He Breaks After Forcing Me to My Death

The car rolled slowly into Pirelli Manor, and the heavy iron gates slammed shut behind us like a verdict.

The moment I stepped into the courtyard, two bodyguards in black came forward and shoved me hard to the ground.

My knees cracked against the cold stone, and pain shot straight up my legs. I tried to push myself up, but one bodyguard planted his boot squarely between my shoulder blades.

"On your knees," he barked, voice cold as steel.

Marco lounged in a wicker chair not far away, idly turning a sharp dagger between his fingers. His eyes landed on me with the indifference someone might have for trash on the street.

The courtyard was packed with representatives from every influential famiglia. It was obvious that he wanted to humiliate me in front of everyone.

"You dare lay a hand on my woman, so you'll pay the price." He didn't raise his voice, but the weight of his words sliced through the air.

"Strip her and whip her 30 times right here in the courtyard. Let everyone see. This is what happens to those who cross me."

My stomach dropped.

Did Marco just tell them to strip me bare and whip me in front of all these people?

This wasn't just punishment. It was a public execution of my dignity.

I struggled, trying to resist, but the two bodyguards pinned my shoulders with terrifying strength. I couldn't move. Rough hands grabbed my skirt and yanked sharply. The ripping fabric sounded deafening in the silent courtyard.

One piece of clothing after another was torn away. Cold air hit my bare skin, while whispers and malicious stares circled me.

I bit down hard on my lip and refused to let a single tear fall.

Crying would only make them laugh harder.

"Begin."

Marco's voice held no emotion at all.

A bodyguard lifted a soaked bullwhip, letting it slice through the air before it landed with a heavy crack against my back.

Pain shot through me like molten fire, making me grunt involuntarily as my body shook violently.

Blow after blow landed with ruthless precision. My back quickly turned into a bloody mess.

I could hear the crowd whispering, jeering, and lamenting—all of it stabbing at my heart like a thousand needles.

My vision blurred, my body growing heavier with each strike, as if I might collapse at any moment.

Then, through the haze, I saw a familiar figure in the crowd.

It was Matteo.

He stood not far off, expressionless, neither pity nor guilt in his eyes, just watching me endure the lashes as if the woman on the ground weren't his fiancee but a stranger.

So that was it. He didn't care at all.

By the 30th lash, I couldn't hold on any longer. Darkness swallowed me as I crumpled to the ground.

I didn't know how long I was out before a bucket of ice water crashed over me, jolting me awake. The water stung the torn flesh on my back so sharply that I convulsed.

"Get out. Tell the Capones this is the last warning." Marco's voice sounded from above, edged with impatience.

The two bodyguards grabbed me like dead weight and dragged me toward the gate before tossing me onto the gravel outside.

Matteo approached, frowning as he saw me battered and in tatters. He pulled a coat from the car and tossed it over me.

"Put it on. Don't let people see you like that."

I didn't reach for it. Instead, I lifted my head with what little strength I had left and put on a bitter smile. "Are you happy now, Matteo?"

He froze for a second. His gaze flickered, but he didn't answer. He simply turned, opened the car door, and gestured for me to get in.

I dragged my broken body into the seat. The heater was blasting, yet I felt colder than I did under that scorching gaze in the courtyard.

…

When we got home, my parents took one look at my injuries. Panic flickered in their eyes, then faded, replaced with the usual mask of composure.

"It's good that you're back," my papa said flatly, as if I'd just come home from a grocery run. "Go treat your wounds. Don't delay the drug trial the day after tomorrow."

My mamma pressed a clean set of clothes into my hands, avoiding my gaze. "Hurry and change. Lydia will get scared if she sees you like this."

I took the clothes without responding and walked into the bathroom.

Hot water slammed against my torn back, and pain shot through me. I gasped, clutching the sink to keep from collapsing.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Torn flesh, bruises, and a face drained of all color. Exhaustion and despair etched into every line.

And then I laughed. I laughed until tears spilled down my face.

The drug trial would begin.