Page 88 of Blood Heir

“You’ve finally lost your mind,” he mutters.

I lift my head, my breath ragged, my lips splitting into a dry grin. Fioretta—in the end, I couldn’t even protect her.

“No, my friend,” I rasp. “I’m just realizing how deeply fucked we are.”

Cassian sighs, his face red from hanging too long, his eyes puffy but sharp.

“Yeah,” he pants. “We’re absolutely fucked.”

Chapter 20 - Fioretta

I jolt awake with a sharp gasp, my chest heaving like I’ve been pulled from under deep water. My head throbs, splitting right down the middle, and I squint against the faint, filtered light seeping in through a narrow window high up on the wall. The room is small—barely larger than a walk-in closet—its walls made of cracked concrete, the kind that traps moisture and makes the air heavy with mildew.

The only thing in here with me is a dented metal bucket sitting in one corner, its purpose obvious. My stomach twists. No bed, no chair, no comfort—just four walls pressing in like they’re hungry to suffocate me.

I try to sit up, and my head swims. My fingers press against my temples as fragments of memory slam into me like broken glass. The car. The sharp prick in my neck. Emilia sobbing like some tragic little actress.

That bitch. That fucking bitch.

“Emilia,” I breathe out under my breath, my voice low, venomous. My jaw tightens until I feel it pulse.

I scan the room again, desperate for anything—a loose brick, a sharp edge—but there’s nothing. Whoever put me here made sure of that. My throat is dry. My skin is sticky with cold sweat.

The sound of a bolt shifting breaks the silence. The heavy metal door swings open with a loud, scraping creak.

Monte steps inside, filling the small space with his smug presence. His lean frame carries an unsettling ease, like he’s walking into his favorite restaurant. Behind him, Emilia follows,her head bowed, eyes darting anywhere but mine. She can’t even look at me.

“Hello, princess,” Monte drawls, flashing his teeth like a predator playing with its food. “Awake already? You always were resilient.”

I push myself upright against the wall, locking my eyes on him. My voice is rough but steady. “What’s going on?”

Monte chuckles, like my question amuses him to no end. His long fingers reach out, and before I can jerk away, he grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back so our faces nearly touch.

“It’s fucking payback,” he hisses, his breath warm and sour on my face. “Your fuck-ass husband thought it was funny to humiliate me. To ruin my family. To lay hands on my cousin and beat him half to death.”

His grip tightens, and pain radiates through my scalp, but I don't give him the satisfaction of a scream. I stare directly into his eyes, swallowing the pain.

“I hear you remember now,” he adds, voice low, sinister, almost sing-song.

My pulse hammers in my ears. My stomach coils. But my face stays still—cold, unreadable.

I glance at Emilia, standing there like a broken doll, her lip trembling, her hands twisting in front of her like she’s praying to disappear. She won't meet my eyes. She knows. She’s fully aware of what she’s done, and yet here she stands, watching.

Without thinking, I lunge forward, my body fueled by something primal. My hand flies to his throat, and I squeeze with every ounce of fury I’ve starved for years. His smirk falters,his eyes flare wide, and in that brief hesitation, I slam my forehead into his face.

Bone cracks sharply against bone. His head jerks back. I feel the sting across my brow, the warmth of my own blood mixing with his. We both stumble apart. My chest heaves as I clutch my head, blinking past the sharp throb behind my eyes.

Monte recovers first, rage twisting his features into something monstrous. His lip is split open now, blood trailing down his chin. “You little bitch.”

He lunges again—faster this time—and I can’t stop him. My back slams against the hard concrete floor. My breath shoots out in a broken gasp as the back of my skull scrapes against the cold. His full weight pins me, one hand pressing into my collarbone, the other cocking back for a blow.

Terror claws up my throat—but before the fist can fall, Emilia’s voice cuts through the room like a lightning strike.

“Stop!” she screams.

Her body slams between us, shielding me, trembling violently. Her arms spread wide as if she could somehow take the full force of him. She’s crying, breath shaking. “You said you wouldn’t hurt her! You promised!”

Monte freezes mid-swing, teeth grinding audibly. His chest heaves. The tension between us is thick enough to choke. The muscles in his forearm twitch, his fingers curling and uncurling, as if fighting the urge to continue. I feel Emilia’s heartbeat pounding against my ribs where she’s pressed over me.

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