War of A Rose

War of a Rose • Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-five
Rosaelia

The penthouse had not been quiet since the arrival of Alessio's cadre. I was grateful to see new faces but entirely uncomfortable with them being here. It was awkward. Watching all of them walk around like they had been here forever. Listening to them all talk and catch up, like a family reunion, and I was sitting on the couch by myself, not knowing anyone. No one is making an effort to get to know me. Like the fucking in-law that no one likes.

It pained me to watch them together. I miss my family.  Every moment of every day, I miss my mother and my cousin. I wish nothing more than to be with my family. While Alessio throws his in my face. That's what this is. That's why they're here. Another sick game for him. He knows how much bringing me here upset me because I would no longer be close to my family. As if dragging me across the world wasn't enough, he just had to do this.

I look at where he sits, relaxed in one of the black armchairs. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his black slacks slightly wrinkled with a glass of whiskey in his hands. I watch him as he chats with his friends. All of them were completely oblivious to me. I turn to Liliana, slightly hoping that she might include me in the conversation. She might have if I hadn't burned our bridge already. She was too engrossed with Enzo and Niccolò even to notice when I stood from my chair. None of them cast a single glance my way as I headed down the hallway and to my bedroom.

I can't do this shit. Not right now. I won't sit there and let him throw that in my face. God, he makes me so angry. I just want to walk out there and smash that fucking glass over his head. Then we'll see if he still looks pretty with glass sticking out of his skull. Somehow the image of Alessio leaning back in his chair with lines of blood slowly dripping down his face doesn't seem disgusting. In fact, it's quite the opposite which is terrifying.

What is wrong with me? How could I find a man covered in blood, blood that I drew, hot? I need to clear my mind. I rummage through my clothes until I find a pair of black sports leggings and a deep purple sports bra with a zipper in the front. The thought of Alessio seeing me in this makes me want to wear a baggy shirt and sweatpants. Maybe then he'll leave me alone. Something tells me that he could still find a way to sexualize me. He's that fucked in the mind.

There has to be a gym in here somewhere. A man as rich and muscular as Alessio definitely has a gym in every property that he owns, right? I open several doors in search of it. Finally, I find the small but fully equipped room. A wall of windows displays the city below and on each side adjacent to the windows is a wall of mirrors. I turn to face the left wall, my behind reflects from the right.

Rich and egotistical. I scoff before weaving through the machines, trying to pick which one to release my wrath onto. Finally, I spot the black punching bag in the corner of the room. It's not Alessio's face, but it will do. I curl my fingers into balls and heave my knuckles into the bag, over and over, alternating my hands. Before I can stop myself, I'm throwing punch after punch, not caring that my knuckles are beginning to ache and tear.

I breathe in the pain, comforted by the fact that I can feel it. I'm so focused on imagining Alessio as my target, I don't hear the door click shut.

"You're going to put a hole in it." I turn to the deep voice. Niccolò leans against the wall, a light smirk on his face.

"That's not even close to what I want to do." I slow my punches and work to steady my breaths.

"It's been a minute since we've trained together, but I know you know how to throw a proper punch." I shoot him a glance, confused, until I look at where my fists are connecting with the bag. My thumbs were tucked under my fingers, which would get them broken.