His Yasmina [Completed]

Chapter 6- Revenge

England

Revenge.

As Cristiano strode down the hall toward the east wing of his home he smiled grimly, remembering the way Jasmine had melted at his touch.  The way she trembled in his arms had told him everything he needed to know.

She wanted him.

She cared for him.

That would be her weakness.

Freshly showered and dressed, Cristiano sat behind his large sleek desk with a long sigh, cradling a scotch in his hands.  He tossed it back and felt it burn a fiery path down his throat.  His grim gaze fell upon the thick file his contacts collected for him months ago about Zayn St. James and his family.  He raked a hand through his hair, noticing it shook slightly with fury recalling his sister.

Sofia was all that mattered.  She was the one who needed his protection.  He was doing it all for her.  He owed his family that much.  Cristiano could destroy anything he wanted.  And he had.  He should have savored the moment.  But every time he had a fleeting meeting with the dark haired beauty the blood in his veins ignited like a burning inferno.  Cristiano was furious. For months he'd fantasized about taking vengeance on Zayn and his family. No, not vengeance, he corrected himself. Justice.

Sofia's multiple suicide attempts over the past months fueled his thirst for revenge. It wasn't until he learned she was pregnant and trying to jump from the balcony of their home in Italy, hundreds of feet from the ground and struggling to find the courage to jump to her death did he find out the truth of what happened.

Cristiano had been away doing business in Europe for some time until he received word he needed to come back home. His head housekeeper had informed him Sofia was acting oddly–crying and depressed for weeks with unsuccessful attempts to get her to reveal what was bothering her.

"Sofia?" He said softly, closing the door behind him.

But when he walked to the bed and touched the puff of silk, his eyes widened. There was no girl in it. He whirled, staring around the room. She was gone. His bodyguard and childhood friend, Mateo reached the threshold of his sisters bedroom, concern etched on his features.

"Where is Sofia?" He asks him.

Mateo gave him a questioning look, scanning the room. "She was here earlier and according to the guards she has not left her private quarters." He answers in Italian. 

He strode toward the balcony just as a thin little cry reached him from beyond, somewhere in the darkness. He looked at his friend over his shoulder, "Mateo!"

Heavy footsteps came running behind him but his attention was of the sight over the edge of the balcony and he felt every bone in his body chill. His mouth dropped, he watched in disbelief. He was too stunned to move for a moment. He was still gaping when Mateo stops beside him and tenses.

"Let me handle this, Your–"

Cristiano shook his head, cutting him off instantly, ignoring the pellets of increasing rain beating against his face.  The courtyard seemed to spin in the gathering dusk.

"Do not move, Sofia! Par favore! Do not move! Whatever ails you, we will find a solution."

"Leave me, Cristiano. Let me find peace." she replied in a monotonous voice spreading her arms open and teetering on the edge. "I've brought shame to our family with my mistakes. I cannot live another day and can't imagine the disgust in our people's eyes. I cannot live knowing I'm ruined. I cannot live knowing I have a child growing in my womb and I'm not married. . ." Her voice broke at her confession.