Page 140 of Monster in Disguise

Was it all a lie?

My voice is laced with outrage as I spit out the words, "What kind of monster are you?" I watch as his expression shifts from shock to hurt, but my anger doesn't dissipate. "If this is how you love someone, then I don't want to know what happens when you hate them."

He starts to speak, but I interrupt him. "I lived with this pain for ten years, Marcello. Ten years. And you think a simple apology will make it all disappear?"

His eyes plead with me, begging for forgiveness. "Please don't leave me. I was wrong not to tell you, but I'll do anything for you to believe me."

"Anything?" I turn away slightly, contemplating his words.

"Anything," he nods, tears streaming down his face and staining his cheeks.

My resolve starts to waver as he pulls me closer, his grip tightening on my arms. "I never want to see you in front of me for as long as I live."

"Anything but that. I can't live without you, Lina." His hands are tangled in the delicate tulle of my dress and he's pulling me towards him, desperation evident in his actions.

"Let go of me," I say through gritted teeth, trying to break free from his hold. But he only clings tighter.

In a moment of fury and fear, I shove him with all my strength. He stumbles backward and hits the mirror behind him, causing it to shatter into pieces. Shards of glass rain down around him as he falls to the ground. His eyes widen in shock as he lies still amidst the broken fragments.

I rush towards him, my first instinct to help him despite everything. But then I stop myself, remembering the pain he has caused me. Blood trickles down his face from a small cut above his eye, mixing with his tears. There must be other cuts from the broken mirror, as blood stains the previously pristine carpet beneath him.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammers, reaching out a hand towards me. But I can't bring myself to help him. My hands tremble with anger and hurt as I stare at the man who has betrayed me. "Let me go." My voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries all the weight of my emotions.

But I can't.

With a heavy heart, I turn to leave. His grasp on my dress is quick and strong, his bloody hands leaving irreparable stains on the once pure white fabric. I look down at him, and my shattered heart breaks even further, just like the mirror that lies in pieces on the floor.

Because no matter how much I despise him, I cannot deny that deep down, there is still love for him within me. It is a cruel paradox; the hate will always overshadow the love as long as I live. And so, with one last ounce of strength, I push him away and tear at the dress he clings to so desperately. The sound of ripping fabric echoes in the air.

Without looking back, I turn and run.

Marcello

TEN YEARS AGO

For generations, the Lastra and Agosti families had enjoyed a strong bond of friendship. However, there was one exception—Father and Rocco Agosti. While Rocco was known for his lavish lifestyle and extravagant feasts, he paled in comparison to Father's debauchery. Interestingly enough, Rocco preferred higher quality bed partners while Father preferred quantity.

Rocco's parties were the talk of New York, attracting the crème de la crème—actors, musicians, and politicians all mingling together. It was at one of these parties that I first laid eyes on Catalina.

As usual, I attended the party and made an effort to socialize. But these events never appealed to me as the company was always lacking. However, as the Capo's son, it was my duty to attend.

I stood in the crowded mansion, nursing my drink and waiting for an opportunity to greet Rocco before making my departure. The crush of people was suffocating, and I longed fora moment alone. I slipped out into the garden, searching for a secluded spot to light a cigarette when she caught my eye.

Catalina wore a simple white dress that did nothing to showcase her figure. Yet, it was far from boring—it exuded elegance and grace. Her face held me captivated. Midnight black hair cascaded down her back, reaching her hips. Her pale complexion was dotted with freckles on her nose and cheeks. But it was her eyes that truly mesmerized me. Slanted like a cat's, they were a vivid green that seemed almost otherworldly.

I wasn't.

She wasn't a dream.

As I took a step towards her, my heart raced with nervous anticipation. But before I could reach her, someone else approached—Enzo, Rocco's son and heir. His voice, carrying the same Italian accent as his father, echoed through the night.

"Lina, what are you doing out here? You know you're not allowed at these parties." Enzo's tone was stern yet concerned. Lina's voice, in contrast, was soothing and melodious, fitting for such a beautiful girl.

From my spot in the shadows, I watched their exchange unfold like a scene from a play. Enzo guiding her towards the entrance of the house while Lina protested, wanting to experience the forbidden world of underground parties.

"You're too young, Lina. You know Father won't like that," Enzo reasoned.

"I'll be eighteen soon, Enzo. I'm not that young, you know." Lina's words were laced with determination and defiance.

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