoot me?” Why did you shoot me?!!”

Tears dripped down my face, my eyes flicked between his, as my heart hammered beneath my ribcage so fast it hurt.

Could he…? Is it possible that he's real, but forgot about me? Did he lose his memories?

“You said you're Lorenzo,” I choked out, my voice trembling.

“Prove it. Prove you're him. If I'm going to die, I might as well know who my real killer is,” I blurted. He frowned at me, his eyes narrowed.

“And if you're not him, tell me why you're doing this. Only then will I answer your questions. Think of this as my last wish.”

“What kind of proof do you want? And how will I prove that I'm the real Lorenzo? How would you even know I'm telling the truth?” He grinned darkly, arching that perfect dark brow.

“Take off your shirt,” I blurted. “You said I shot you, show me your scar, that would convince me, and I will tell you everything you want to know.”

His frown deepened, his eyes swirling with some unnamed emotion. For a while, I thought he wasn’t going to do it. But then he moved.

“You want proof, okay, I’m gonna show you.” Slowly, as though he wasn't even sure why he was even accommodating me, he sat on his heels and began to undo each button.

His eyes hold mine, and I watch raptly, my chest heaving, without blinking, fear and anticipation battling for dominance inside me. By the time he had undone the third button, my whole body was shaking, as realization sank in.

My eyes blurred with tears, but I couldn't look away from the dark, violent, familiar tattoos and the scars I knew as well as the palm of my hand. A silent sob ripped from my throat.