Chapter 6 Breaking Point
Warning physical and sexual assault
Valentina’s POV
I unlock the apartment door, expecting darkness and silence. Instead, the living room lamp burns, and there’s Sterling-hunched on the couch, eyes wild, face drawn.
He shoots upright, rushing to me, hands desperate on my cheeks. “Valentina, where the hell have you been? I’ve called and called-left dozens of messages.”
pry his hands away, stepping back. “You knew I went out, Sterling. Why are you freaking out?”
He shakes, voice trembling. “You could have texted once. Just once. Let me know you were safe.”
I cross my arms, exhaustion sharpening my temper. “I needed space. I was pissed at you, so I went out and had some fun. I’m home now, aren’t I?”
His expression changes-hardens, darkens. “Did you fuck someone tonight?” The words are a snarl.
I stare at him, stunned by the animal edge in his voice. “Actually, yes. You want an open relationship? I took you at your word.”
His face contorts with rage. “You fucking bitch! You weren’t supposed to actually do it.”
I feel the last of my patience snap. “What did you just call me?”
He paces, running a hand through his hair, voice unraveling. “I’ve been talking to someone at work. She’s been coming on to me and it’s been hard to resist. I thought if we opened things up, I could sleep with her-just once, get it out of my system, then change my mind. You weren’t supposed to go and actually find someone else. Now you’re the one who cheated. You hurt me.”
I stare at him, amazed by the stupidity. “So what? Was I supposed to just wait here, loyal little Valentina, while you get your fling out of your system? News flash, Sterling: I don’t sit around and wait. You know that-six years together, you should know that.”
His hands clamp onto my arms, hard, and I stiffen. “Who was it, Valentina? Gavin? He’s been sniffing around you since college. Or Nathan, your work friend-the one you swore was just a friend.”
His grip bruises. I jerk my arms free, shoving him off. Angry red marks bloom on my skin. “Fuck you, Sterling. It was no one you know. I don’t owe you a fucking list. Stay away from me tonight. Sleep in the guest room.”
I grab my bag, stalk into the bedroom, and slam the door. My whole body is shaking. I want to scream, to hit something, to go back and kick his pathetic ass. Instead, I strip off my dress, let it fall to the floor, and pad into the bathroom. The memory of Killian-his scent, his cum on my thighs-makes me ache, dirty and satisfied at once. But I need to wash off this night.
The shower is hot, scalding, steam swirling as I scrub my skin raw. When I step out, I wipe the mirror clean, staring at my reflection. I don’t look changed, but inside I’m burning. Killian has flipped some hidden switch in me. I want more-more risk, more depravity, more of him. I wonder if he’d tie me up, if he’d use me, if he’d share me. The thought makes me shiver.
I brush my teeth, blow myself a kiss in the mirror. I almost smile.
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But as I open the bathroom door, pain explodes across my forehead-a blinding blow. My vision goes black. Fists rain down, smashing my face, my head. I try to shield myself, arms limp, senses spinning. I kick out, my foot connecting with flesh. I hear Sterling grunt. Then something cracks into my ribs- sharp, brutal. I collapse, gasping, the carpet rough under my cheek.
Sterling’s voice is ice, his words slicing. “You think I’ll just take this disrespect? You fuck another man and tell me to stay away? I don’t think so.”
His boot slams into my stomach, once, twice, three times. I cry out, pain blooming everywhere. He falls on top of me, hands rough, forcing my legs apart. I claw at him, but my strength dissolves. He shoves inside me-hard, punishing. I scream, the pain tearing me open, inside and out. Five minutes of hell. Then he’s finished, pulling out, leaving me raw, sobbing, broken.
He stands, fixing his clothes. “You’re nothing but a fucking whore. I’m staying at a hotel tonight. Be gone by four. This is my place. Don’t be here when I get back.”
The door slams. Silence falls.
How does he expect me to move? My ribs throb with every breath-broken, maybe. My nose pulses, blood hot and thick. The pain between my legs is unbearable. I roll onto my stomach, a guttural moan escaping. Every inch of me aches, slick with sweat, cum, and blood.
My phone is in my clutch by the door. I have to reach it. I drag myself forward, inch by inch, pain slicing through me. Darkness presses in. I force myself up on hands and knees, but nausea and dizziness engulf me. With a whimper, I crawl, desperate, halfway across the room-then the world fades, and I collapse into blackness.
Giuliana’s POV
I pull up in front of my sister’s apartment at eight sharp, as I do every Saturday. Breakfast with Papa is our ritual, and she is always waiting outside, ready to go. But this morning, the sidewalk is empty. No sign of her. Frowning, I grab my phone from the depths of my canvas bag and dial her number. It rings and rings before slipping into voicemail. I hang up, unease prickling down my spine. She’s never late. She hates making anyone wait.
Killing the engine, I shoulder my bag and hurry into the building, taking the stairs two at a time. When I reach her floor, I knock hard on her door and wait, but silence answers back. My gut twists. I fish out the spare key she gave me “for emergencies only,” she’d said, and right now, it feels like an
emergency.
The lock clicks, and I push inside, heart thundering. The apartment is quiet-too quiet. Then I see her.
Valentina is sprawled naked on the floor, her skin a map of bruises and blood. My heart stalls in my chest, air punched from my lungs. For a breathless second, the world tilts on its axis. I drop to my knees, hands shaking, searching for a pulse. Relief crashes through me when I find it-steady, alive. She’s alive.
My fingers fumble for my phone, dialing 911 with trembling urgency. I spit out the address, voice thick, panic sharpening every word. Who did this? Did the mafia finally find us? Where the hell is Sterling?
I reach into my bag, pulling out my Glock 48, every sense on high alert. Someone could still be here. I listen, holding my breath, but the silence remains unbroken. I scan the apartment, spot a blanket
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draped across the couch, and grab it, gentle as I can, covering Valentina’s battered body. Tears streak down my face-rage and sorrow colliding inside my chest.
Distant sirens rise, slicing through the morning hush. Quickly, I stash the gun back in my bag and dash outside, flagging down the paramedics as they thunder up the stairs. “In here!” I shout, leading them to her. I step aside, helpless as they work, my whole body trembling.
I dial Papa as the paramedics lift Valentina onto a stretcher. “Ciao, mia bellissima figlia,” (Hello, my beautiful daughter), he answers, his voice warm and unsuspecting.
“Papà, Valentina è ferita. Ci vediamo al Willowmere Hospital,” I say, voice breaking. (Papa, Valentina’s hurt. Meet me at Willowmere Hospital.)
I hang up before he can ask the questions I have no answers for. I follow the ambulance all the way to the hospital, heart pounding a silent prayer. Please, let my sister live. Let her survive, so we can hunt down whoever did this-and make them bleed.
