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It’s Emma.
Mark paces the room, engrossed in his conversation. He’s too busy to notice me inching my hands back and forth, slowly working the knots free.
“Yeah, I’ve got her all trussed up and ready for pickup,” Mark says smugly. “The Brotherhood will be thrilled to have their little collateral back.” He pauses, listening to Emma’s response. “Sounds good. Yes, go ahead and call them.” He turns his back to me. “This is gonna be sweet, babe. We’re finally gonna get what we deserve.”
Fury and indignation burn through me as Mark’s conversation with Emma becomes more heated. How dare they treat me like this.
Nat’s voice floats through my head as I work at the last few knots. “You’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Alexis. Fucking embrace it.”
At the time, I hadn’t fully understood what Nat was trying to tell me. But now, in this moment of sheer desperation, the meaning becomes crystal clear.
I have always seen myself as the victim, the sheep trapped among the wolves. But Nat had recognized something more in me—a strength, a resilience, a capacity for darkness that I had been too afraid to acknowledge.
As the last of the ropes fall away, my fingers close around the cool metal of the gun on the table. Stupid Mark. If it’s one thing I’ve learned while living with the Iacopelli family, it’s to never leave a gun unattended.
A surge of primal power courses through my veins, a feral instinct to survive at all costs.
Embrace it.
With a steely glint in my eye, I turn the weapon on Mark’s unsuspecting back. “You son of a bitch,” I growl, my voice steady and unwavering. “I’m nobody’s collateral.”
At that moment, I know what I have to do. I’m no longer the sheep. I’m the wolf, ready to bare my teeth and fight for my freedom. And I will do whatever it takes to escape this nightmare, once and for all.
My words cause Mark to turn around. His eyes widen in shock at the sight of me freed from my bonds and wielding the weapon. “You bitch!” he snarls, lunging forward.
The situation quickly spirals out of control. A fierce struggle ensues as we grapple for the gun. My fingers slip on the smooth metal, and Mark manages to knock it from my grasp, sending it clattering to the floor.
In an instant, he has me pinned to the ground, his hands wrapped around my throat, squeezing mercilessly. I claw at his hands, gasping for breath, panic setting in. This can’t be how I go out. Not after everything I’ve been through. Mark’s screaming at me, spittle flying from his mouth, but I can’t hear a word he’s saying.
Desperate, I blindly reach out, my fingers finally grasping the fallen gun. With a primal scream, I swing the weapon upward, smashing it against the side of Mark’s head.
He howls in pain, his grip momentarily loosening. I suck in a ragged breath, precious air rushing into my lungs, and shove him off, scrambling to my feet.
But Mark is relentless, surging forward and tackling me once more.
“You fucking bitch,” he spits, his eyes glittering with malice. “I hope whoever owns you makes you suffer.”
We wrestle violently, the gun slipping and sliding between us as we fight for control. My finger tightens on the trigger, but Mark wrenches the weapon away, his eyes wild.
“NO!” I scream in a last-ditch effort, summoning every ounce of my strength. And as Mark lunges toward me, I manage to get the gun back, leveling it at his chest.
Time seems to slow as I stare into his eyes, my finger trembling on the trigger. Then, with a deafening crack, I fire.
Mark’s body jerks, his expression frozen in shock before his lifeless body collapses on top of me, the weight of him crushing the air from my lungs. I struggle to push him off, gasping for breath, when suddenly, the sound of the front door bursting open makes my head snap up.
Standing in the doorway, their expressions a mixture of shock and horror, are Damian, Nat, and Edo.
22
ALEXIS
Icry out as Mark’s body falls heavily on top of me, his warm blood soaking into my clothes. I struggle to push him off, my hands slipping in the crimson pool that surrounds us. Panic seizes me as the reality of what I have done crashes over me, and I feel myself disconnect from the present moment.
Suddenly, I find myself back in the familiar closet, crouched beside my mother. I can hear the faint sounds of footsteps outside, my heart pounding in my ears. The comforting scent of my mother’s perfume envelopes me, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood that still fills my nostrils.
My mother’s voice is barely a whisper as she instructs me to be perfectly still and silent. “If you’re very quiet, you’ll win,” she whispers, her eyes wide with fear. I nod obediently, not understanding the danger we are in, focused only on the prospect of victory.
The cramped quarters of the closet surround me, the musty scent and the familiar perfume grounding me in that distant memory even as the horror of the present day threatens to overwhelm me.
