Chapter 184
I will use every word of love, every possessive gesture, as bait. When
he least expects it, the trap will snap: vengeance will be swift and
clean.
I am going to kill this son of a bitch.
He messed with the wrong person.
I remain lying down, my body heavy, my mind lit like a brand. The silence of the cell weighs until it hurts. Then, slow, calculated footsteps break the quiet. A shiver runs up my skin; it enrages me to realize that my body reacted with fear. Rage and contempt clash
inside my chest.
The figure approaches, balancing a tray with surgical precision. The metal of the bars creaks as it opens, then closes with a dry click. He
observes me for a second that lasts an eternity.
“Cooled your head, my love?” His voice is serene, almost mocking. “I brought something to eat, but I’ll only give it to you if you apologize.”
Fury explodes, but my mouth refuses. Ragged breathing, clenched teeth. I remember the promise: pretend in order to win. Take a deep
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breath; one step at a time. My throat burns, hesitates, and the word
escapes, trembling.
“I’m… sorry, Adrian.”
The smile that opens on his face has the sincerity of poison
administered into a vein. He approaches slowly and sits on the edge
of the bed, so close that the heat of his body invades my conscious
field.
He leans in and brushes his lips against my forehead.
“Of course I forgive you, my love. You are forgiven.”
I clench my fist hard enough for the knuckles to turn white. The
impulse to hit him is violent; I know that if I give in, the farce
collapses. I look at the bowl on the tray: hot soup, steam rising, and
an aroma that makes my stomach growl despite the loathing.
He laughs lightly.
“So cute. That’s why I’m in love with you.”
The tone is ridiculously intimate. I force myself not to roll my eyes.
He picks up the spoon, steadies his hand, and brings some of the
broth to my mouth.
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The first spoonful hits my tongue, and, for a second, human
sensitivity speaks louder than contempt: the flavor is simple and
restorative. I accept the second and the third without saying a word.
While I chew, I see the contained smile at the corner of his mouth.
The word “good” slides out like a trophy.
“Good boy.”
I finish the soup with a haste that embarrasses me. I lean back
against the cold wall; soon I feel a light kiss on my cheek, so intimate
it almost turns my stomach.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispers. “Keep this up and I might let you
leave the cell.”
The embrace comes next: arms that encircle me, his face nesting in
my collarbone. The contact is a violation disguised as comfort.
Disgust rises like acid reflux; rage, like an electric current. I stay still.
I don’t push him away, nor do I reciprocate.
His lips pull back for an instant, and his voice, this time, sounds
sincere.
“I love you, Magnus.”
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The sentence could be bait, a vow, and madness, all at the same time.
I give it no credit; I don’t answer.
Silence replaces words.
My chest tightens with a weight that words cannot hold. I feel like a
traitor to Rocco with every gesture: the man who always covered me,
loyal to the marrow, was killed by this boy’s hands.
And now, I am here, allowing him to lean against me, to embrace me,
as if nothing had happened.
The corrosion advances inside, a bittersweet rage burning beneath
the skin.
I’m sorry, Rocco. I promise: your death will not go unanswered.
Soon, this debt will be paid.
