Chapter 195

— What do you want me to play?

I heard a smile creep across his lips.

“Something that will make their trip to purgatory much more interesting.”

I picked up the violin, feeling its weight again and what it carried for me. It was strange. It always would be after everything that had happened.

“Do you use this violin a lot?” I asked, as a way to distract myself from how nervous I was.

“Yes. Playing relaxes me.”

“Just thinking that you started playing just because you wanted to show me how to do it,” I laughed softly.

“No, Gray. I started playing because I wanted to have something to do with you.” My chest tightened and he continued: “Since the first day we spoke, when you got lost in the forest, I was enchanted by you. I learned to play the violin long before I told you. I pretended not to know how to read and write so that you would teach me and I could have an excuse to spend my days with you. I was a pretty deceitful boy, if I think about it. I did a lot of things on purpose so that I could give you a reason to be mine.

My heart beat at a heartbreaking pace, almost making my eyes roll up.

"What are you talking about?"

A weak laugh sounded on the other end of the line.

"I've always lied to you. Even in the little things. All because I was selfish and didn't want you to leave me."

But I didn't see any of that as simple lies.

Dante had also been in love with me since the first second? So, it hadn't been a lie.

He had loved me, truly. With every damn letter of that day.

He had been in love with me.

That hurt.

It hurt so much that it could be torn in half.

"I loved you too, Dante," I confessed, disarmed.

"Don't say I loved you."

"That's what I feel."

"That's what I don't want to hear."

His tone was acidic.

He was getting too serious. I didn't want to let the old feelings dominate me again.

— What if I give you more wet panties? — I joked absentmindedly.

The silence seemed to last forever until the joke lost its effect.

“You’re messing with my head, Gray. And, believe me, a man with an insane mind is capable of doing crazy things that you won’t be able to deal with the consequences of.”

That threat didn’t sound aggressive. It didn’t sound fatal.

It was affectionate. Determined. Nostalgic.

The men’s screams caught my attention again. Terror vibrated in their throats. It seemed to hurt their vocal cords as if they had been purposely violated, cut like sewing threads.

Oh, God.

“How many are there?” — ​​I asked, shivering.

“Five. They’re tied to a stake. Soaked in gasoline. Do you want to see? I think we can make a video call. I just don’t remember how.”

I couldn’t get used to how he explained that horrendous act as something in his daily life.

“No. I prefer to just touch it.”

— Then, I will be your eyes. They will listen through the small speaker I brought.

— When will I stop?

I couldn't believe I was accepting your madness, but thinking about that day when I saw my life being threatened caused a fire inside me. That girl who manipulated an agreement not to produce a classical tune, but a terror asked for it.

— Whenever you want. I will stay here until you get tired of playing.

I accepted.

The first strings vibrated. The first notes echoed through the walls of that room. I put the violin back in place, afraid I would fall with it. I felt like a child learning for the first time.

I don't know what I started to play, but the sound came out calm, natural, timid. It was strange to feel again what I could do with an instrument. The kind of music that came from my soul.

However, the constant screams became of pain.

The fire in their bodies had started.

I could hear the fire crackling, the flesh being destroyed, the pain of feeling their pores being burned, completely devoured by intense flames. I felt the despair in each loud moan. In each plea for forgiveness. In each call for God.

I heard the life of each one being taken from them. Carbonized. The bones being consumed, but still, the throat had the strength to express its pain. Its sorrow.

The heart still beat so that each of their organs would be painfully ruined by the fire. So that they could feel every atom melting.

My music became more violent. Aggressive. Wild. It became vengeful. I heard the flames and reproduced them in each note that resounded from the strings.

I made them hear the sound of Hell.

And it was me.

And they were seeing the face of the devil. Who was only Dante Faulkner.

The only one sitting there, probably with a cigarette in his hand, watching and contemplating their disorder.

Listening to the sound of the girl they had almost hurt.

Of his property. Of his deal. Of his death.

Dante had me that night.

He had parts of me that were as cruel as he was. Parts of me that would have liked to taste death as he was tasting it.

He was my eyes. My blood-stained hands. My revenge.

I was his His music. His beating heart. The reason he moved.

Only that night, he and I were one.

I couldn't say how long I played. Maybe ten minutes. Thirty. An hour. When I finished, I felt pain in the muscles of my limbs. It had been brutal. I had given it my all.

I was afraid of what to say and reveal what I had experienced. Dante was bringing out a macabre part of me. Twisted. And I didn't know what to do about it.

"Are you done yet?" he asked, on the other end of the line.

I put the violin down on the floor.

"Now."

"You can go back to sleep." I dug my nails into my palm.

"What are you going to do?"

"Clean up this mess."

"Are you alone?" I asked.

"Are you worried?" His question was mocking.

"No, you idiot."

"Then I don't think you need an answer."

I growled furiously.

" — I’m not worried, but it would be stupid of you to go to the wolf den without protection.

His sniffling laughter softened my ears.

“I’m not alone, Gray. Jaxon and Vance are here with me.”

I nodded, letting my heart calm down.

For some reason, I didn’t want to hang up. I needed to keep that call going to make sure he got home without anything happening to him.

“Did they yell because my music was bad?” I joked, like an idiot.

“Don’t you dare say anything bad about your playing again,” he threatened, reaching my system even though he was far away.

“There’s no point in pretending I know how to play. I was never the main violinist, and on the piano, let’s not even talk about it… I was really bad.”

“Think what you want, but don’t say it like it’s the absolute truth. I’ve always enjoyed listening to you,” he confessed hoarsely. “You’ve always been my favorite melody.” It was always worth using my time to listen to you.

He was lying. It was the only explanation. I was horrible. Only someone who couldn't hear could say something so absurd. But before I could elaborate, his voice cut me off:

"Go to sleep, Emilia. I don't need you anymore." My lips twisted violently and a desire opposite to the previous one ruled my veins.

"I hope next time I can play while you're being burned." "Looking forward to that day." I hung up, running to my room, and fighting again against my sleep, and against my anger and the way my heart beat a new note when it came to Dante.