Resurrected Truths

Ale’s POV

The cold glass rattled against my fingernails as water sloshed near the rim, threatening to spill over my trembling skin. I kept my hands clamped around the tumbler, my knuckles pale, unable to stop the tremor that ran straight through my arms. Rocco stood over me, watching every twitch of my fingers with cold amusement.

"Do you think I am going to poison you?" Rocco asked.

I pressed my lips together and gave a single, hesitant nod.

Rocco let out a dry scoff. In one swift movement, he reached down and ripped the glass straight out of my hands. He brought the rim to his own mouth without breaking eye contact, tipped his head back, and took a deliberate swallow of the clear water. Lowering the glass, he thrust it right back against my chest, his broad fingers pinning mine against the wet surface.

"Drink it immediately," he commanded. "You will need your strength, and you will need to stay hydrated for what I have planned for you tonight."

The threat in his voice sent a chill down my spine, but the physical reality of my thirst overpowered my terror. My throat felt like dried sand, my tongue thick and parched inside my mouth. I raised the rim to my lips and drank like a person starved of water for days. The icy liquid poured down my throat in desperate swallows, cooling the raw burn left behind by my screams. I drained every last drop before pulling the glass away, panting softly as a stray trickle ran down my chin.

Rocco took the empty tumbler from my grip and set it down on the low marble table beside the sofa. Then he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small tube of medical ointment, the same item the older woman had passed to him earlier. He unscrewed the cap and squeezed a dollop of pale gel onto the pads of his fingers.

The leather cushions sank beside me as he sat down, his heavy presence instantly crowding the small sofa and cutting off any avenue of escape.

"Relax," he murmured.

I recoiled toward the armrest, but his left hand caught the back of my head, his fingers threading into my hair just firmly enough to hold me in place. His other hand rose, pressing the cool gel directly against the angry purple bruises circling my throat.

"Stop moving, or you will smear it all over your dress," he commanded.

I froze, forced to endure the intimacy of his touch. He worked in slow circles, his calloused fingertips smoothing the soothing medication deep into my swollen flesh. His touch carried a strange, careful gentleness that felt entirely wrong coming from a killer.

I hated how soothing it felt against the throbbing pain. I despised the fact that my body leaned slightly into the relief, and I hated the warm sparks of heat his fingers ignited beneath my skin even more. For a brief second, his touch felt like comfort, an illusion that made my head spin with confusion.

Then he pulled his hand away.

The warmth vanished the second skin lost contact with skin. When I opened my eyes, whatever shred of gentleness he had displayed was gone, swallowed by the calculating predator looking down at me.

Rocco reached out and hooked his thumb and forefinger around my jaw, tilting my chin upward with enough force to make my vertebrae ache. He forced me to look straight into his gray eyes.

"I expected you to be shaken, but not this damn stubborn," he said, his lips curling into a mocking sneer. "Knowing your life was on the line, I expected you to show some gratitude. A sensible woman would accept my contract willingly, knowing that I am the best option left for her survival."

I folded my arms tightly over my chest, digging my fingernails into the fabric of my sleeves to mask the shaking of my limbs.

"How am I supposed to be sure that you are my best bet?" I challenged him.

Rocco’s gray eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. He leaned in until the space between our faces vanished, his hot breath brushing against my lips with every word.

"You can be sure because I would never auction you off to another man," he said, his voice flat with ruthless certainty. "I am the only man you will ever belong to."

The sheer arrogance of his declaration made my stomach twist in disgust.

"Maybe you should unlock that steel door and let me walk out so I can find out for myself," I snapped.

Rocco let out a low chuckle and shook his head slowly. "I have given you far more patience than most, firecracker, but you are bent on making this harder than it needs to be."

"I am not trying to make this hard," I cried out, the dam finally breaking inside my chest. Hot tears burned behind my eyelids, blurring the sharp lines of his face. "My father is dead. You murdered him in cold blood, and now you have bought me like a piece of meat. If this entire nightmare is purely about revenge, why do you not just put a bullet in my head right now? Why keep me here to torture my mind and body?"

Rocco leaned back and laughed out loud. It was a dark, mocking sound that echoed off the high ceiling.

"Moments ago you were begging me to spare your life, and now you are asking for a bullet?" He tilted his head, watching my face with cruel satisfaction. "The only reason you are still breathing my air right now is because Silvano Marchetti escaped."

The words hit me like a physical blow. The breath vanished from my lungs.

"That is impossible," I whispered, shaking my head back and forth. "I watched you shoot him. I saw him drop to the floor. There was blood everywhere."

"I put a bullet straight into his chest," Rocco admitted, his tone turning clinical. "Then you screamed from inside that hidden panel in the wall. You distracted me for two seconds, and that was all it took for his loyal dogs to storm the room and drag his bleeding body out through the service door. By the time my men reached the courtyard, he was gone."

My head spun wildly as the room seemed to tilt beneath me. "He got away?"

"Two hours later, the police found a burned-out vehicle on the side of the highway," Rocco continued, his gaze locked firmly onto mine. "A head-on collision, and every body inside was charred beyond recognition. No teeth left, no fingerprints, nothing for forensics to confirm."

He paused, his jaw tightening into rigid stone.

"My men tried to convince me he burned in that wreck, but my instincts tell me otherwise. Silvano is alive. And until I have the certainty of seeing his dead body with my own eyes, I am going to use the one thing he loved most in this world to drag him out of hiding."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a dark promise.

"You."

Silence crashed down over the room.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. The shock tore through my entire system, but right behind the terror came a blinding spark of hope. My father had survived. He had not abandoned me to die. If Silvano Marchetti was alive, then he was out there right now, recovering, gathering his soldiers, and preparing to come for me. He had always sworn that I was his entire world, that he would burn the city to ashes before letting anyone touch a hair on my head.

All I had to do was survive in this penthouse until he found me.

Rocco watched the shift in my expression, his eyes tracking the sudden light in my eyes. His mouth flattened into a displeased line.

"Breaking you is taking far too long," Rocco said, standing up from the sofa. "You clearly need some convincing."

He pulled a black smartphone from his pocket, pressed a single button, and brought the device to his ear. He spoke two brief, clipped words into the receiver before hanging up and sliding the phone back into his tailored jacket.

A moment later, the heavy latch of the steel door clicked open.

Enzo stepped into the room. The tall enforcer stood with his broad shoulders squared, his dark eyes void of emotion as he waited for his boss to speak.

"Bring her in," Rocco ordered.

Enzo gave a single nod and stepped backward out into the hallway.

Panic flared through my blood, sharp and cold. "Who are you bringing in? What are you doing?"

Rocco did not answer. He folded his arms across his broad chest, standing completely still as he stared at the open doorway.

The silence dragged on, thick and suffocating. Every second felt like an eternity, stretching my frayed nerves to the breaking point. The soft rustle of footsteps sounded from the hallway, accompanied by the shuffle of hesitant shoes against the hardwood floor.

The heavy door swung open once again.

My breath caught in my throat, freezing the air inside my chest.

"Aunt Vittoria?"

My voice fractured into a broken whisper.

I pushed myself off the sofa, my knees wobbling beneath my weight as I stared at the doorway. Aunt Vittoria stood frozen just inside the threshold, flanked by Enzo’s towering frame. Her tailored silk blouse was rumpled, her styled hair coming undone around her face. Her skin was gray with exhaustion, and her aging eyes were wide, filled with the exact same terror that had haunted me for hours.

Before my mind could process the nightmare standing in front of me, Rocco spoke.

"I will give the two of you some time alone."

He stepped past my trembling aunt without a second glance and walked straight into the corridor. Enzo followed close behind him.

The heavy steel door swung shut behind them with a final, echoing clang that sealed the room off from the world, leaving me alone with the woman who had sold me into hell.