COLD TRAP

MIRABELLA 

Darkness is still paramount, and yet, I am awake–wide eyed awake. 

The calendar says Wednesday, the time reads 5am, the birds sing a beautiful morning song, and my heart sings a bloody song. 

Torture is my forte. 

I say I have no heart, and yet, when I’m tasked with the duty to torture offenders, I feel that dead organ of mine palpitating ridiculously. 

I love the thrill, and the mess. 

It’s a convoluted joke, comical to think that I was not even born this way, hell I was not brought up to find thrill whenever I watch life completely disappear from someone’s eyes. 

The world made me into this. My marriage to the Denaro name made me into a monster. And I appreciate it, I find it so very satisfying. 

“Boss, we’ve arrived.” 

My thoughts are roused from their fog by the harsh voice telling me that we have arrived in Milan. With a groan of exhaustion, I fasten my seatbelt and wait for the aircraft to descend. 

Minutes pass. My men and I make our way out of the airplane, getting into the various cars made ready for our arrival. 

Where do we go first? The property belonging to my husband here in Milan. The house we resided in during the early stages of our lives together as husband and wife. 

Let me share a little back story: very early this morning, while my husband was deep in sleep, I slipped out of bed, picked out a few pieces of clothing, and headed out to his private hangar where I boarded his private jet to Milan. 

I couldn’t inform him of my plans to travel for work, because knowing my husband and his stubbornness and his obsessive need to keep me close to him at all times under the pretense of taking care of me, I knew he wouldn’t have agreed to it. 

He would have suggested coming out to take care of the business for me. I didn’t want that. So I made my perfect escape. 

And sure, I did put a little something in his drink to help prolong his slumber. Oh, how he would go crazy the moment he wakes up. 

As we approach my husband’s manor, my heart races with anticipation and nerves. I’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks, ever since getting Ares to conduct a DNA test and discovered that truly, my husband is not the father of Helen’s child. 

The cars park, and I take a deep breath before alighting. I scan the compound for the people I wish most to see, and when my eyes land on Ares holding Helen’s trembling form in place, a smile coats my lips. 

I walk over to them, the underside of my slides slapping on the floor. “Helen,” I say, my voice firm but controlled. She looks up at me, attempting to form a smile, but the fear in her eyes gives her away. “Oh, hi there. What a surprise.” 

“A surprise?” She asks, anger simmering just below the surface. “Are you just going to pretend you didn’t know I would be here when your people just barged into my house and took my daughter and I without any explanation.” 

“I’m here for the explanation, am I not?” I reply, my tone sarcastic. “Bring her, Ares.” I say as I walk past them, leading them into the house. 

Her features falter for a moment, and I see a glimmer of guilt in her eyes. But then she recovers, her expression hardening into a defensive mask. “Mirabella-” 

“Shut your mouth.” I cut her off. We walk up the stairs and into Matteo’s office. “Do you remember this room, Helen?” I ask, my voice low and maniacally. She gulps loudly, a small whimper eliciting in her throat. “The room where my husband fucked you for the first time and quite frankly, 

the last. 

“Mirabella…” Her voice shakes with tremor. 

I tsk, shaking my head at her in disapproval. “After what you’ve done, you do not deserve to address me “Please, I beg of you.” She moves to hold my hand, and Ares draws her backward, his eyes threatening. 

by my name.” 

“Why are you begging?” I inquire, my voice bored. “Because you’re a delusional bitch who has been spreading and believing lies about the paternity of her child? Or because you’re an evil bitch who has done nothing but try to ruin my marriage?” 

Tears escape her eyes. “For both, I’m begging you to forgive me for both. It was a mistake.” 

“It was not.” 1 deadpan. 

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“What?” 

“It was not a mistake; what you said about my husband being the father of your child. You cried, held my hand, made me feel guilty as a mother myself, and lied through your teeth when you knew that Matteo never touched you after the night I walked in on both of you. Who paid for your lies?” 

“No one.” She cries. 

“Helen, if I have to ask again—” 

She cut me off, her cry loudening. But the fear of exposing that information which dances in her eyes is all the answer I need. My father will go to any lengths to create a rift between my husband and I. And I wonder why. 

“I promise, I did that on my own. I wasn’t sent by anyone. Please have mercy on me.” Helen pleads more relentlessly. 

“It beats me,” I hum, seeming deep in thought. “The fact that you lied against my husband and he let it go. 

He let you go.” 

“It’s because he has become more humane. He wanted to do things to me the first time I made those claims, but when he let me go because he didn’t want my child growing up without a mother.” 

“Oh,” I tut. “It’s quite unfortunate that I am nothing like my husband.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means that your daughter will be well catered for. She’ll be sent to the best schools, live a luxurious life, be free to be whatever she wants. But all of this will be done without her mother.” 

“Mirabella…” 

“I am not as forgiving as my husband, darling. You should know that by now.” My lips curve into a smirk as I turn to face Ares. “Shall we get her to meet our little friends?” 

“I believe we should, boss.” Ares nods to our men who grabs Helen, dragging her out of the building. 

Her screams of protest echo, her pleas ring in so loud in my ears. I don’t waver in my decision. Because I realize now that I am as obsessed with my husband as he is with me; therefore, anyone who poses a threat to this marriage will be faced with the worst kind of death. 

Helen and my father will serve as scapegoats for those who bear the same intentions to see. 

When we arrive at the house of terror, myself and Ares make our way to the viewing station. Helen is pushed into the cage. She stumbles, looking around, crying. 

The speakers resonate with the voice of one of my men giving instructions on how the game is to be played. 

She’s yet to fully comprehend the instructions given to her when the tunnel pulls open. She falls on her ass before she’s able to see what is coming for her. 

Even I wonder what is coming for her. And when I hear the roar of my lioness, my lips spread into a grin. 

“She’s so done,” Ares snickers beside me. 

I nod in agreement. “She is. We should go, I don’t want to watch.” 

While we ride back to the hangar, Ares’s phone blares loudly, indicating an incoming call. 

He shows me the screen with a chuckle. I laugh, “you should take it.” 

He swipes the call icon to the green side and put the phone on loudspeaker. 

“Where the fuck is my wife?!” Matteo roars through the phone. 

“How am I supposed to know that information?” Ares asks, his tone sarcastic. 

My husband grunts from deep within his throat, his voice thick when he spits, “I swear to god, Alexandre Gambino, if you do not tell me where you’ve taken my wife this fucking minute, I will fuck you up in ways you never thought possible.” 

My eyes widen in shock. 

How the fuck did Maneo discover Arect real nawet 16100 Content from NôvelDr(a)ma.Org.

11:10 AM 

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Matteo growls. “First, I am not some friend of yours which makes you unworthy of addressing me by my name. Second, we are not of the same class both in society and in the world of crime, you could never sit at tables I have sat. And the fact that you have a friendship with my wife doesn’t allow you the right to speak to me casually. Third, I will ask this question one more time, but if I find the answer unsatisfying, your mother together with that rose garden of hers will be nothing but dust. Where the fuck is my wife?!” 

I snatch the phone from Ares’s hand, my blood boiling in rage. “You do not get to speak to my best friend that way, Matteo. How many times have I 

“Fucks sake, Mirabella…oh,” he groans, his breath shaky. He sounds like he’s just now able to breathe. “God, I’m so happy you’re safe. I was so fucking worried. I was at a point of tears. You’re coming home, yes?” 

Ares and I share a look. He nods at me, assuring me that he’s not offended by Matteo’s threats. I hold his hand, squeezing slightly. “I’m coming home, Matteo.” 

“Okay,” he breathes. “Tell Ares that I apologize for my rude tongue. And please make him understand that I’m a mad man without you by my side. See you soon, love.” 

The call beeps to an end. Ares snorts a laugh. I smack him on the shoulder. 

“He’s so insufferable,” I seethe. 

“He’s in love with an amazing woman,” Ares affirms. “I’d react the same if I woke up from sleep and cannot find the woman I love beside me. Especially with the kind of business we are all involved in.” 

I nod in understanding. 

My husband loves me–it’s not that I have doubts about his feeling towards me, but I love it when he does something reassuring. 

And when I get home, I’ll show him both in words and actions how much I love him too. 

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