Chapter 40

FORTY

SALEM

W hen I regained consciousness, I found myself in a state of disorientation, my mind foggy and sluggish. My eyelids felt heavy as I struggled to open them, the room swimming into focus slowly. As my surroundings became clearer, panic seized me.

I was no longer in my bed. Instead, I sat strapped to a cool, hard surface, my limbs heavy and unresponsive. Fear coursed through me as I realized I was restrained to a chair, bound by straps secured tightly around my wrists and ankles.

My heart hammered as I tried to make sense of what was happening. Where was I? How did I get here? And most importantly, where was Cohen?

As if on cue, he appeared before me, his expression twisted with a mixture of guilt and anguish. "I'm sorry, Salem," he whispered. "But I had to do this."

Confusion and hurt clouded my thoughts as I struggled against my restraints, the realization sinking in that Cohen had betrayed me. "Why?" I demanded, my voice trembling.

He hesitated, his gaze flickering away for a moment before meeting mine once more. "It's for your own safety," he said, almost pleading with me to understand. "I couldn't let you go through with your crazy hatched plan. You're too important to me."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I shook my head in disbelief. "You don't get to decide what's best for me," I spat bitterly. "You don't get to play the hero while betraying the one you claim to love."

But Cohen's expression remained impassive, his resolve unyielding. "I'm doing what I have to do," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Shaking my head, I tried to clear the disorientation that clouded my thoughts. Slowly, I looked away from Cohen and realized where he had brought me. The overhead lights cast eerie shadows across the grimy, decrepit basement, igniting a deep dread within me. It was a place I knew all too well—a place I thought I had left behind in the darkest corners of my past.

Cell doors lined one side of the basement, their rusted bars serving as a grim reminder of the horrors I had endured within these walls. My heart raced as the realization dawned on me: this was the same basement where my father had imprisoned me during my childhood.

My eyes widened in shock and disbelief as I turned to Cohen. "What have you done?" I demanded, my words muffled by the sudden rush of panic that flooded my senses.

Cohen's expression softened. "Just trust me," he said quietly, his voice holding an undercurrent of urgency. Before I could protest, he reached forward and silenced me with a rough gag, cutting off my voice with a swift motion.

Cohen stepped back as the basement door creaked open, and my heart plummeted as I watched two figures emerge into the light.

Cohen's father strode into the room, followed closely by my own. Massimo's voice echoed through the basement, each word dripping with venomous scorn. "Look at you, Salem," he sneered, his eyes gleaming with malice. "I told you trusting people would lead to your downfall. And now look, your own little boyfriend turned you in at the first chance he got. All for a couple of photos."

I tried to scream, to lash out at him, but the gag stifled my cries, leaving me helpless and vulnerable.

A cruel smile twisted Massimo's lips as he continued his tirade, his words cutting through me like a knife. "You thought you could defy me? You thought you could kill my men and there would be no consequences? You were wrong, daughter. Dead wrong."

I struggled against the bindings, my breath coming in ragged gasps as panic threatened to consume me. "You're a monster," I spat, the words muffled by the gag.

"Yes, I'm a monster," he hissed, his voice echoing off the cold stone walls. "But you need to be strong to survive this world. I thought I had trained you to be like me. But here you are—a pathetic little girl, just like your brother. Weak, helpless, and utterly worthless."

I tried to block out his words, to steel myself against the onslaught of insults, but they pierced through my defenses like daggers, each one leaving a fresh wound on my battered psyche. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I fought to keep my composure.

But amid the barrage of insults, a flicker of movement caught my eye. Cohen, my Cohen, was slowly circling behind his own father, a dangerous glint in his eyes. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched him raise a knife, poised to strike.

Time seemed to stand still as Cohen's hand descended, the blade flashing in the dim light of the basement. With a swift, decisive motion, he dragged the blade across his father's throat, watching as he slumped to the floor, choking and spluttering before finally falling still.

Cohen silently stepped over his father's fresh corpse to advance on Massimo.

For a moment, there was silence—a deafening, palpable silence. But it was shattered in an instant as Massimo's words rang out in fury.

"You stupid boy," he sneered, his voice full of derision. "Did you really think I would come here without backup just because you asked?"

As Massimo's words sank in, there was a subtle shift at the back of the room, catching my attention. I hadn't noticed it before—the faint outline of a figure perched atop an unassuming stack of old pallets, a sniper rifle cradled in their hands.

I turned to warn Cohen when a glint of crimson caught my eye—a red dot dancing across his hand, which still clutched the knife. My heart seized as realization dawned, my breath catching in my throat as fear washed over me.

"Look out!" I tried to scream, my voice hoarse with panic, but it was too late. A deafening crack echoed through the basement, followed by Cohen's grunted, ″Fuck!″

The knife clattered to the ground, forgotten amid the chaos and confusion. Cohen stumbled, his wounded hand clutched at his chest. My panicked heart pounded in my ears as I watched him.

I was about to ask if he was okay when I noticed the red dot now dancing across my chest, a deadly omen. I held my breath, my chest constricting with fear as I prayed for a miracle. The world seemed to grind to a halt.

With a desperate lunge, he threw himself in front of me, a human shield against the threat of the sniper's bullet. Time seemed to slow as the shot rang out, the sound echoing off the cold, unforgiving walls of the basement.

I watched in horror as Cohen collapsed to the ground, a pool of blood spreading beneath him like a crimson tide. My screams of anguish were muffled by the gag in my mouth.

With a cold, calculating gaze, my father moved to leave the room. He gestured for the sniper to follow, his lips curling into a cruel smile as he looked upon the scene before him. "Watch your lover die, daughter," he taunted maliciously. "I'll be back to deal with you later."

He turned and left the room, leaving me alone with the echoes of my despair.

The minutes ticked by, each one heavier than the last as I looked to Cohen, his body covered in blood, unmoving.

I couldn't bear the sight any longer. With a solid push, I toppled the chair I was bound to backward, crashing onto the cold cement floor and breaking the chair in the process. Adrenaline surged through me as I swiftly maneuvered my restrained hands to the front, breaking free from the binds. Next, I untied my feet, wasting no time as I hurried over to Cohen's side.

Frantically, I removed my jumper and pressed it against the wound on his shoulder, trying to stem the flow of blood. He stirred, his voice strained as he muttered, "Fucking hell."

I whispered urgently, "What were you thinking, diving in front of me like that?"

Cohen winced in pain but managed a weak chuckle. "Saving your life," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Now, go."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I shook my head, refusing to leave him behind. "No, I can't leave you like this," I protested, my voice choked with emotion.

His good hand covered mine, pressing it against his wound as he spoke. "You can still catch him. Your knives, I put them in your boots before I brought you here."

With a trembling voice, I made him a promise, leaning in to plant a tender kiss on his lips. "I'll come back for you. Don't you dare die while I'm gone," I vowed, my heart heavy with fear.

Cohen managed a faint smile, his eyes filled with trust. "I'll be waiting," he whispered.

His words spurred me into action, a mix of fury and fear coursing through me. Without hesitation, I retrieved the knives from my boots and left the room, my mind focused on one thing: finding my father.

I bolted out of the basement, climbing the stairs two at a time. As I reached the hallway, a glimpse of movement caught my eye. I lunged forward, my hand instinctively reaching for one of my knives. With precision honed through years of practice, I hurled it at the sniper down the corridor. The blade sliced through the air, finding its mark with deadly accuracy.

But there was no time to revel in the success of my throw. My father appeared in the doorway of a room to my right, his expression twisted with malice. Without a second thought, I charged at him, years of resentment and anger driving each step.

The clash of metal against metal filled the air as we engaged in a brutal knife fight, each blow fueled by a desire to overpower the other. Despite his age, my father fought with a ferocity that unnerved me, his movements calculated and precise.

Every strike, every parry, carried with it years of unresolved conflict, each blow a testament to the deep-seated animosity that simmered between us.

Each swing of Massimo's blade was aimed with deadly intent.

I felt the force of his blows reverberate through my body, the impact of our knives clashing driving me back a step with each strike.

With every ounce of strength I possessed, I met his strikes head-on, my own blade flashing in the light as I sought to counter his every move. The air crackled with tension as we traded blows, each one coming dangerously close to finding its mark.

In a moment of brutal clarity, I saw my opening. With a swift feint, I managed to catch him off guard, my blade grazing his side with a satisfying swoosh. For a fleeting moment, the balance of power shifted in my favor, the look of surprise in his eyes fueling my resolve.

But the victory was short-lived. With a snarl of rage, my father launched himself at me once more, his movements a blur of speed. I barely had time to react before his blade came crashing down, the force of the blow knocking me off balance.

Pain exploded through my thigh as the metal sliced through my skin, leaving a searing trail of agony in its wake. With a cry of anguish, I stumbled backward, blood seeping from the wound as I fought to regain my footing.

In a bid to keep the upper hand, Massimo reached for the gun at his hip, his fingers closing around the cold metal. The sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the hallway as a bullet grazed my arm, the intense pain driving me forward.

With a surge of adrenaline, I tackled him to the ground, the impact sending shockwaves of pain through my body. But I persevered, delivering a swift blow to his stomach that knocked the gun from his grasp.

As Massimo stumbled backward, I seized the opportunity to strike, my knife sliding into his side with a satisfying squelch. I pulled the blade out, but before I could land another strike, he seized a nearby metal pole, wielding it with savage intensity as he slammed it against my head.

The force of the blow knocked the wind from my lungs, leaving me gasping for air as I doubled over in pain. Through blurred vision, I watched as Massimo stumbled toward his fallen weapon, his eyes filled with a twisted sense of triumph.

With a cold smirk, he leveled the gun at me, the barrel trained on my chest. "You can say hello to your brother for me in hell," he sneered, his finger tightening on the trigger.