The Slave of Pleasure
Chapter 94

Rachel

The entrance to the mansion was filled with a thick, almost suffocating silence as I watched Vincenzo stare at the man kneeling before him. That icy gaze he gave the shooter sent a chill down my spine, and for a brief moment, it seemed as if he could see right into the man's very soul, as if he were one step away from discovering all his secrets, just by the force of his presence.

"I'll ask you once, and only once," Vincenzo said, his voice low and dangerous. "Who sent you?"

The shooter, instead of showing any sign of intimidation, let out a bitter, mocking laugh. He slowly raised his head, staring at Vincenzo with a defiant gaze. "What is this, Vincenzo? All this acting to make me believe you were really going to shoot me?" He gave a cynical smile, his lips curled in audacious contempt. "That's not the Vincenzo I knew."

A shock wave hit me at those words. Did they know each other? Vincenzo and the shooter? This couldn't be a coincidence. As much as a part of me was certain that Veronica was behind this attack, now things were starting to take a much darker and more complex turn. Vincenzo stood still, his face expressionless, but I could see the line of his jaw tense, a subtle sign that the shooter's words had struck a nerve.

"I'll ask you one last time," Vincenzo repeated, his voice still firm but with a dangerous intensity. He kept his eyes fixed on the man in front of him, each word coming out as if cut from the cold. But before he could continue, the shooter smiled again, shaking his head dismissively.

"Listen, Vincenzo," he said mockingly, "there's no point in trying to play the hero for her sake." His eyes flicked to me for a brief second, a look full of malice, as if he knew exactly what he was doing by provoking Vincenzo. "You and I both know this isn't the real you."

Before I could even process the implications of that, Vincenzo moved with the precision of a knife strike. His hand flew toward the shooter's face, and the sound of impact echoed through the mansion's entrance like a whiplash. The shooter swayed from the blow, his face jerking to the side, but Vincenzo's bodyguards kept him upright, their fists clamped around the man's shoulders to keep him from falling.

The shooter licked his lip, and a small smile appeared at the corners of his mouth, as if he were enjoying himself. "There he is," he whispered, low enough for only us to hear, but the words carried brutal weight. "This is Vincenzo Morette. Veronica's executioner."

My mind whirled. Executioner? What did that mean? What kind of role did he play with Veronica? What did this man know about Vincenzo that I didn't already know? And how could Vincenzo have been such a terrible thing to be remembered as? I watched him, my heart pounding against my chest so hard it felt like he could hear it. The shooter turned his gaze to Vincenzo, mockery dripping from his expression. "Come on, drop that gun," he challenged, his smile widening. "Show me how you used to do it before you went soft and melted because of it." Vincenzo barely hesitated. He handed the gun to the guard, his eyes still fixed on the shooter, every movement controlled but filled with a quiet anger. It was as if the entire moment was shrouded in judgment. "Okay, let's go..." he said, his voice low, before he began to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt with deadly calm. I squirmed, my eyes glued to him as he began to pull off his shirt, his every move charged with an electric tension that seemed to threaten to shatter everything around us. He was preparing for something I could barely comprehend, and my mind screamed at me to do something to stop it, to stop what was about to happen. "Vincenzo, no!" My voice came out loud, breaking the heavy silence that hung between us. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, but his expression remained unchanged, as if he was determined to keep going, no matter what I said or did.

Before I could take another step, the security guard next to me grabbed my arm, trying to restrain me. But I broke free, desperate, running toward Vincenzo as the security guard tried to hold me back again. I knew I couldn't let this go on. There was something deeper and more dangerous about this man that I didn't yet understand, and the fear of what he was capable of doing gripped my heart.

The sprint took me to the bottom step of the stairs, where Vincenzo stood, straight and intimidating, staring down the shooter who was now standing, the security guards still holding him by the arms. The man, however, did not seem intimidated, the smile remaining on his lips. He looked at the guards, as if he was enjoying every second of this confrontation.

"Let him go," Vincenzo ordered the guards, his voice as sharp as sharp blades. The men hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances, but they complied, releasing the shooter's arms and stepping back.

I watched in shock, my heart racing and thoughts swirling in my mind. Vincenzo handed the pistol to the nearest guard, his eyes never leaving the shooter, and then began rolling up his sleeves, as if he were preparing for a physical confrontation.

"Okay, let's settle this the old-fashioned way," he muttered, taking a step closer to the shooter.

I was one step away from screaming again, from throwing myself between them if I had to, but I knew that any move I made could add fuel to the fire. The shooter was smiling, the smile of someone who knew he was getting the best of Vincenzo, and it fueled him.

"Vincenzo!" I screamed again, desperation and fear filling my voice. He finally looked at me, and for a brief moment, I saw something in his eyes-a hesitation, perhaps, a glimmer of reason. But it passed as quickly as it had come, and he turned back to the shooter.

The shooter laughed. "Come on, Vincenzo. Show me that you're still the man I knew. Or are you too weak now?"

Vincenzo didn't answer, just took another step forward, his shoulders tense, his eyes shining with deadly intensity. He was on the brink of something dangerous, and the fear of losing control and destroying everything we'd built together washed over me with overwhelming force.

I knew I had to act, even if I wasn't sure how.