Chapter 85

Chapter 85
~Valentina~

“So, how did you like your introduction to the family?” Santoro asks, his voice smooth and almost conversational as if he has not just turned my life into a spectacle moments ago, and I stand there with my hands folded in front of me, my fingers twisting together as I search for the safest answer I can give.

“It went… well,” I say quietly, choosing my words with care, my heart still racing from everything that has already happened this morning.

“Good,” he replies with satisfaction, nodding once as though my reaction was the only outcome he ever expected. “You will have your breakfast, and after that, we will make a visit to the Bellatori mansion.”

The words take a moment to settle, and when they do, my breath stutters in my chest.

“W-what?” I mumble before I can stop myself, the thought of returning to that place making my stomach twist painfully.

“I want to see what is mine now,” Santoro continues, his smile widening as his eyes gleam with ownership and pride. “I am the one responsible for dismantling the Bellatori network. It is time I treat myself to the spoils of war.”

I feel frozen where I stand, fear locking my joints in place, my mind filling with images of bloodstained floors and shattered glass, of a home that was never truly safe, yet still the only one I ever knew. I do not respond because I cannot find the strength to speak.

“We shall leave in an hour,” he adds casually, already turning away from me as if my reaction is irrelevant, as if my fear is nothing more than background noise.

“Isabella. Angelo,” he calls out. On the other side of the room stands the two of them, immersed in conversation. As soon as they are called, they immediately look in our direction and step forward, their movements quick and practised.

“Boss,” they answer in unison.

“I need two of you to leave now and oversee the Pallini shipment,” Santoro says, his tone shifting to business. “I cannot have anything go wrong.”

Angelo clears his throat. “Boss, I think me and the rest of the guys and I will be able to handle it. No need for Isabella to come with me.”

Santoro arches a brow, clearly amused. “Is that so? I would have guessed the two of you would rather spend more time on missions together. You should be thanking me.”

I glance between Angelo and Isabella, catching the way they exchange a brief look filled with something unspoken before both of them look away, tension settling between them, leaving me to wonder what the cause of that tension might be.

Santoro exhales slowly. “Very well. Go with your team,” he says at last. “But Isabella, clear your assignments for the morning.”

“Yes, boss,” Angelo replies, still watching Isabella from the corner of his eye before stepping back.

Santoro turns his attention back to me, his gaze lingering in a way that makes my skin crawl. “Valentina, darling, Yolanda will escort you to have your breakfast.”

My heart drops sharply as I see Yolanda approaching, her heels clicking confidently against the floor, her smile polished and knowing.

“Yolanda,” Santoro says, “take good care of Valentina, will you?”

She steps closer to him, her movements slow and confident, and his hand slides easily around her waist as he smiles down at her. “Of course, Don Santoro,” she replies sweetly, placing a manicured hand against his chest before stepping away.

I notice the look Isabella gives her, then, sharp and openly hostile, and when Yolanda returns it with a smile that feels anything but kind, fear creeps deeper into my chest. I realise with a sickening certainty that I am about to be alone with her.

“Okay,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

“Come with me, love,” Yolanda says, her tone suddenly gentle, though I can sense the intent behind it, the way she looks at me as if she has been waiting to get her hands on something.

She leads me through the halls with one hand lightly at my elbow, guiding me as if I might wander off if she lets go, and I walk beside her in silence, my thoughts racing. The mansion feels different now that it is quieter, the echoes of celebration replaced by the low hum of activity behind closed doors. Every step feels like it takes me farther away from anything familiar and deeper into a world where I have no power...

We enter a smaller dining room filled with sunlight streaming through tall windows, the table already set with plates of fruit, bread, and steaming cups of tea, and for a brief and dangerous moment, the room feels like a lie dressed up as comfort, something gentle pretending to exist in a house built on fear. The light settles across polished wood and porcelain dishes, and my chest tightens at how peaceful it looks, how normal, how cruelly out of place it feels after everything that has been done to me. I hesitate near the doorway until Yolanda’s presence presses in behind me, her perfume sweet and overpowering, her patience already worn thin.

“Sit,” she says, gesturing toward a chair with a careless motion of her hand.

I move toward it slowly, my body still aching in places I try not to think about, lowering myself into the seat as she circles the table, adjusting plates and cups as if she is hosting a luncheon instead of corralling a prisoner. She places a plate in front of me with exaggerated care, arranging the fruit just so, straightening the linen napkin beside it.

“Here,” she says brightly, her voice calm. “A meal perfect for a princess.”

The word makes something twist inside me, and before I can react, her hand is suddenly in my hair, fingers curling hard as she yanks my head back, forcing my gaze up toward her face. My breath catches painfully in my throat as pain flares across my scalp, tears instantly stinging my eyes.

“Except the princess is nothing but garbage...” she says, leaning in close enough that I can feel her breath against my skin, her smile wide and cruel as she jerks me forward again and releases me only when I stumble against the table.

I clutch the edge of it to keep myself upright, my heart hammering so fast it feels like it might tear free from my chest, and she begins to walk around me slowly, heels clicking softly against the floor, each step predatory and taunting.

“Let us get one thing straight here, darling,” she says, her voice calm now, almost conversational. “We are not your servants. If you thought you had any value before, I will remind you that here, you are worthless. You are nothing more than Santoro’s little toy, and you have no idea what he is going to do to you...”

She stops in front of me again and grips my face, her nails digging into my cheeks as she forces me to look at her, to really see the satisfaction shining in her eyes, and something inside me finally snaps. The fear that has been sitting in my bones for days fractures into something hotter, louder, impossible to hold back.

“Do not touch me,” I yell, my voice breaking as I shove her backwards with everything I have left.

She stumbles a step, then laughs, the sound sharp and mocking as she straightens her dress.

“Oh, you want to fight back, is that it?” she says, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “How entertaining.”

Before I can move, she grabs the cup of tea from the table and flings it toward me, the liquid soaking into the fabric of my dress as a searing sensation spreads across my skin, and I scream as pain spreads, my hands flying instinctively to my front as I stagger away.

"Aah!!" I scream, gasping as I feel the tea burn my flesh.

“How very clumsy of you,” she says lightly. “Santoro is not going to be very pleased with the mess you are making.”

She then grabs the plate of food next and hurls it toward the wall, where it shatters violently, porcelain exploding into pieces that scatter across the floor, the sound echoing in the room. My chest heaves as I stare at the destruction, at the evidence of her rage and control, my thoughts spiralling wildly.

“Stop it,” I whisper, my voice trembling as tears spill freely down my face.

She does not stop. She only smiles wider, her eyes bright as if this is exactly what she wanted, and something inside me breaks completely.

"I told her to stop, but she lost her mind and became a complete animal..." Yolanda says, with fake worry, and that's when she pushes the contents of the dining table and shoves everything off the table, causing it to shatter on the ground.

“I said stop!” I scream, leaping out of my chair as I throw a fist blindly toward her face, my knuckles connecting with something solid and warm. She cries out, stumbling back and clutching her cheek in shock, her eyes wide as she stares at me.

“You fucking bitch,” she hisses, fury twisting her features as she straightens again. “I will make sure you suffer for this.”

Her words hit me like a promise, and fear crashes back over me in a wave so intense it almost sends me to my knees, my body shaking as I realise what I have done, what this will cost me. I back away instinctively, my heart pounding in my ears, the room spinning with broken dishes and spilt tea and the echo of my own scream.

“Yolanda.”

The single word freezes us both in place.

We turn toward the doorway at the same time, my breath catching painfully as my gaze lands on the figure standing there, his presence filling the space without him saying another word...

It's him... Damian...