Page 49 of Power
I let go of her throat, only to shove her back against the wall. She stumbles, gasping, but before she can recover, I lodge a hand beside her head. The impact of my fist against the wood shakes the entire room. Her eyes slam shut as she braces for another hit that never comes.
I watch her, breathing hard. A second passes. Then another.
She blinks up at me, lashes damp, throat flushed where my fingers had been. “Dario, I love—”
I laugh, but there’s nothing in it. Just a hollow, gutted sound.
“You want to say that word to me? Love?” I shake my head, tasting the bitterness like blood in my mouth. My voice rasps from years of hatred clawing its way to the surface.
“Let me tell you about that word you’re about to throw at me, Vittoria. I see why you think you understand it—if what you have with him is anything to go by. That sick, fucked up obsession you call devotion?” I scoff. “That’s not love. Love is trust. It’s putting your life in someone’s hands, handing them the knife, and believing—no, knowing—they won’t fucking use it on you.”
My voice drops, something dark curling in my chest. “It’s what I had for Enzo before he gutted me in front of the whole goddamn world.”
She stiffens, confusion flickering behind the tears in her eyes.
I shake my head, stepping back just enough to breathe, just enough to stop myself from doing something I can’t take back. Because for all my anger, all my boiling hatred for what she’s done, there’s still that part of me that wants all of this to be nothing but a bad dream.
"I trusted Enzo more than I had anyone in my entire life. Not that I had much of a choice—he was the only one I could turn to after escaping my deadbeat dad and his love affair with alcohol."
Vittoria’s lips part like she wants to say something, but I don’t give her the chance.
“In a better environment with him, I finally had one shot at a future. One chance at something real, something that might have led me to my foster brother, maybe even given us the kind of life we never had. And he took it from me. Not because he had to. Not because I wronged him. But because he couldn’t stand that I was better than him. Because losing control was something he’d never accept.”
I inhale sharply as the memories slice through me like razors. The humiliation. The rage. The moment I realized the person I would have walked through fire for was the one who ruined me.
I meet her gaze again and see the storm behind my eyes reflecting in hers. “You think I’m the monster here?” I say, my voice rough. “You have no fucking clue what a monster looks like. You sided with a man whose father ruined me. Who let his father do things to me that no fucking kid should ever have to survive. Who pretended to be my friend, then stood back and watched while his father made sure I lost everything. My chanceat Juilliard? Gone. My future? Stolen. My dignity? Beaten out of me by a man with enough power to make me disappear if he wanted to.”
She looks shaken, like I just slapped her. “Dario…”
“And your precious Enzo? He watched it all happen. Let his father do it. And when it was over? He fucking laughed.” I lean in, my voice dropping. “Yeah, I kidnapped you. I was going to use you—just a means to an end, a way to get back at him. But now? Now I can’t even think about sending you back to him. Can’t stand the idea of anything happening to you. Because I’m fucking losing my mind over you. You and I both know damn well that you’re still here, and it has nothing to do with him anymore. But the man you sided with? He’s worse. And you were too fucking blind to see it.”
Her lips part, but I shake my head, jaw tight.
"Get out."
She doesn't move.
"Now," I bite out, deadly. "Before I change my mind, put a bullet in every piece of you and send what's left back to him gift-wrapped."
For a second, I think she’ll fight—beg, plead, try to make me understand. But then, barely breathing, she nods.
Turns and walks away.
The door closes behind her
My breath is too loud in the quiet. My skin feels too tight, my heart pounding against my ribs, screaming to be let out. I stare at the door she disappeared behind with hands curling into fists.
The past I buried for years, the one I tried not to think about, claws its way to the surface.
Enzo fucking Castelli.
I exhale through my nose and try to push it back down. But it’s too late. The memories are already ripping through me, hot and bitter, dredging up things I swore I’d never relive.
I was sixteen when I started going to Enzo’s house. Remo had already escaped by then, leaving me behind with a father who only ever saw me as a punching bag. The first time I showed up at Enzo’s, it was with a busted lip and a split brow, and his father welcomed me like I was something precious. He fed me, patched me up, told me I was like a second son to him.
I was stupid enough to believe it.
I thought Enzo was my friend. I thought his father was a safe harbor. But men like him don’t help without expecting something in return.
