Chapter 13

Serena

I sit on the edge of our bed, absolutely fuming. I want revenge. Salvatore left me alone after his confession, probably thinking I’d sit here and fawn over it. But all I can think about is making him hurt like he hurt me.

I know exactly how to get to him. Seeing me with another man—he wouldn’t be able to stand it. I’m going to use his weakness against him.

I get up and head to the closet, my movements jerky with frustration. I dig out the little black dress, the one my mother bought for me to wear as lingerie for Salvatore. The thought of him seeing me in it for someone else makes me laugh, that’s what I want. I want him to feel like he’s not enough for me.

I slip into the dress, truthfully, it wouldn’t make much of a difference if I went naked, and that’s how revealing this dress is. It ends right under my ass, the straps so thin it’s like they are not even there, and under certain lights, it looks see-through. I apply my makeup, dark, smoky eyes and bold red lips. I’m not playing around tonight.

I make sure the guards see me as I leave the mansion, my heels clicking on the marble floor with each exaggerated sway of my hips. I want them to report back to Salvatore, to tell him exactly where I’m going.

I head to Octave. I've heard whispers about it—an exclusive sex club for the elite. What happens there, stays there. The entrance fee is outrageous, but I pay it without flinching. It's worth it. The inside reeks of the scent of sex and alcohol. I sit at the bar, lowering my dress so that my breasts are almost popping out, the material exposing a hint of my areolas every time I move.

All around me are people engaging in some of the dirtiest things I have ever seen. There’s a woman wearing a strap-on, pegging the man in front of her on the nearby couch while everyone watches. Another woman is completely naked, tied in the middle of the room with her legs spread wide open for anyone to touch. There are men getting blowjobs from suspiciously young looking girls everywhere. It’s filthy in here. Normally, I’m not into watching scenes like this, but tonight, I don’t care. I’m too angry to care.

The bartender hands me the cocktail I ordered, and I take a sip, the alcohol burning a path down my throat. A man on the other side of the room is looking at me, fixated, I wink at him, and he approaches me, his eyes raking over my body, focusing on my tits. He’s bulky, and a little bit older, some silver strands in his hair and beard.

“Can I buy you another drink?” he asks.

“Sure.” I giggle, licking my red tinted lips as I look at him.

As he orders, I take another sip of my drink, my thoughts consumed by Salvatore. He’s going to be furious when he finds out where I am, what I’m doing. That’s what he gets for being a dick.

The man hands me the drink, his fingers brushing against mine. I look up at him, my smile not reaching my eyes. I’m not here for him. I’m here to hurt Salvatore.

“Cheers,” he says, raising his glass.

I clink my glass against his. The sound is sharp, almost violent.

This is just the beginning. Salvatore thinks that I’m his plaything, that he can love me whenever he wants, and push me away when he feels like it. Well, fuck him, not everyone in this life salivates at the breadcrumbs he throws. Tonight, I’m going to make him pay. I want to show Salvatore that I’m not going to fall at his feet just because he decided to love me.

The man next to me leans in closer, placing his hand on my thigh. I cross my legs, trapping his hand between them.

I can’t even recognize myself. It’s ironic, really. Salvatore is clinging to a version of me that’s long gone, a version he broke and molded into a bitch.

He slides his hand higher on my thigh. I don't react, just throw back a shot the bartender put on the table, my eyes scanning the room for any sign of my husband. Just as I finish another drink, I hear shouts outside. A roar of rage cuts through the moans and groans of the club, and a slow smirk spreads across my face. He’s here.

I lock eyes with him as he bulldozes through the crowd, his eyes wild, his jaw clenched. He looks like a predator, and I’m his prey. But tonight, I’m not running.

Salvatore’s gaze burns into me. I press my chest against the man beside me, my lips brushing his ear as I whisper something meaningless. The man turns towards me, driven by his lust. I don’t even know his name, but that doesn’t matter. I kiss him, my tongue playing with his. My eyes remain open, looking straight at Salvatore as I lock lips with this stranger. The kiss is mechanical, devoid of passion

The man gingerly squeezes my left breast, rubbing his thumb against my nipple, but all I can focus on is Salvatore. He looks like he’s about to explode, every muscle in his body coiled with tension.

Salvatore shoves people out of his way, his eyes never leaving mine. The crowd parts for him, sensing the danger, the barely restrained violence in him.

He’s close now, so close I can feel the heat radiating off him. I break the kiss, pushing the man away, my eyes still focused on Salvatore’s. Yes. Hurt. Hurt like you hurt me.

The man’s hands move down to my ass when Salvatore closes the distance. In an instant, Salvatore pulls a gun from the waistband of his jeans and presses it against the stranger’s temple.

The man freezes, his eyes wide with terror, and a tremor runs through him. The entire room falls silent, but no one bats an eye. This place is accustomed to filth, to violence and crimes. And no one utters a word about it outside these walls.

I should feel scared. I should feel guilty. I caused this. But I’m just numb.

The man shakes like a leaf, his gaze darting between me and Salvatore. I don’t feel bad for him. He recognized me the moment I walked in here. He should have known what was coming.

Salvatore’s finger is hovering over the trigger. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes speak volumes. The stranger’s lips quiver, and I lean closer, biting down hard on his lower lip, pulling it between my teeth.

That’s when Salvatore loses his ever-loving mind. With a roar that almost makes my ears bleed, he yanks the man away from me, throwing him to the floor.

The stranger cries out, but it’s cut short as Salvatore drives his shoe into the man’s ribs, over and over, his blows brutal. The sound of breaking bones and wet, choking gasps fill the air. It appears that his favorite form of murder isn’t by the use of a gun.

Blood splatters across the floor, the walls, even my legs. The man’s eyes roll back as Salvatore’s rage consumes him. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even hesitate, his fists pounding into the man’s stomach so hard that I think the man will shit his intestines out.

Salvatore carries the man by his hair, lifting his head and slamming it back down on the bar table. Strands of the man’s hair are all over the floor, so is his blood. He’s not just beating him—he’s dismantling him, mutilating him. The man is no longer recognizable.

The stranger’s cries stop, he’s passed out. I don’t know if he’s dead. Salvatore stands over him, looking like a beast, his hands dripping with blood. There’s no remorse in his eyes, no regret—just raw, unbridled possession. It’s like he’s an animal.

I should be horrified. I should be running. But this is exactly what I wanted. To see him lose control. To see him break.

Salvatore grabs my wrist with his bloody hands, baring his teeth at me, looking every bit as insane as I wanted. “You wanted to play with fire,” he growls. “Now you’re going to burn.”