5. Liliana

Chapter 5

Liliana

A t first, I thought it was a dream. The blood and violence… death.

I kept seeing my father and Logan hanging from rafters, their bodies mutilated as Matteo stood back and laughed.

But I knew that vision wasn't reality. I'd never seen gore and violence at Matteo's hands. But I remembered the conversation in the living room.

He stood in front of me as he told me what he did to my father and brother as if it were everyday conversation.

It had slowly sunk in that they were gone, no doubt killed so slowly the last words out of their mouths were the sounds of gurgling as blood filled their lungs.

I felt zero sadness. No remorse.

I'd actually felt relief… a type of euphoria that I would never again have to be put in the hard situations they threw me in. I'd never again have to fend off their anger or defend myself from their drug-induced high and drunken abuse.

Once the shock of that new reality had faded, the only thing I focused on was survival.

I remembered everything after that, although it felt like a jumbled mix of bits and pieces from a movie running full speed in my head.

I'd been running on adrenaline after kneeing Matteo in the balls. All I'd thought about was getting away. Although, in the back of my head, I knew escape was futile. I knew he'd find me no matter where I was, no matter where I hid.

But I hadn't cared. I had to get away from him. I had to try.

But then I'd slammed into a big ass concrete wall… or so I'd thought. The beast of a man had been blocking my escape, and my momentum had been so intense that I'd catapulted backward, landing on the floor and cracking the back of my head.

After that, things had been a chaotic mess in my brain, but it was all slowly filtering back like a gentle wave lapping at the shore.

I heard voices—deep, male ones—but I couldn't quite make out what was being said at first. There was a little more conversation between the two of them.

I didn't dare open my eyes, didn't want to draw attention to myself any more than there was.

The voices became clearer the longer I lay there and concentrated.

"She'll be fine with rest."

I didn't recognize the voice of the man who spoke, but I didn't have time to sift through my memories and try to place it before a soft touch landed on my forehead.

The fingers were rough yet gentle.

"You're sure? Because I'll gut you from navel to throat if you're wrong."

Matteo's deep voice came through like a serrated knife, and despite the severity of his tone, I felt something relax in me at the obvious concern—and deadly promise—laced within his words.

The digits touching my forehead stroked my skin in an almost soothing manner, and although I couldn't see who touched me, I knew it was Matteo.

It was a strange sensation knowing a man like him didn't feel compassion or empathy. That a man who could torture and kill two people didn't have empathy yet could touch me as if he feared I'd break.

I heard them retreat from me then their voices dropped low as they murmured to one another. I couldn't make out what was being said. The sound of the door opening and closing should have made me feel relieved that I was finally alone.

But I wasn't.

I could still feel another presence in the room… could feel him watching me although he was silent, so still I envisioned him being a statue.

I felt the same sensation of his gaze upon me as I did when he sat in my living room, watching me from the darkened corner like a demon wanting to possess my soul.

For long moments, I just controlled my breathing, but I felt tense, and with each passing second, my muscles contracted harder, painfully. The sensation of being weighed down, of sinking into the bed, was almost too much to handle.

"I know you're awake, Liliana." Matteo's voice was deep and dark, smooth like the whiskey I was sure he drank frequently.

I didn't open my eyes, didn't speak or change positions. I heard him come closer, though I could tell the floor was carpeted because of his muted footsteps. I picked up on the heavy thump of his shoes on the plush carpet as he came closer.

When he stopped at the foot of the bed, I felt his presence. It was heavy, like a straitjacket. Suffocating. Contradicting. Yet… comforting in the same breath.

"Open your eyes."

I did what he said. Slowly.

I was thankful the lights were low, my head throbbing now that my eyes were open. I clenched the sheets tightly in my hands, not showing the pain outward where Matteo could see.

He wrapped his hands around the footboard of the bed, the black button-down shirt he wore rolled up at the sleeves showcasing his thick, tattooed forearms.

He showed no expression on his face, no emotion behind his dark, bottomless gaze. I swallowed, feeling on display as if I were a deer in the middle of the woods and could sense a predator.

It was as if I knew I was about to die and couldn't stop it.

He straightened and walked toward a door off to the side. He turned the light on, and I could see it was a bathroom. I heard the sink run, and a moment later, he was back out, holding a glass of water.

When he handed it to me, I contemplated shunning him, cursing him out, and telling him to let me leave. Maybe even toss that shit in his face.

But my throat felt like the Sahara Desert, and I took the glass from his hands before I knew I was doing it.

I downed it in a sloppy manner that should've embarrassed me, but it didn't. Water dribbled down my chin and covered my shirt.

He watched me the whole time, and when I finished, he refilled it for me. I was on my third glass when I finally rested back on the bed, my belly hurting from being filled, my headache easing slightly.

Although I knew he still stared at me, I focused on my surroundings. Dark shades of gray, paired with a minimalistic design, decorated the room.

A fireplace was across from the bed, massive and ominous.

There was only one picture on the wall, one that hung over the mantle and showcased a dark figure standing off in the distance surrounded by an eerie forest.

Chills moved along my arms because I could imagine that figure was Matteo, a demon in the middle of the night creeping through the dark forest as if it were looking for some sacrificial virgin to offer to the very devil himself.

"Baxter left some pain pills and is going to come back in the morning to check on you. I'm going to have him check in frequently for the next few days."

His voice drew me out of my thoughts, and I thought about his words, that demand sinking in.

"Days?" I shook my head which caused my migraine to throb harder. "I'm not staying here for days." I closed my eyes and breathed through the discomfort.

"I'm going to make sure you're doing okay," he said over me, as if I hadn't just told him I'm not doing what he said.

But on the heels of that… it was strange seeing this concern coming from Matteo. I'd only ever heard rumors about his brutality. And I'd experienced that when I offered myself up like a sacrificial lamb, and then found that out firsthand when he killed my father and brother.

"I don't need any medication." But as soon as those words left my mouth, my head pounded, creeping behind my skull and down the back of my neck, like claws digging into my brain.

I gritted my teeth and winced, hating that Matteo saw the reaction. I could see this tightening in his eyes, the way his muscles twitched in his jaw as he clamped it shut.

"I'm not a doctor," he said in a low, irritated voice as if I were wasting his time. "But I know you have to get on top of the pain or it's anever-ending cycle." He reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out a small, brown, unlabeled pill bottle.

He popped the cap and poured two pills in his hand before getting me a fresh glass of water and then held it out.

When I didn't move to take them from him, he leaned in close and forced me to press back against the headboard. I could smell him… his cologne, which was a dark and wild, uninhibited scent.

That had the pain in my head feeling more noticeable as something else came over me.

" Christ , Liliana." Matteo's voice was cold and hard with no hint of softness laced within it.

We held each other's gazes for a long moment, my heart beating like a drum.

"Take the fucking medication or I'll force it down your throat."

I wasn't a fool. I knew when to fight and when I needed to survive.

And right now, I needed to do the latter.

"I could have hurt you, drugged you, and had my way with you ten times over by now if that was my goal."

I knew he had a point. A valid one.

Without breaking eye contact, I took the pills he offered. He didn't smile, didn't act arrogantly because he got his way. He just kept that steely composure as I drank the water and swallowed the medication.

And when I was about to pull the glass away, only half consuming the liquid, he placed his finger under the glass, tipped it back, and forced me to finish all of it.

I stared into his dark, bottomless eyes as I drank every drop. And when I finished, he refilled it in the bathroom before setting it back on my bedside table.

Then he just took a seat across from me, not speaking, barely even breathing.

I didn't know how long he sat there, but it was long enough that whatever medication I'd taken took my pain away, the edges of the world fading.

But it was the image of him leaning forward and bracing his forearms on his thighs, a slow smirk forming on his mouth, and the faint sound of him saying, " Jesus, you're pretty ," that was the last thing I saw and heard as I let the heavy hands of sleep pull me in.