Chapter 48

forty-eight

KITANIA

I held the gun tightly, forehead resting on the barrel, eyes closed like I was in prayer as I hid in the tiny equipment closet in my Alphas’ home gym. The sweat and musk from recent workouts made their signatures stronger here, and I hoped it would be enough to mask my scent. Tucked tightly among mats and spare dumbbells, I waited, barely breathing, just listening—straining to hear anything beyond the silence, which was so thick it choked me.

The sound of the front door splintering sent a shockwave of dread through my already fragile nerves.

My fingers trembled around the cold metal in my hands as I stifled a cry. The noise from deeper in the house escalated: Beretta’s barking, heavy thuds, a loud scuffle, then a guttural shout that had my veins icing over. Tommas. My heart clenched at the thought of him alone out there, fighting to protect me.

Gunshots pierced the air, each one thunderous, making my body go rigid with fear. My mind screamed at me to stay hidden, to wait it out, but my instinct to help my Alpha battled against my terror.

I can’t just sit here while he—

Another shot rang out, then another. I jumped each time as silent tears streamed down my cheeks. I counted them all, my lips moving silently with the numbers. Six. Seven.

Beretta’s pain-filled whine had the tears pouring faster. No! No no no.

Eight. Nine. My body flinched with each bang, every muscle locked in painful anticipation.

I tensed, waiting for the next explosion of violence, but all that came was yet another eerie, terrifying silence.

That chilling quiet was worse than the gunshots. My ears rang from the lack of noise, straining for even the smallest of sounds. Then, one last shot echoed through the penthouse, louder and more resonant, as if the walls themselves had flinched. I couldn’t explain it, but it felt almost… final . My blood ran cold, and my fingers froze on the gun’s safety switch.

Was Tommas alive? Oh God!

I shoved my fist to my mouth to mute the cry that heaved from my chest. It was raw and ragged, nearly silent from the force of how hard the shocking grief hit me.

He couldn’t be. He can’t be.

No. No, no, no. My heart refused to believe he was gone. I had to go out there. To find out. To save him and Beretta. To fucking help . My mind was a hurricane of dread and hope.

I tensed to move, ready to uncoil from my hiding spot, when I heard it.

“Come out, come out, little Omega.”

The voice was dark, taunting, and unmistakably Vincent’s. It slithered through the halls like a serpent, each word dripping with venom and anticipation.

“I know you’re here, waiting for your Alphas to save you, but they’re a little preoccupied right now.”

My heart stuttered, then raced ahead, pounding against my ribs with such force I thought it might burst. I clutched the gun tighter, willing my hands to stop their pathetic shaking. I had to steady my breathing; had to think.

Vincent was getting closer, his footsteps a slow, deliberate prowl. He called out my name, stretching the syllables with a sick kind of pleasure. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood, holding my breath, praying he wouldn’t find me.

Suddenly, his steps stopped. I could almost see him cocking his head, listening, sniffing the air. My eyes squeezed shut, silently pleading to the heavens for help.

He was in the gym now, crossing the padded flooring. The workout equipment clinked as he fucked with it, taking his time, drawing this out while he followed my scent trail like a bloodhound. My mind raced, wondering if the stronger scents in the room would be enough to keep me hidden, or if he’d sniff me out, regardless.

I didn’t have much hope.

The closet door was all that separated us, a flimsy barrier that might as well have been tissue paper instead of the wood it was made of.

I pictured Vincent’s face, a twisted mask of sadistic glee when he ripped it open and found me, and my whole body went cold. The image of him wasn’t even the worst part. It was the memories that came with it. The nights I’d spent in his ‘care.’ The constant, unrelenting fear. The pain.

I prepared myself to fight, to shoot if I had to, though I wasn’t sure I could pull the trigger. I’d never shot someone before, but the thought of going back to him—to that —gave me a burst of courage. Or maybe it was just sheer, blinding panic.

There was a brief silence, then the closet door was yanked open with brutal force. Vincent’s towering form filled the frame, his face exactly as I’d imagined: a predatory grin that stretched his features into something inhuman. He loomed over me, his shadow long and jagged, like a monster ready to devour me whole.

I couldn’t help it. I screamed. The sound was pure, unfiltered survival, tearing its way out of my throat as he lunged at me, hands reaching.

In that split second, my will to live spurred me into action. If there was one benefit to being small, this was it. I slid beneath his grasp, my back scraping against the doorframe painfully as I wriggled past. Vincent crashed into the closet, miscalculating my escape. I didn’t wait to see if he was incapacitated or what he’d do next. Adrenaline surged through me as I bolted from the gym, my bare feet slapping against the cold marble of the floor. With no clear destination in mind, all I knew was that I had to put as much distance as possible between us.

The hallway stretched out like a nightmare, endlessly expansive. There were so many rooms, so many closets and doors. Suddenly, his voice cut through the air with a smooth, venomous confidence as he gave chase. “You can run, Kitania, but you can’t hide. I’ll just follow the delicious scent of your fear.”

My heart pounded so hard I thought it might break my ribs. The gun was still clutched in my hand, my fingers white and bloodless from their death grip on it. I rounded a corner, darting into a room, then passed through a connecting door that led into another, my thoughts a jumble of frantic calculations. Where could I go where he wouldn’t think to look? Where could I hide that would buy me more time?

If nothing else, I could weave a tangled web of my scent, hoping to confuse him. Checking the hallway, I crossed quickly and slipped into the library. The smell of old books and the faintest whiff of cigars enveloped me. I hesitated for a heartbeat, looking for a hiding spot, but all I saw were walls of shelving, a desk, a fireplace, a couch, and two wingback chairs. For a brief moment, I debated trying to hide beneath the desk, but there was a small gap between the wood and the floor where the chair sat.

He’ll see me.

I doubled back to the door, peeking into the hallway once more. I heard him tearing through a room I’d already been through, cursing as he searched for me. Taking my chances, I darted out on silent feet, past the nest-like spot that looked out over the city where Tommy and I often cuddled. More tears spilled down my cheeks as I made my way down the hall toward the living room, marking doors with my scent by rubbing my cheek or forearm against them—anything to weave a trail that might throw Vincent off, to buy myself precious minutes.

My body moved on pure instinct, just trying to survive.

I thought of Tommas again, of his strong arms and steady presence. Of how he’d promised to keep me safe. A sob threatened to choke me, but I swallowed it down. I couldn’t afford to lose it now. I had to keep it together. Had to be strong, if only for the hope that he was still alive. That I could help him when I made it through this.

My gaze zigzagged down the hall, taking in the decor and the accent tables until it fell on a modern leather storage bench that sat beneath an ornate mirror. Whoever had decorated this place had pristine taste, but it was their mix of beauty with function that had me praising them internally. Chest heaving with silent sobs, I raced for it, throwing it open and thanking the universe that there was only a single blanket and an empty picture frame inside. I folded myself into the cramped space, knees drawn up, gun pressed against my heart, then gently lowered the top until there was only the tiniest sliver between the seam.

I held my breath, only taking shallow drags of air when my lungs screamed for oxygen.

And I waited.

Maybe, if I could evade Vincent for long enough, this would all be over. Maybe help would come. Maybe Dimitri, Gio, and Marco were on their way home right now and would save us.

I froze at the sound of movement in the hallway.

“Kitania,” Vincent sing-songed, closer than I’d thought. “Come out and play.”

The footsteps grew fainter, and I dared to exhale. He must have headed in the wrong direction, perhaps backtracking to the gym.

The bench was stifling, the air thick and used up, but I didn’t dare move. My sweat mingled with the scents of leather and the musty smell of the stored blanket. The sourness of my scent tainted all of it, and I knew it would flood the hallway the moment the top was lifted.

I bit down on my knuckles, eyes wide, every muscle in my body wound so tight I thought I might snap.

The tension broke with a jolt as Vincent’s footsteps returned, heavier now, less measured. He was angry.

“You think you’re clever? You think you can hide from me?” His voice was a growl, stripped of its previous playfulness. “I can smell the fear on you, Omega.”

His shadow passed over the bench, stretching long and thin like a blade. I bit down harder, drawing blood, the pain a welcome distraction from the terror that threatened to consume me whole. He was so close. Too close.

He slowed, then stopped, lingering just beyond my hiding spot. I could almost feel his eyes burning holes through the wood, through me . My mind screamed to run, but there was only one way out of the penthouse, and that was through Vincent.

Move. Please, just move. I begged, hoping he’d leave, that he’d look elsewhere. Or better yet, simply give up. But his vendetta was too strong for that. His hatred and wounded pride were too great.

My legs cramped, and my back turned into a solid sheet of pain. But I didn’t flinch, didn’t breathe.

I flipped off the safety and prepared myself to shoot.

Without warning, Vincent wrenched open the bench with a savage jerk. Terror sawed through me, sharp and jagged. I tried to aim, to pull the damn trigger, but before I could react, he gripped my hair, twisting ruthlessly as he dragged me free. I lashed out, kicking and scratching, my nails scoring deep lines into his skin. But his strength swallowed mine as he lifted me like a rag doll and tossed me to the ground.

I hit the floor hard, and the gun flew from my hand, skittering across the hallway tiles, spinning to a stop yards away. Tears poured down my cheeks, and an agonized cry tore from my throat, raw and desperate, the sound mingling with the sickening notes of his laugh.

“Caught you,” he taunted, a predator toying with his prey before he ended it without mercy.

I lunged for my weapon, army crawling, pulling myself toward it as fast as I could move, but Vincent was faster. His fist closed around my ankle, squeezing painfully. My fingertips scraped the floor. Stretching. Reaching. Missing the gun by mere inches. A vicious, violent tug yanked me back with brutal force, making my bones protest and my muscles scream.

“Please,” I gasped as he flipped me onto my back so hard my head smacked against the ground. The word had slipped out before I could stop it, a reflexive plea for mercy that I knew he would savor.

“Please?” Vincent mocked, his lips curling into that familiar, hateful grin. “Are you begging for me again, micia ? Just like you used to?”

Being within his grasp once more was enough to scare the life out of me, but it was the blood splattered on his white-shirt that was truly terrifying.

Tommas .

His name echoed through my mind on repeat, matching the frantic, erratic beats of my heart.

My struggling only made Vincent sneer and lean down so close I could feel the warmth of his breath. “It’s almost cute how you think you can escape me.”

I braced myself and tried to shove him away, but he was ready for me. With a swift, practiced motion, he backhanded me across the face, the cold metal of the gun biting into my skin. The world exploded in white-hot pain, my head whipping to the side. My vision blurred, then doubled, and I tasted blood in my mouth. Stunned by the impact, I went limp.

“You always were so fragile,” he mocked, his voice dripping with contempt.

My cheek throbbed with each thrum of my pulse, the ache radiating down my neck and into my shoulder. For a moment, I was dizzy, disoriented—but not defeated.

I forced myself to remember why I had to survive this.

For Dimitri. For Giovanni. For Marco. For Tommas.

I couldn’t stop fighting, so I didn’t.

Thrashing and bucking, using everything I had to try and get him off of me, I took a swing at his ribs. He blocked my punch with ease, but the movement shifted his weight just enough for me to thrust my knee upward, striking him square in the crotch.

Vincent doubled over with a guttural curse, his grip on me loosening as he clutched his balls. I didn’t waste a single second. Scrambling backward, I got onto my hands and knees and crawled desperately across the floor until my fingers brushed the cold metal of the gun. I seized it, staggering to my feet, and whirled around. Shaking violently from adrenaline and fear, I aimed at him with as much steadiness as I could muster.

Face twisted with rage and pain, Vincent rose. With practiced ease, he trained his weapon on me in return, holding it in one hand almost casually, like shooting and killing me would have no real impact on his life, while I contemplated how badly murdering someone would stain my soul.

“You won’t do it,” he remarked, more a statement than a question. His confidence was infuriatingly maddening. He truly believed I was still the same scared Omega who’d cower and flinch at his commands.

Memories surged up like a tidal wave—every awful, unspeakable thing he and his brothers had ever done to me. My stomach churned as bile scalded my throat, but beyond the fear, beyond the shame and humiliation, was red hot anger.

Slowly, my hesitation—and my morals—ebbed.

“Go on, micia ,” he goaded. “Prove me wrong.”

I steadied my grip, trying to will my hands to stop their traitorous trembling. The barrel wavered, tracking Vincent’s chest, then his head, then back to his chest.

A kill shot. That’s what I needed. One clean shot to end this nightmare.

The slow, deliberate smirk that curled his lips only added fuel to the fire of my hatred. It was like he thought every second of my hesitation was another chance for him to reclaim his power over me.

They’d broken me before, left scars I’d never be free of. But I wasn’t the same defeated woman, and I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

For one brief, excruciating moment, my mind raced through a thousand scenarios. If I missed, he would kill me. If I hit him but didn’t finish the job, he’d make me suffer like never before. But if I did nothing, I was just prolonging the inevitable.

I had to end this. I had to be strong enough to pull the trigger.

Dimitri’s reassuring words echoed through my mind: “You’re safe with us.” I clung to the security I always felt when I was with him. The warmth of Giovanni’s touch. Marco’s comforting smiles. Tommy’s addictive laugh. Every time they’d told me I had nothing to fear anymore, then backed it up with their actions, they’d given me another little piece of myself back.

But I had everything to fear now.

I was afraid of losing them.

Afraid of losing myself.

Vincent’s finger tightened on his trigger. I saw it in slow motion, the lethal intent in his eyes, the cold calculation of a man who’d killed more times than he could count.

I stared down the muzzle of his gun and knew I was out of options.

I had no choice.

It was me, or it was him.

The world paused, a single frame of a horrific movie. My breath caught, my heart stopped, and my soul braced for the fallout.

I squeezed the trigger.

A deafening blast filled the room, life-changing and absolute. And then... silence.

To be continued…

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Knot Made to Break: Part Two