Dance Of Devils

Chapter Thirteen - Nadia

Chapter Thirteen 

Nadia 

TW: Suggested sexual violence 

The steady thump thump thump of the headboard against the wall muted the world around. Balancing carefully on her toes, weight heavily leaning on her non-injured leg, Nadia let herself count all the ways she knew to kill a man. No, not just to kill, but to maim, to annihilate. It kept her from collapsing in on herself, giving in and becoming a shell of a human. Her rage kept her alive. Thump. Thump. Thump. Stab. Twist. Drag. She pictured carving her initials into Ivan's face, pushing her thumbs into his eyes until she felt them pop, then cutting out his tongue to let him scream and gargle on his blood.

It would take time, but she'd be ready when his world was burning to the ground.

Nadia didn't let herself think of the before; all she would have to endure and face to get Ivan to believe she had switched sides and broken to his will. If they were fucking her, they weren't asking questions, trying to pry information about the Italians out of her. For them, she would face it. For Leo, she would do it.

Thinking of him was her only freedom. Every moment she had in her darkness she thought of him, his hands on her skin, and his solidarity at her side.

"Have you ever thought of leaving this all behind?" She asked, breathing through a yawn as she stretched, pretending she needed to pause to give Lorenzo a moment to breathe. Nadia didn't know what possessed her to ask that question, but it had formed on her lips before she knew how to stop it. The winter chill was fading slowly, spring would be there soon, but the early evening fog sat heavily as they walked the grounds of Dante's estate. Lorenzo had refused to rest, claiming he needed to keep in good shape or Nadia would leave him for someone better-looking. The assassin knew the truth, he was avoiding his physiotherapy session. Either way, the light evening air and time alone together were welcomed.

"Once," Lorenzo offered, gently, "when Lilliana died, I thought it would be easier to fade into my depression and disappear."

"What changed your mind?" Her curiosity was piqued at his honesty. This brutal man considering a life outside of the one he was born into.

"Too much whiskey and a gun to the head."

Nadia laughed at his grimace. "That's a story I have to hear."

Lorenzo offered her a flat look in return, the edges of his lips rising in amusement. "Piero is the one who tells the story best," he mused but sighed, resigning himself to answer her anyway as she fluttered her eyelashes his way. "He found me halfway through my third bottle, kicked me out of my own club and then forced me to walk back to the estate without any supervision. I'd made it a few miles before the fucker jumped me and pulled a gun on me to prove a point." Lorenzo chuckled to himself as he thought back. "You don't get to leave," he said wistfully as he scanned the grounds, eyes finally settling on her. "this life chases you to your grave."

Nadia knew of too many men who had lost their lives to her way of life, to the world she had been dragged into. Yet there, she only thought of the glory in Ivan's death, thankful for the blood in her veins and the hatred in her soul. Years of torment and torture led her to this, her vindication. It would be slow, painful and far kinder than any fate Ivan deserved but it would be at her hand. And he would only be the last to understand the true wrath of the Reaper.

A week had passed and the hit Ivan had demanded was still yet to go through as if he was biding his time, waiting for her to crack before putting a gun in her hand and sending her to do his dirty work. Instead, she was put to work accommodating men who couldn't find someone willing to suck their—