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She’s my wife. The love of my fucking life. No one but me will see these videos.
I turn my gaze back to the screen and press play.
I see Stefano come into view as he moves closer to Gabriella.
“Damiano surrendered,” he sneers. “Two months with you, and he turned so fucking soft he’d die for you.”
She starts to shake her head. “No! Damiano will never surrender.”
“I should hear of his death within the hour,” Stefano says. “Or you die.”
She clenches her jaw, her eyes burning with rage on the bastard.
He moves closer, and reaching out a hand, he trails a finger from between her breasts to her navel.
His tone is low as he says, “You’ll be a widow soon.”
Fucking fucker. Get your hands off her!
Gabriella lifts her chin, and she stares ahead of her, the expressionless mask I fucking hate back on her face.
But this time, I’m thankful for it.
Don’t show any emotion, mia regina. Stay strong. I’m coming.
“Faster!” I roar as if I can change what’s about to happen by getting there sooner.
Stefano walks out of sight, and when he comes back into view, he’s holding a knife.
No.
Christ, please. Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me watch my wife die.
“But I don’t want Damiano’s leftovers,” Stefano says as he drags the blade over her stomach.
My breathing speeds up, my eyes locked on the screen.
Every muscle in my body tenses until it feels like I might snap.
Slowly, he pushes the knife into her right side, and I see every single excruciating inch of the blade sinking into her.
“Motherfucker!”I roar as I slam my fist into the dashboard.
No.
Fuck.
Gabriella’s body twitches, and for a moment, her eyebrows draw together as pain flashes over her face. But then she fucking schools her face into a neutral expression again as she lets out a breath.
Jesus, she’s stronger than me.
“Let’s see who dies first. You or Damiano.” Stefano turns around to face the camera, “You’re running out of time, cousin. The sooner you die, the quicker she’ll get medical attention. Miss the hour mark, and I’ll slit her throat.”
My eyes flick to the GPS, and I see we’re ten minutes out.
“What time did we leave?” I ask.
“We have nineteen minutes,” Carlo answers. “We’ll make it in time.”
