Seven Years in Hell: Escaping the Don Chapter 03
In the dead of night, torn stitches and a fever from massive blood loss dragged me into a suffocating nightmare.
“Don’t throw the switch… please… get Luca off that metal bed. Give him back to me…”
I jolted awake in the dark, gasping for air. Cold sweat plastered my nightgown to my spine as uncontrollable tremors seized my body.
Then, a calloused palm slipped onto my waist.
I recoiled like a cornered stray, crashing hard onto the rug. The impact tore at my fresh wound, sending a sickening jolt through my abdomen as I curled against the baseboard, dry–heaving.
Leather restraints, paralyzing sedatives, the scorched stench of
electroshock frying my brain… a bone–deep terror swallowed
me whole.
“What is this?” a low snarl came from above.
Domenico, fresh from comforting Elena, towered over me, his
jaw locked. “Does sharing my bed repulse you that much?”
I choked on empty air until the dizziness hit, then dragged
myself upright against the mattress.
I didn’t scream, thrash, or hurl accusations like I used to. I just
kept my head bowed in dead silence.
“No, Domenico. I just… had another episode. You taught me well. My memories are just hallucinations.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
He’d come prepared with twisted comfort and harsh threats,
expecting me to fight back after losing my baby. But this lifeless
submission left him swinging at thin air. Irritation flashed in his eyes.
He yanked his tie loose, his tone cold. “As long as you
understand your mind is sick. Locking you in that clinic kept you from hurting anyone.”
“Tomorrow night is the Syndicate’s autumn gala. Elena is officially adopting Luca. Clean up, show up, and display some damn gratitude.”
“She ruined her body to save me, and now she’s saddled with
raising the mistake you birthed. Don’t push your luck.”
Swallowing the coppery taste of blood in my throat, I answered hollowly. “Understood.”
At that single word, a fleeting tightness seized Domenico’s chest.
He strode toward the door but stopped at the threshold.
Doubling back, he wrapped his arms loosely around my rigid
frame from behind.
“Don’t give me that dead look,” he murmured into my hair, his
baritone heavy with suffocating control. “Just behave, and I’ll
take care of you. Just like I used to.”
I kept my eyes down, as still as a mannequin.
The next evening, unspoken tension suffocated the Moretti
Estate ballroom.
With Don Vincenzo retreating into the shadows due to failing
health, Domenico was the undisputed boss.
Tonight, he was brazenly cementing Elena into an untouchable
seat of power.
At the height of the gala, the Capos presented their lavish
tributes. But none held a candle to the manila envelope
Domenico handed over.
Inside lay total control of the family’s offshore laundering accounts and shipping lines. The syndicate’s only clean escape route–a lifeline historically entrusted only to the true Donna.
Elena’s eyes welled as she accepted the documents and heavy gold signet ring. Whispers immediately rippled through the hall.
“He just handed her the keys to the kingdom. He’s tying his
actual life to her.”
“What about his actual wife? The one who bled to give him
three heirs?”
“You mean the broodmare fresh out of the psych ward? Look at her in the corner. She’s a shell. He’ll toss her out the second her
womb dries up.”
I sat in their blind spot, quietly watching the couple.
Seven years ago, Vincenzo ordered me to learn the syndicate’s ledgers. Domenico had kissed my hand tenderly, whispering he couldn’t bear letting my delicate fingers touch blood–soaked money.
Yet here he was, handing absolute command to Elena without a second thought.
So the ultimate expression of love is surrendering power.
Domenico had always been ruthlessly clear–headed about that, but he just never applied it to me.
The hall’s suffocating heat was making me dizzy when all hell broke loose.
A wiry waiter suddenly flipped his tray. In a blur, he drew a
Glock, leveling it at Elena’s chest with rabid intensity.
“Die, you bitch! You’re going straight to hell with my brothers!”
Domenico’s pupils contracted. “Elena!”
Sitting just beside him, I suddenly felt an agonizing, crushing grip on my arm.
It was Domenico.
He didn’t pull me down for cover. As he scrambled backward to
drag Elena safely behind the table, his fingers dug brutally into my flesh.
With one violent, explosive motion, he shoved me forward into the open space they had just vacated.
Utterly defenseless, I stumbled directly into the weapon’s trajectory—a human shield pitched perfectly into the line of fire.
BANG! BANG!
Two bullets tore through my gown. The first shattered my collarbone; the second buried into my abdomen.
The impact slammed me onto the floor. Blinding agony from ruptured organs instantly choked my airway. A starburst of crimson and black exploded across my vision.
As consciousness faded, I saw the assassin shredded by
bodyguard crossfire. Domenico scrambled wildly from under the table, his knees dropping to the marble to scoop me from a pooling puddle of blood.
I scraped together the last shred of my dying strength to lock
eyes with him. His face was a mask of twisted horror.
A bloody, frothy mix of bile bubbled past my lips. “Why…?”
Massive blood loss fast–tracked my descent into the void. Over
the deafening ringing in my ears, Domenico’s voice cracked in a frantic roar.
“Somebody get in here! Call the trauma medics! NOW!”
“Don’t you dare close your eyes! I’m begging you… just stay alive! I’ll give Leo and Mia back! I’ll bring Luca back to you!”
“Please… God, please… don’t die…”