𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

I burst out of Marco's room, not a shred of sadness, but a wave of contempt crashing over me. How could I have been so foolish to believe in something real between us? Someone like me, with someone like him - it was a fantasy, a cruel joke I played on myself. Inevitably, he would betray me. Loyalty was just not in Marco's nature; he thrived on the thrill of deception.

But despite my resolve, tears stream down my face relentlessly. Did any of our time together mean anything to him? With swift determination, I pack my bags, forsaking any sentimental goodbyes. I refuse to be tethered to someone who lacks loyalty. I'm exhausted, weary of being toyed with by men. I'll escape with the money from Marco's card, withdrawing every last cent before he cuts me off. It's enough to start anew, to disappear and never look back.

The realization hits me harder as I pack, the image of that woman under his bed seared into my mind. She was everything I wasn't - slimmer, more beautiful, superior in every conceivable way. And I can't even summon anger towards her; she'll learn, just as I did, that the Russo family excels at shattering hearts.

My hands move faster, fueled by a desperate need to flee. I leave behind our photos, the tokens of a facade we built together. There's no point clinging to memories that now feel tainted. I arrange for a driver to whisk me away, and if Marco dares to impede my escape, I'll do whatever it takes to break free. I have a gun, and I'm no longer afraid to wield it.

Fear no longer paralyzes me; I refuse to cower in the face of death. Antonio Russo and Marco, they both deserve the consequences of their actions. They've played with my emotions for too long, treating me like a disposable plaything. They not only shattered my self-esteem but also fractured my heart into irreparable pieces.

And the cruelest irony? I allowed them to do it. But not anymore. I can't afford sympathy, not when my trust has been irreversibly shattered. Love, it seems, is nothing more than a myth, a cruel illusion for the unwary.

I can't be here anymore.

Yet, as I clutch the gun in my trembling hand, doubts assail me. Should I even go through with this? Is it possible that I'm to blame for everything? Perhaps the world isn't entirely devoid of goodness; perhaps I've simply been unlucky in my encounters. Tears blur my vision once more as I confront the possibility that I'm the common denominator in my own misfortune.

As I wrestle with the suffocating despair threatening to consume me, my mind dances on the razor's edge of a harrowing decision. In the deafening silence, each beat of my heart echoes like a thunderclap, a relentless reminders of the agony pulsing through my veins. Tears blur my vision as I grapple with the crushing weight of my existence, each breath a laborious struggle against the suffocating void threatening to engulf me. With trembling fingers poised upon the trigger, I teeter on the precipice of oblivion, torn between the unbearable anguish of my reality and the seductive allure of escape.

The gun rests before me, a stark reminder of the choices I face. "Pull the trigger," a voice hisses from behind, sending shivers down my spine.

I turn, only to find Dante Russo glaring at me with malice. "Why?" I rasp, my voice barely audible through the anguish. In all the people, I found it laughable he was the one to find my death favourable .

"You killed my father," he spits, brandishing his own weapon.

His words made me calm, it made me have realisation. If Marco had known, his brother must've too.

Everything did tend to rely around Antonio Russo.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, though the words ring hollow. Could I really be sorry? I'm not sure.

"Don't be," Dante retorts coldly. "Playing you was entertaining. Being blossom was thrilling. Every note you recieved was a step closer to ur downfall."

In that moment, any lingering trace of compassion evaporates from my soul as I come to recognise who the monster in front of me is.

Antonio violated me, Marco never loved me, and Dante stalked me.

I pull the trigger, not towards myself but towards him.

I watch as his body crumples to the ground, a fatal wound piercing his heart. The irony isn't lost on me - it seems fitting that his demise mirrors the destruction inflicted upon me by these men. He isn't dead yet, affording me the opportunity to utter the words I've longed to speak.

"Your family is despicable," I spit, a vindictive gleam in my eyes. "But I can be just as ruthless." With that, I fire another shot, relishing in the surge of power coursing through my veins. No longer will I allow these men to dictate my fate.

He had stalked me, underestimated me, but I refuse to be a victim any longer. I may bear the Bernadette name, but I possess the resilience of a Russo.

And one thing is certain - a Russo always prevails.

I make no attempt to conceal the evidence, to hide my sins. I want to send a clear message - I'm not to be pursued, not to be mourned. I sever ties with the Russo family once and for all. No matter the cost, I refuse to be ensnared in their web of manipulation.

With my belongings in tow, I step into the unknown, bracing myself for the uncertain road ahead.

As I flee into the night, a maid intercepts me, her voice gentle as she inquires about my destination.

"I'm seeking peace," I reply resolutely. "A place where the shadow of the Russo name can't reach me."

She regards me with a mixture of confusion and pity before I disappear into the darkness.

And I run.

I have no destination in mind, no home to return to. My father's absence looms over me, a constant reminder of my solitary existence. And with Dante's death, I'm marked as a fugitive, pursued by the specter of Marco's influence.

I realize then the extent of my plight - Marco's empire will hunt me relentlessly, a mouse fleeing from a relentless predator. But I refuse to be a pawn in their game. I'll carve out my own path, embrace my independence. Money holds no sway over me; it's freedom that I crave above all else.

As I disappear into the night, I make a solemn vow to myself - I'll never again fall prey to the wiles of a Russo. No matter the trials that lie ahead, I'll cling to my autonomy, my dignity.

Because in the end, love is not weakness - it's the strength to endure, to overcome, to thrive in the face of adversity.

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Omg I can't believe I've finished writing this trying not to cry!!

Should I do a part two to Marco and Ruth's story or start writing something new? <3

Comments and votes are highly appreciated!!