Page 138 of Hate Mates

"If I hear one more word about you causing trouble," he hisses, "I'll make you regret the day you were born. Do you understand me?"

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. He releases me with a shove, causing me to stumble backwards, I teeter on my heels, unable to stop the fall. I try to steady myself, but I can’t. I fall to the floor, the back of my head hitting off the coffee table, causing me to cry out as dark spots start to cloud my vision.

"Go to your room," he orders. "And don't even think about coming out until you're called for dinner."

I scramble to my feet and flee up the stairs, my vision blurred by unshed tears and the pain from the blow to my head. As I reach my room, I hear my mother's muffled voice, pleading with my father. Their argument fades as I close the door, finally allowing myself to break down.

I sink to the floor, my back against the door, and let the tears flow freely. The weight of my situation crashes down on me—the loveless marriage ahead, the loss of my freedom, the constant fear of disappointing my father or angering Cesare. It's all too much, and for a moment, I allow myself to wallow in self-pity.

But as the tears subside, a familiar anger rises within me. Anger at my father for treating me like property, at Cesare for his cold indifference, at the entire system that allows women to be traded like cattle for the benefit of men.

I stand, wiping my face roughly with the back of my hand. My mother's words echo in my mind:"Don't let them extinguish that fire inside you."

I won’t let them break me. I refuse to lose myself completely. My mam’s managed to do it and I know that I can, too.

A soft knock at my door interrupts my thoughts.

"Vittoria?" my mother's voice calls softly. "Can I come in?"

I quickly open the door. My mother's face is tear-stained, but her eyes are filled with a fierce determination that matches my own.

"Are you alright, love?" she asks, gently touching the back of my head where it hit the table.

I wince slightly but nod. "I'm okay, Mam. Just a bump."

She sighs, her fingers now coated in blood. “You’re not okay,” she says, pressing a kiss to my head. “Let me fix it up.”

My mother guides me to sit on the bed as she fetches the first aid kit from my bathroom. Her gentle hands clean and bandagethe small cut on my scalp, her touch soothing away some of the pain.

"I'm so sorry, Vittoria," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "I never wanted this life for you. Why didn’t you tell your father it was me who spoke out of turn to Cesare Mariano?"

I lean into her touch, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability. "I know, Mam. It's not your fault, besides. Father wouldn’t listen to us even if I did try to tell him. You know that as well as I do. No matter what, he’ll always find a way to blame me."

She finishes tending to my wound and sits beside me on the bed, taking my hands in hers. "Listen to me, Vittoria. What your father said... you're not just a pawn. You're strong, intelligent, and capable of so much more than they give you credit for."

I nod, trying to believe her words. "But how can I survive in this world, Mam? How did you do it all these years?"

My mother's eyes cloud with a mixture of pain and determination. "It wasn't easy, love. But I found ways to carve out space for myself, to hold onto who I am despite everything. And you will too."

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small, ornate key. "This was given to me by my grandmother on my wedding day," she explains, pressing it into my palm. "It's been passed down through generations of women in our family. It doesn't open any physical lock, but it's a reminder that we always have the power to unlock our own strength, no matter how trapped we might feel."

I close my fingers around the key, feeling its weight—both physical and symbolic. "Thank you, Mam," I whisper, tears pricking at my eyes again.

She pulls me into a tight embrace. "Remember, Vittoria. You're a Treacy woman. We bend, but we don't break. No matterwhat happens, hold onto that fire inside you. It's your greatest weapon and your greatest strength."

Treacy was my mam’s maiden name. In Irish, Treacy means fighter. It’s who I am, who I’ve always been. I hate that I’ve only just realized how much my mam’s had to fight to be who she is while married to my father. God, I despise him so much.

The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway breaks our moment. My mother quickly stands, smoothing down her dress. "Remember what I said," she whispers urgently. "And hide that key somewhere safe. It's yours now."

I nod, quickly slipping the key into a small pocket sewn into the lining of my dress.

The door swings open without a knock, and my father looms in the doorway. His eyes narrow as he takes in the scene before him.

"Siobhan," he says, his voice dangerously calm. "I believe I told you to leave Vittoria alone."

“I know you did, Domenico, but Vittoria hurt her head, and I needed to check on it. Thankfully I did as it was bleeding.”

My father's eyes snap to me, scanning for evidence of injury. His gaze lingers on the small bandage visible at the back of my head. For a moment, I see a glimmer of concern in his eyes. But it's gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual cold demeanor.

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