78. Daniela

I’m just shy of twenty-five, and this is the fifth time I’ve been sure I’m going to die. The day I was raped and they killed my mother, when I was in labor with Valentina, on the ship when I fled Antonio’s house, and after, in the cave while I waited to be punished. And now. There seems to be something grossly unfair about it.

Somehow this time seems easier. I don’t feel quite so alone.

I don’t want to die. I’ve got a daughter to raise and a husband to grow old with.

I’m relieved I never told Valentina that I was her mother. Maybe I’m wrong. I don’t know. But I can’t help feeling it might be easier for her this way. If I die, and she doesn’t know, maybe the loss won’t feel as acute.

I glance at Antonio. Someone took a swing at him, and his jaw is beginning to bruise. He’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Inside and out. The outward beauty is there for everyone to see, but he keeps what’s inside heavily guarded, under lock and key.

Antonio didn’t fall into a trap today. He knowingly risked his life to save mine. He courageously entered the enemy’s quarters to make the trade—his life for mine.

It’s the greatest gift that one person can give another. There is nothing comparable.

I squeeze my eyes shut to fend off the tears. The fat lady might not have finished, but she’s singing the last verse, regardless of what he wants me to believe.

I hope they kill me first. I can’t bear to watch him die.

When the lock turns, I sniff loudly to stop the tears before the death squad arrives. The four of them are creepy, and their lecherous looks make my skin crawl as they enter.

They’re going to rape me before they kill either of us. Antonio knows it, too. They’re going to make him watch the way they made me watch while Hugo raped my mother, and then made my mother watch while Tomas raped me. That’s their calling card. They don’t just destroy. They scorch the earth so nothing can ever grow again.

But they have no idea how tough I am, or how strong Antonio and I are together. No matter what happens, if we’re alive at the end, we will rise, and we will flourish.

“Are we ready for a meal?” Abel asks, cheerily.

My mind begins to pull away. I’m going someplace safe, it whispers, where they can’t hurt you.

“Daniela, did you tell Antonio how his father pushed me off you in the meadow before I had my turn?”

I’m not afraid of you. You can soil my body, but you will never touch my soul.

Every muscle in Antonio’s body is furled tight. It’s okay, I want to assure him. I’ve been through this before. I know how to deal with it this time. It’s going to be harder for you. Don’t look at them. Just watch my face, and I’ll help you through it.

It’s how my mother got me through it last time. She stayed calm, and she held my gaze, stoically, as Hugo violated her, and then as I was violated. Now that I have a child, I understand. She was dying inside, but she remained outwardly calm to save me from some of the terror I knew nothing about.

Antonio’s jaw twitches as Abel talks.

“I wanted you so much that day. But it wasn’t meant to be. And now, it’s too late.” He’s angry.

What a sick bastard.

“These men have been loyal to me throughout the years,” he continues. “Since I can’t have you, I’ve decided to give you to them as a reward.”

I lift my chin and hold my head high. My body isn’t who I am. I’m not yours to give.

Antonio’s tugging wildly at his restraints. “You fucking son of a bitch.”

“Don’t worry. You and I are going to watch.”

Before the words are fully out of Abel’s mouth, Antonio propels himself forward and off the floor. Still tied to the chair, he lands on his uncle and knocks them both to the ground.

Antonio is on top, almost bouncing on the old man, trying to inflict as much damage as possible.

The guards yank him off, and they help a shaking Abel back into his wheelchair.

One of the guards reaches for his gun. He raises it and points it at Antonio.

I scream.

Pop! Pop!

“Fuck,” he shouts. “Fuck!”

Seconds later, both doors fly open and the windows shatter, raining glass all over the room. Men swoop in, and before I even recognize Cristiano and Rafael, Abel’s two guards are dead.

It’s mayhem. I’m not sure if all the men are Antonio’s, or if we’re in the middle of a battle.

“Keep Costa alive,” Antonio growls as he’s uncuffed.

His shirt is soaked in blood. So much blood. I whimper as they lay him on the ground, away from the glass. People are hovering over him.

Cristiano frees me. “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe,” he assures me. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head and rush to Antonio as soon as I’m loose. His eyes are closed. I kneel beside him and reach for his hand. “I love you,” I murmur. “I’m right here.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but one side of his mouth curls. “Princesa,” he mouths.

Cristiano puts his hands on my arms and pulls me up. “We need to stay back so the medical personnel can stabilize him,” he explains, leading me to a corner out of the way.

I grab Cristiano by the shirt. “I want to stay with him.”

“The best thing you can do for Antonio is to let them work on him. They need room to do that. You can be with him the minute they’re done.”

“Cristiano,” someone calls from the doorway.

He squeezes my shoulder before he goes to them. “Just give them a few minutes.”

Everything’s happening in a slow, hazy motion when I stand on a chair to see better. But even from a higher perch, I can’t see Antonio anymore, because the medics are blocking him from view as they work.

Rafael is screaming at his father. Screaming. “Where is she? Where’s my mother?”

A swathe of metal winks at me from under the desk. When I don’t move, the gun beckons me closer. I can’t resist the pull.

I climb down from the chair.

Rafael’s still shouting at the top of his lungs—the echoes sorrowful and desperate. The mournful wails of grief.

I stagger to the desk and pick up the gun. It’s heavy. Yet it feels right in my hand.

Something propels me toward Abel. One foot in front of the other until I’m inches from him.

“Get out of the way,” I warn Rafael, who stumbles back.

I lift my arm and hold the gun to Abel’s forehead. I won’t miss from here.

With the barrel against his skull, my hands tremble.

His beady eyes are soulless, but not fearful.

He doesn’t believe I’ll do it. Or maybe he wants to die.

I bend my elbows slightly, to help absorb the recoil, like Santi taught me.

“I fed your whore mother to the dogs,” he sneers at his son.

I squeeze the trigger.

Again. And again. And again.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

Blood spurts all over me, along with tissue, bone, and whatever else that holds a body together. Revenge is a messy red shower. It’s cleansing and filthy all at the same time.

“That was for my mother,” I snarl in a voice filled with so much hate I don’t recognize it. Cristiano takes the gun out of my hand, but I don’t move until I’m done. “And for Vera, and Lydia, and Isabel.”

And for me.