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I hope they’re right.
I meet them halfway. “You don’t have to do this, menina.”
“I want to. He took so much from me. He’s not taking my opportunity to confront him.”
“He’s all yours,” I say, motioning toward the prisoner.
She squares her shoulders and marches toward her husband, head high.
Good for her.
Antonio starts to follow, and I grab his arm to stop him. “He’s bound securely. He can’t hurt her. Let her go.”
He snorts like a rabid dog, but he doesn’t move.
“I want some time with him too,” Antonio snarls.
“We can do that.”
“I didn’t ask for your permission,” he hisses.
“Valentina,” Marco murmurs as soon as she approaches. “Thank God you’re here. I’m being set up. You know how much your family hates me.”
She doesn’t say a word while he blathers.
“We can move away from here. Just us. We’ll be so happy. You know how much I love you.”
He’s desperate. But Valentina is patient. She has all the cards, and she knows it. I see it in the way she carries herself.
Maybe this was a good idea.
Although it hasn’t changed Antonio’s mind. He’s a restless bear, and I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to hold him back.
“I set you up,” she informs him proudly. “Do you know why, Marco?”
“Why would you take their side? I love you.”
“Love me?” she sneers. “You drugged me. And you tried to fuck up the launch I cared so much about. You gaslighted me. You made me feel like I was having some kind of breakdown. And if that wasn’t bad enough, you traffic women!” she shouts. “You were going to traffic my best friend. I set you up, you monster, and I hope you burn in hell.”
“You’re a stupid whore.” He spits on her.
You fucker. You just bought yourself more suffering than even I had planned.
We’re done.
“Stay right here,” I say to Antonio as I rush toward her, but he doesn’t listen. I stop when she starts in my direction. “She’s finished,” I mutter to her father. “Let it be on her terms.”
Valentina takes a few more steps and pivots to reach the wooden club we use to subdue prisoners when we’re chaining them. Without a glance in our direction, she strides toward the prisoner and takes a healthy swing at his knees.
Marco howls, and she takes another swing and another. His bindings are so tight he can’t even thrash to escape the impact. He’s at her mercy.
She bats at him like he’s a piñata, and catches his balls. “Ouch,” Antonio snickers, and I snicker, too, as Marco’s screams vibrate off the walls.
Neither Antonio nor I move a muscle while she takes her revenge.
When she’s had enough, she returns the club to its place against the wall and comes over to us. She’s shaking and sweating, and her father wraps her in an embrace.
“Do whatever you want with him,” she tells me. “Whatever is best for Premier. I don’t care what happens as long as he burns in hell.”
