Chapter 173

Chapter 173
Author’s POV:

Two Days Ago:

One month had passed since Enzo's death, and the Vasquez family had splintered in ways both visible and hidden. Some family members spoke of Enzo's betrayal in hushed tones, claiming his death was deserved for helping a Rossi escape.

Others maintained a respectful silence, their grief evident in downcast eyes and tightened jaws.

Most had returned to their normal lives, their routines a shield against the pain. But for some, life had grown darker, the shadows deeper, the nights longer. Dante immersed himself in family business, barely speaking unless necessary. Salvatore sought refuge in wild parties and meaningless encounters. Matteo simply disappeared for days at a time, returning with bloodshot eyes and unexplained bruises.

In a small cabin tucked away from prying eyes, Diana sat on a wooden chair, her legs slightly parted as Mykel knelt before her, a hot branding iron in his hand. The cabin smelled of pine and heated metal, the air thick with anticipation and fear.

"Spread your legs," Mykel instructed, his voice steady as he focused on the iron's glowing tip.

Diana's breath caught in her throat as she stared at the branding iron. The metal radiated heat, the emblem forged into its end now glowing orange-red. She had agreed to this, had even been excited about it earlier in the day. But now, with the moment upon her, doubt crept in like a cold wind, chilling her previous determination.

"It's going to hurt," she whispered, her fingers digging into the chair's wooden arms. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, sweat beading on her forehead despite the cool evening air drifting through the cabin's cracked window.

Mykel looked up at her, his expression softening. "If you are not one hundred percent certain, we shouldn’t do it." He shook his head at the idea.

Diana bit her lower lip until she tasted copper. The last thing she wanted was to disappoint Mykel. He had spent months preparing her, teaching her, making her ready for her role in what was to come. He called it their "mission," though the details remained frustratingly vague.

"I want to do this," she said, her voice small, almost childlike in its vulnerability. Her fingers trembled against the wood, nails creating tiny half-moons in the soft pine.

Mykel set the branding iron aside and stood, towering over her. His shadow stretched across the floor, engulfing her in darkness. "Your hesitation tells me you're not ready. And if you're not ready for this, I don't think you're ready for anything else."

His words stung more than any brand could have. Diana felt tears welling in her eyes as Mykel continued, his disappointment palpable in every syllable.

"I've spent months preparing you, Diana. Months making you into someone like me." He turned away, frustrated, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe I was wrong about you."

"No," Diana protested weakly, but even to her own ears, it sounded unconvincing. She hated this feeling—this mixture of shame and relief that flooded her system. Part of her wanted to prove herself, to take the mark and show her dedication. Another part, a part she tried desperately to silence, was grateful for the reprieve.

Mykel sighed, the sound heavy with judgment. "I think we should end today's session. I'll drive you back home."

"No," Diana said more firmly this time, standing up. The wooden chair scraped against the floor as she pushed it back. "I think I'll walk. Get some fresh air."

Mykel frowned, concern creasing his brow. "There have been reports of bodies found in the tall grass areas nearby. It's not safe, especially for a young woman alone."

Diana grabbed her white leather jacket from the back of the chair, sliding her arms into the cool material. "I'll be fine. I won't go far." The thought of being confined in a car with him right now, with the weight of his disappointment pressing down on her, was unbearable. "I promise I'll call you when I get home."

Mykel studied her for a long moment before reluctantly nodding.

Diana stepped outside into the cool evening air, grateful for the escape. The sky was darkening, the first stars appearing like distant watchful eyes. She had never intended to head straight home. Her mind was too unsettled, her thoughts racing like caged animals. She moved away from the street lights, wandering toward the high grass that stretched across the empty lot.

“I heard they shunned Beatrice, and she lives here now,” she spoke to herself, remembering how she and Beatrice connected at their first meeting.

“I hope she is doing fine,” Diana uttered.

Lost in thought, Diana didn't notice the rustle in the grass behind her until a hand clamped over her mouth, dragging her backward. The sudden attack sent panic coursing through her veins. She struggled immediately, years of self-defense training kicking in as she drove her knee into her attacker's stomach. The hand loosened just enough for her to break free.

"Get off me!" she gasped, stumbling forward.

Diana spun around to face her attacker—a figure in a strange mask that obscured their features. The mask, with its grotesque smile and hollow eyes, seemed to mock her fear. The attacker lunged again, this time wrapping their fingers around her throat. Their grip was strong, determined, professional.

Diana's training took over. She clawed at the attacker's arm, breaking skin and drawing blood. As the attacker recoiled from the unexpected pain, she grabbed a metal pipe lying in the grass and swung it hard, connecting with the mask. It cracked with a satisfying sound, pieces falling away. The attacker immediately threw up an arm to cover their face, turning away to prevent Diana from seeing their identity.

Diana took advantage of the moment and sprinted in the opposite direction, toward the road. Her heart pounded in her chest, her lungs burning as she pushed herself faster. The high grass whipped at her legs, trying to slow her escape. Behind her, she could hear the attacker giving chase, their footsteps heavy and determined.

She burst onto the asphalt just as a black sedan approached, its headlights cutting through the growing darkness like searchlights. Diana threw herself in front of the car, arms waving frantically, forcing the driver to slam on the brakes. The vehicle screeched to a halt just inches from her, the smell of burning rubber filling the air.

The driver's door flew open, and Matteo stepped out, his expression a mixture of shock and anger.

"Diana?" His expression shifted from shock to recognition as he took in her disheveled appearance and wild eyes.

Diana glanced back at the grass, her breath coming in short gasps. The attacker had vanished, melting back into the shadows like a nightmare at dawn. "Matteo," she managed, relief flooding her system as she realized she was safe. For now.