Claimed

7. Sofia’s Song of Blood

Chapter seven

Sofia’s Song of Blood

Who the hell was Sofia?

And why at the mention of her, were some of the guests quietly leaving the ballroom as if unable to deal with the next scene about to unfold.

But before I could dwell on it, my stepfather was rushing forward and shook his head violently. “Bringing out Sofia is not necessary. I brought my daughter to you on time.”

I glanced at Vito as he followed Maximo over and was visibly shaking now, his eyes wide with terror.

Oh God. Sofia must be a crazy, violent bitch.

Gianni’s gaze returned to me. “Who choked you?”

His voice was deceptively calm.

I hesitated, taken aback by the directness of the question.

A part of me might have defended Vito if he hadn’t been such a disgusting rapey psycho in the dressing room.

But the memory of his hands around my throat, the way he had tried to force himself on me, and the fact that my stepfather had barely stopped him in time was still fresh in my mind.

Without a second thought, I answered, “Vito choked me.”

Gianni’s head tilted to the side, his eyes narrowing as he considered my words. “And who put those bruises on your arms?”

I cleared my throat. “Vito again.”

“What about Maximo?”

I shook my head quickly. “No. He didn’t bruise me.”

“Just Vito?” Gianni pressed.

I nodded, feeling a sense of foreboding settle over me as his lips curled into a smile. It wasn’t a kind smile, not even close. It was the sort of smile that promised pain, a smile that sent a cold chill down to the very marrow of my bones.

“Thank you for your honesty,” he said softly, though the softness in his tone only made it more terrifying. “You will find in our marriage that honesty will always serve you best.”

My stepfather and Vito got to us, along with more of Gianni’s men.

Meanwhile, all the female guests had disappeared from the ballroom.

What the fuck is about to happen?

My stepfather spoke, “Why is Sofia going to be involved? I honored this arrangement. What did she say?”

Gianni turned to him. “There was no honor in your bringing her to me.”

“We did not have time to get her to change.”

Gianni turned to Vito. “Talk to Sofia about it.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words died on my lips as a man entered the room, carrying something large and menacing.

Oh wait. . .is that, Sofia?

My eyes widened in horror as I recognized what it was—a massive, battery-operated saw, its blade gleamed menacingly. Jagged, sharp teeth lined the long blade. Its body was made of sleek metal. And at first, I thought the handle was red, but the closer it got I realized it had been black and there was just lots of dried blood on it.

Regardless, the very sight of that saw was enough to make my stomach churn.

My blood ran cold as the truth hit me like a freight train.

Sofia wasn’t a person.

Sofia was the saw.

Gianni’s eyes lit up with a sick sort of delight as he took the saw from the man.

“Aww. Sofia,” he murmured, his voice taking on a mockingly sweet tone. “I didn’t think you would make an appearance this evening.”

Oh. Hold on. Wait. . .what is he going to do with that?

Now I regretted even saying Vito’s name, although he didn’t deserve my feeling bad for him. Surely, he had never felt bad for me this evening. But he was still my brother. It was still hard to not see Vito as the sweet baby boy in my mother’s arms.

What did I do?

Terror crashed over me, and I fought the urge to recoil, to run as far and as fast as I could.

My stepfather pointed to him. “This is not what we agreed to, Gianni.”

“Your son attacked my soon-to-be wife.” Gianni turned Sofia on. The blade began to spin, blurring the jagged edges as it gained speed. The hum of the saw's motor grew louder. “Did you really think I would let that slide, once I saw those marks?”

My stepfather fell silent, the color draining from his face as he glanced at Vito who was still trembling visibly. Vito seemed to be on the verge of fainting now.

Maximo cleared his throat. “We had to. . .get her here which may have caused some bruising, but Vito did not harm her.”

Gianni studied him. “So, she is lying?”

Maximo parted his lips and then closed them.

Vito did his best to speak. “You c-can’t do this. I-I am her brother. We are now family.”

Oh really? Now you’re my brother?

Frantic, Vito turned to me. “Tell him, Bella. Tell him that he can’t do this. I am your brother.”

And because I was a bitch and pissed with him for trying to rape me in the dressing room, I simply said, “You’re only my half -brother.”

Remember that? You piece of shit. Talking about raping the half of me that wasn’t related to you.

Vito whimpered in shock.

I couldn’t look at him anymore.

Damn. I’m going to hell. No wonder I’m being forced to marry the devil.

Still, despite my anger towards Vito, fear surged within me as I looked at that horrifying saw.

More of Gianni’s men gathered around with sick expressions as if more excited to see this than the wedding.

Other eyes fell on Sofia now.

My throat was parched, my tongue heavy in my mouth.

I glanced back at Vito, who looked like he was about to pass out. His face was ashen, his body trembling violently, and then—to my utter disbelief—a dark stain spread across the front of his pants.

Oh.

My brother, who had been the cruelest piece of shit this evening. . .well. . .he had now pissed himself.

Gianni’s smile widened, shifting into something monstrous as he turned his attention to Vito. “I’ve told you about your son, Maximo.”

My stepfather didn’t even look in their direction, and shame covered his face.

“There have been many times when Sofia and Vito were supposed to sing a special song of blood, but I let it go because one day. . .we would be family.”

Still not gazing that way, my stepfather placed his hand on his chest. “And we are still family which means—”

“Nothing when he puts his hands on my wife!” Gianni roared. “Marks!? Wounds?! His fucking hand tightened around her neck?!”

My stepfather took several steps back.

And not one of the many armed men that my stepfather had brought, did anything. They simply remained still.

And that was when I truly realized how much had changed in Obsidian Bay.

The Devil sits on a throne higher than all of them.

“You may want to turn your face, Erica. This is not a sight for my wife.” Gianni walked over to Vito.

And I should have taken Gianni’s advice, but I couldn’t look away.

Sofia continued to buzz.

Vito’s knees buckled, and he fell to the floor, his eyes pleading as he shook his head frantically. “No, Gianni, please—”

“You do not want to sing with Sofia?”

“Please! I promise I won’t bother her again! I swear to God!”

But Gianni was already pissed, and I could tell that there was nothing I or anyone else in that room could do to stop it.

And now the once-luxurious atmosphere of the grand ballroom was suddenly transformed into a chamber of horrors.

“Please! Please!” Vito was on his knees, trembling, his eyes wide with terror as Gianni towered over him. The Devil’s shadow along with the saw’s stretched across the polished marble floor and cast over Vito.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away, even though every instinct screamed at me to look somewhere else, to run, to do anything but witness what was about to happen.

Gianni’s voice cut through the hum of the saw, calm and cold. “Vito, which hand did you use to hurt my future wife?”

Vito’s entire body shook as he stammered, “M-my left! It was my left hand, I swear!”

Gianni glanced over his shoulder and looked at me. “Is he correct, Bella?”

My heart twisted with a mixture of fear and sorrow.

I knew what would happen if I told the truth, but the memory of Vito’s hands around my throat, the way he had tried to dominate and control me, was still fresh in my mind.

I wouldn’t lie, not even to save him.

How many other women had Vito harmed with that damned hand? Women that wouldn’t have been saved by my stepfather.

I shook my head. “It was his right hand.”

Gianni’s lips curled into that same wicked smile, the one that promised pain and suffering. “Aww, more honesty . We will have a great marriage.”

Before I could fully process his words, Gianni nodded to his men.

Three of them stepped forward.

Fast, they grabbed Vito, holding him down as he thrashed and screamed.

“No! Papa! Help me, Papa!” Vito’s voice was high-pitched with terror. “Please, Papa!”

The men forced his right arm in front of him, and a fourth one came over and splayed his hand out on the cold marble floor. Then two more men hurried over and kept him down.

Oh God!

Gianni could have turned the saw off right then and I feel like Vito would have learned his lesson. He’d already pissed his pants in front of everyone.

For a second, I thought that might be the case.

Surely, Gianni was just scaring him.

What was it about the brain that argued against the clear impending wickedness right in front of it?

It was as if some ancient, primal part of me clung to the hope that the obvious things weren’t as they seemed, that perhaps this darkness was a mirage, a nightmare from which I might still wake.

Perhaps it was the brain’s need for self-preservation—a desperate attempt to shield itself from the overwhelming reality of impending doom.

It sought to rationalize the irrational, to find cracks in the armor of the horror it was confronted with. After all, if the wickedness could be explained away, minimized, or denied, then perhaps it wasn’t as dangerous as it truly was.

The saw’s whirr grew louder, more intense, as Gianni brought it closer to Vito’s trembling hand.

Fuck! Is he really going to do it?!

The blade hovered over Vito’s wrist, spinning the jagged teeth faster and faster.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

Vito’s screams were incoherent, a mixture of pleas and terror. I think in one moment he pled in Italian over and over.

But Gianni’s face remained impassive, as though he were performing a simple task.

Something mundane.

Something unworthy of emotion.

Jesus Christ. He’s done this many times before. . .

Gianni spoke in such a calm way that I almost pissed myself. It was like he was giving someone directions to an ice cream shop. “You’ve marred my wife’s skin with your filth, and for that, you must pay.”

Uh. . .maybe. . .he’s learned his lesson.

I was too terrified to even say that.

I glanced at my father.

Maximo had closed his eyes.

I looked back at Gianni and Vito.

The blade slowly descended.

Oh God!

The first contact sent a spray of blood across the pristine marble, bright and red and shocking against the pale stone.

Ah!

Vito’s scream echoed through the room, a sound of pure, animalistic agony that reverberated against the walls.

Even the chandeliers trembled.

No wonder all the female guests left.

I could see every detail, every gruesome inch as the blade bit into Vito’s skin, tearing through flesh and muscle with a sickening crunch when it met the bone.

Blood gushed from the wound, pooling on the floor beneath his hand.

That crimson liquid spread in a widening circle.

And the whole time, Gianni’s expression was serene like he was lounging on the beach having a day of rest.

He’s insane. Completely fucking insane.

“My queen,” Gianni murmured as he kept sawing off Vito’s hand, “My queen is only to be cherished. No man will ever touch her, not with harm or with pleasure.”

Vito screamed and looked close to passing out.

The blade ground deeper, hitting more bone with a jarring, grating sound that made my stomach churn.

Dear God!

I held my stomach and almost doubled over.

Gianni’s lips curved into a warm, welcoming smile as he kept the saw steadily cutting. “And in our marriage, she will find safety in my arms and. . .in my darkness.”

I could hear the bone splintering even more, the sickening snap as Sofia’s teeth worked through the hard surface.

Vito’s body convulsed as surely impossible pain consumed him.

Gianni’s men held him firm. Their faces were impassive as if this were just another day in the service of their wicked master.

“With every drop of blood,” Gianni’s voice grew tender, “I am cleansing your honor, Erica.”

Oh God. He’s talking to. . .me. . .as he cuts Vito’s hand.

Almost done sawing through Vito’s bone, Gianni glanced back at me. “I am washing away the sins committed against you tonight.”

I stood there speechless.

What the hell do I say to that? Thank you? Hey, awesome, man. I appreciate it?

I damn sure knew I wasn’t going to run away, like I fucking wanted to. In fact. . .it appeared pretty damn clear that I should never even try to run from him.

A man that simply sawed off another man’s hand before his wedding to honor his new wife and fucking SMILED through it, well. . .that was the sort of man you didn’t leave confused at the alter or even divorce.

And you damned sure didn’t get to escape him with some half-cocked plan.

No way.

One had to think up a logical plan for some months, maybe even years. Because there was always the moment that he could catch you, and when he caught you. . .

Gianni continued to watch me. “No one will ever harm you again, not while I breathe.”

Oh yeah. . .I got that message.

Still warmly smiling, Gianni turned back to finish the job.

The saw pushed through the final layers of bone with a sickening crunch, severing Vito’s hand completely off.

Ahhh. . .

I almost vomited. It was so damn close.

Gianni slowly lifted his arm up.

Oh no.

The sound of Vito’s hand hitting the floor—a wet, lifeless thud—was followed by a torrent of blood, spraying across the marble in a grotesque pattern.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I thought I had somehow stumbled into a scene from a horror movie. There was no way this was now my new life.

Vito’s screams had dwindled to pitiful, choking sobs. His body trembled uncontrollably as he stared at the stump where his hand used to be.

“Thank you for your lovely song, Sofia.” Gianni turned off the saw and handed the now dripping weapon to another man. “Until we meet again.”

I kept my mouth closed, scared that if I swallowed or parted my lips, I would surely vomit. The liquid was right there, teetering at the bottom of my throat, ready to shoot up.

Gianni grabbed Vito’s severed hand and held it up as if it were a prize. “This is the price of touching my wife!”

I widened my eyes.

The few men that were close to me, put a whole five feet of distance between us. In fact. . .I didn’t think many men would ever come near me again.

Gianni walked around with the hand in the air. Blood dripped onto his designer jacket and shirt. “And let this be a lesson to anyone who dares to touch what belongs to me. . .in any way. . .do not even give her a fucking handshake!”

What?

I widened my eyes even more.

“Don’t even give her a high-five.” Gianni tossed the hand aside with casual indifference, as though it were nothing more than trash. The hand fell on the ground. Gianni glared at even his men. “Touch my wife, and prepare to die.”

Jesus. He’s a. . .lot. . .

My stepfather’s men grabbed Vito and lifted him up. He’d just passed out in the pool of blood.

Another man grabbed the hand and rushed away as they surely took Vito to the hospital.

My stepfather didn’t even look at me as he hurried off.

Gianni called back, “And don’t you put that fucking hand back on his wrist!”

Oh my.

My stepfather, Vito, and all their men disappeared out of view.

I could barely breathe.

The horror of what I had just witnessed still pressing down on me to the point that it was suffocating.

But even in my terror, I couldn’t deny the strange sense of relief that washed over me.

If anything, there was at least one silver lining to this terrifying shit show. . .for better or worse, Gianni would protect me.

That was. . .something.

Gianni turned to me, and his face softened. The harsh lines faded. His expression was calm, almost serene, as if he hadn’t just committed an act of unspeakable violence.

His dark green eyes locked onto mine, and in that moment, I understood something with chilling clarity.

I was bound to this man, not just by the marriage we were about to enter into, but by blood.

And I knew, with every fiber of my being, that there was no escaping this.

I could see it in the way he looked at me.

This was my life now.

I could never leave him.

I could never run.

Not because of some lingering affection or misplaced loyalty, but because of pure, unadulterated fear. Call me fucking crazy or even weak, but I would rather live as a coward at his side than face a life without my hands—or worse, my life at the end of one of his merciless punishments.

This man— my new husband , was capable of horrors that I could scarcely comprehend. The thought of defying him, of trying to flee from his grasp, was more terrifying than anything else I could ever imagine.

I had seen what Gianni was willing to do, what he was capable of when his honor—or mine—was threatened.

And I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would do it again if necessary.

And again.

And bloody again.

The Devil gave me the most warm, loving smile. “My lovely Erica, some of my men will take you up to a suite, so that you can get dressed.”

After that show, not one word of protest came from me.

Not a fucking word.

In fact. . .if he had told me to jump, I would have hopped as high as possible, and asked if he was pleased.

Let everyone call me a coward. . .at least I’m a living one. . .with both hands. Jesus Christ he’s insane!

Two men walked my way yet kept a decent distance.

I let out a long breath and nodded at the Devil. “Okay. I’ll. . .be back. . .”

“No.” The Devil winked. “Take your time.”

Shivering, I turned and followed the men.

Well. . .I guess I’m getting married now. What the fuck?!

And maybe, just maybe, one day, I could find a way to survive in his darkness.

Because there was no other option.

Gianni called out to one of his men, “Amerigo.”

The man closest to me stopped and looked at him, “Yes, Gianni?”

“Make sure no one throws away that costume or those little ballerina shoes. I really like them.”

Amerigo gave him a knowing smile. “I figured that, boss.”

Oh God. Why does he want to keep them?