He Chose His Bastard Over Our Baby - Chapter 18: Chapter 18

"You never learn, amore," he breathed against my ear, his voice dripping with dark amusement.
I twisted violently beneath him, muscles straining, but his grip was iron—unyielding and absolute.
"Go ahead," he taunted, fingers digging into my chin as he forced my gaze to meet his. "Fight me. I fucking love when you fight me." His lips brushed my earlobe. "Because if you won't love me..." The threat hung between us, thick as smoke. "Then I'll make damn sure no one else ever does."
A harsh laugh tore from my throat. "You think these chains make me yours?"
Before he could react, I struck—lightning fast.
My thighs locked around his torso in a vicious chokehold. Lorenzo staggered, hands flying to my legs, but I twisted midair, using the chains like a whip. We crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, the impact punching the air from my lungs.
The nightstand. The gun.
I scrambled toward it on bleeding knees. His hand closed around my ankle—I drove my heel into his ribs with a sickening crack.
His pained grunt was music to my ears.
The cold steel felt right in my grip as I leveled the barrel at his chest, my breathing ragged, vision swimming with adrenaline.
He had the audacity to smirk. "Do it, cara. Pull the trigger."
My hands shook—just for a heartbeat.
Then my soul turned to ice.
I didn't shoot.
I flipped the gun and smashed the butt against his temple with a wet crunch.
His eyes rolled back as agony ripped through his skull.
By the time his vision cleared—
I'd vanished.
My legs threatened to buckle. My wrists screamed from the chains' bite. But I ran like hell itself chased me.
The estate was a warzone—shattered glass, bullet-riddled walls, bodies painting the marble crimson.
I staggered through smoke-choked hallways, my pulse thundering in my ears.
Then—
There.
Darius.
He stood framed in the shattered entrance, gun drawn, scanning the carnage with lethal precision.
When those storm-gray eyes found me, relief flickered—then vanished beneath volcanic rage.
He closed the distance in three strides, calloused hands cradling my face. "Are you hurt?" The words came out strangled.
I shook my head.
His thumb traced the raw skin at my wrists. I watched his jaw clench hard enough to crack teeth. When he finally breathed, it was that terrifying calm before the hurricane.
"I'll kill him." A promise carved in blood.
I caught his wrist. "Not yet."
"Valeria—"
"Too easy," I cut in, fingers digging into his forearms. "You put a bullet in him now? That's mercy."
Understanding dawned in his gaze. Then—
That slow, predatory smile. Lorenzo wanted war?
Oh, we'd give him one.
But we'd write the rules this time.
The basement smelled like death and despair. Lorenzo knelt in his own filth, wrists bound behind him, that arrogant head finally bowed. His designer suit hung in bloody shreds, knuckles pulped from fighting his restraints.
I let him stew in silence, watching his labored breaths fog the cold air.
Even now—broken, bleeding, beaten—when he lifted his gaze, it still burned with possession.
A week in this hellhole, and I hadn't cracked him.
But this would.
The tablet screen flared to life.
A child's giggle echoed off concrete walls.
Lorenzo went statue-still.
"Daddy! Look what I drew for you!" Amara's voice—sunshine and innocence.
His entire body began trembling.
I didn't need to watch. I'd memorized every frame—the way her tiny fingers clutched his, those big brown eyes shining with pure love.
Lorenzo made a sound like a gutted animal.
On screen, Amara twirled in her princess dress, curls bouncing. "Do you like it? I made it special for you!"
His fists clenched until the chains bit flesh. His breathing turned ragged.
Then the next clip: Amara nuzzling into his chest. "You're my hero, Daddy. I love you sooooo much."
Lorenzo shattered.
"Turn it off." His voice was broken glass.
I didn't.
Instead, I unfolded the tiny dress—still smelling of strawberry shampoo.
His world ended right there.
"No—" A sob tore from his throat. "Please God no—"
I let the fabric flutter to the floor between us.
"You murdered her."
The sound he made wasn't human. His body convulsed against the chains, face collapsing in on itself.
"I didn't—I swear—"
I crouched until our noses almost touched. "You were her hero." My whisper was a scalpel to his soul. "Now you're just the monster who destroyed her."
Lorenzo broke completely.
His body sagged like a marionette with cut strings. A wet, broken noise escaped him.
"I'd die a thousand times to bring her back," he wept.
I slapped him hard enough to split his lip.
"Then why aren't you dead?"
No reaction. No fight. Just empty, hollow ruin.
Finally—finally—I saw it.
The exact moment he realized: he'd lost everything.
I walked out without another word, letting the steel door clang shut behind me.
Let the bastard drown.
ISABELLA'S POV
Tick-tock. Lorenzo was finished. Darius was closing in. And Valeria? That bitch had survived every trap, every bullet, every betrayal.
But not today.
From her car window, Isabella watched Valeria move through the cemetery gates—always alone, always vulnerable. Perfect.
The mercs shifted impatiently, their concealed weapons heavy with promise. Top-tier killers, every one.
Isabella's lips curled.
By sundown, Valeria De Luca would be rotting in the ground.