Sold to the Capo-Chapter 125: THE DEVIL WEARS MY FATHER’S FACE

ADRIANA’S POV

Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to blink, refused to look away. My heart was hammering so loudly that it drowned out the chaos behind me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

"...Dad?" My voice barely came out, just a whisper laced with disbelief.

The man standing before me—Lord Rossi—looked like my father, but at the same time, he didn’t. He was older, harsher, his eyes devoid of the warmth I once knew. There was nothing soft in his expression, nothing familiar except the face itself.

But that was impossible.

I had spent years—half my life—searching for this man. Crying over him. Begging for him. And now... now he was here?

I took a shaky step forward, my trembling fingers lifting as if to touch his face, to prove he was real. "Dad, it’s me," I choked out. "It’s—"

Before I could finish, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist so tightly that pain flared up my arm. My breath hitched.

"What the fuck is this, Julius?" His voice was sharp, cold, like steel slicing through my skin. "Why isn’t she tied down?"

Julius scoffed, stepping up behind me. "She got free. The bitch was about to run."

Rossi’s grip tightened, and I winced. He turned to Julius with an expression of pure irritation. "I give you one fucking job, and you can’t even handle a goddamn woman?"

I flinched at the venom in his tone. Julius didn’t seem to care. He just smirked and shrugged. "I was having fun."

Lord Rossi sneered before his gaze flickered back to me, and for the first time, I realized... there was no recognition in his eyes.

This wasn’t the father I remembered. This wasn’t the man I had loved, missed, and suffered for.

This was a monster.

And I had been a fool.

My chest tightened as he yanked me forward roughly, dragging me back toward the chair. I struggled, but his grip was like iron, unyielding.

"Let go of me," I hissed, fighting against the burn in my wrist.

"Shut up," he snapped, shoving me down onto the chair.

Pain exploded through my side, but I barely felt it over the numb horror sinking into my bones.

"Why?" My voice cracked as he tied my wrists back together, this time tighter, almost cutting off my circulation. "Why are you doing this? You’re my—"

"Don’t," he cut me off, his tone disgusted. "Don’t you dare call me that."

I inhaled sharply, my throat closing.

"Rossi," Julius called lazily from the side. "She’s been annoying as hell, but now you can handle her however you like."

Rossi finally stepped back, his cold gaze sweeping over me. "Handle her?" He chuckled, the sound void of humor. "She’s not worth handling."

A lump formed in my throat.

The words—so dismissive, so cruel—sliced through me like a blade.

Not worth handling.

Was that all I had ever been to him? Just something to discard?

I clenched my fists, fighting the sting of tears in my eyes. No. No, I wouldn’t cry. Not for him. Not anymore.

I turned my head, searching for Vincenzo. He was still bound, still bleeding, but his entire body was shaking with rage. His eyes—filled with something I couldn’t place—were locked on Rossi.

"Vincenzo..." I whispered.

He didn’t look at me. Instead, his gaze stayed on my father, his teeth gritted as he said, "You knew."

My blood turned ice cold.

I blinked, the words echoing in my head. "What?"

Vincenzo finally looked at me, and the guilt there... it was enough to steal the breath from my lungs.

"You knew?" My voice rose, disbelief and betrayal intertwining in my chest like poison.

He didn’t answer.

And that was enough.

A choked sob burst from my throat. He had known. The whole time. He had known my father was alive, and he never told me. He never fucking told me.

Julius whistled, amused. "Damn, Enzo. That’s some cold shit."

I felt like I was going to be sick.

But before I could say anything, before I could demand an explanation, Rossi stepped forward, his voice bored. "Enough of this nonsense."

And then—before I could react—he snapped his fingers.

Pain exploded in my ears as a bat slammed into Vincenzo’s ribs.

I screamed.

He coughed, his body jerking against the restraints, blood spilling from his lips.

"No!" I thrashed against the ropes, my vision blurring with panic. "Stop! Stop, please!"

But they didn’t stop.

Terror paralyzed me. I could hear my own breath—ragged, uneven—as I stared at the man who had once been my father.

Lord Rossi.

He looked at me with nothing but cold amusement, his lips twitching in a smirk as he adjusted the cuffs of his bloodstained sleeves.

"You’re quiet, Adriana," he mused. "I thought you’d have more to say."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

He wasn’t real. This wasn’t real.

But the pain in my wrists, the ache in my body, the metallic scent of blood in the air—all of it told me otherwise.

And then I heard it again.

A wet, choking sound.

I turned my head just in time to see a fist crash into Vincenzo’s face, sending blood and saliva flying.

"No!" I screamed, but Julius—who had thrown the punch—just shook out his knuckles, grinning.

"Damn, Enzo," he laughed, circling him. "I thought you were supposed to be a big, bad Capo. But you’re barely even fighting back."

Vincenzo groaned, his head lolling forward, blood dripping from his split lip. He was tied to a metal chair now, his wrists bound behind him, his ankles shackled to the floor.

But his eyes—though dazed—were still filled with fire.

Julius tsked. "Still got some fight in you, huh?" He turned to Rossi. "What do you think? Should we have a little fun before we kill him?"

Lord Rossi smirked. "By all means."

My heart slammed against my ribs. "Please," I choked, struggling against the ropes binding me to my own chair. "Please don’t do this."

Julius turned toward me, his brow raised in mock surprise. "Don’t do what, sweetheart? This?"

And then, without hesitation, he picked up a metal rod from the table beside him—one of the many weapons neatly laid out like instruments.

He twirled it between his fingers before the rod slammed into Vincenzo’s ribs.

Vincenzo clenched his jaw, his muscles going rigid.

"Come on," Julius taunted, striking again. "Make some noise for us."

Vincenzo exhaled through gritted teeth, refusing to scream.

Julius sighed. "Still holding out? Alright, let’s turn up the heat."

He tossed the rod aside and grabbed a small blowtorch from the table.

"No," I whispered, my chest tightening with panic.

He flicked the flame to life, the blue fire dancing ominously in the dim light.

"You know," Julius mused, bringing the fire close to Vincenzo’s exposed forearm, "they say the worst kind of burn isn’t just about the heat."

Vincenzo’s muscles tensed.

Julius grinned. "It’s about the waiting."

And then, without warning, he pressed the flame to Vincenzo’s skin.

Vincenzo’s entire body jerked, his teeth grinding so hard I thought they might shatter.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air, sharp and nauseating.

"Stop it!" I sobbed, pulling against my restraints.

Julius held the flame there for a few agonizing seconds before pulling it away. A fresh, raw burn mark sizzled on Vincenzo’s forearm, the skin blistering almost instantly.

Vincenzo still didn’t scream but his eyes had reddened and he was tense, his nails digging into his skin.

Julius let out an impressed whistle. "Damn. You’re tougher than I thought."

He turned back to Vincenzo and picked up a pair of pliers from the table.

My breath caught in my throat. "No—"

Julius ignored me. He grabbed Vincenzo’s hand and pried his fingers apart.

Vincenzo snarled, struggling, but he was too weak.

Julius grinned. "Let’s see how much you really love her."

And then—with one sharp tug, he ripped out Vincenzo’s fingernail.

Vincenzo’s entire body jerked violently, his breath catching in his throat. His fists clenched, his knuckles white, but he still didn’t scream.

Blood dripped from his fingertip onto the floor.

I gagged, bile rising in my throat.

Julius whistled. "Damn. Still not screaming? You’re really making this boring."

I sobbed. "Please! Please stop!"

Julius grinned. "Fine. Let’s switch it up."

He grabbed a knife next.

I watched in horror as he dragged the blade across Vincenzo’s chest, slowly, deliberately, carving deep, precise lines into his skin.

Vincenzo gritted his teeth, his body trembling as fresh blood dripped down his torso.

"Rossi," Julius mused, glancing back at my father, "you sure we can’t just kill him already?"

Rossi smirked. "Not yet."

Vincenzo gritted his teeth through all of it, refusing to scream, refusing to give them the satisfaction. But the more he took, the more I broke.

I sobbed. I begged. I pleaded.

Nothing.

"Rossi," Julius called out over the sickening sound of fists meeting flesh. "You sure you don’t wanna kill him yet?"

My father—if I could even call him that anymore—smirked, pulling out his gun. "Oh, I do want him dead."

Vincenzo lifted his bloodied face, his lips curling into a weak, mocking smile. "Then do it."

Lord Rossi cocked his head. "Not yet."

I barely heard my own whimper. My head felt too light, my body too weak. I had screamed until my throat was raw, but nothing worked.

Vincenzo was barely conscious now. His breathing was ragged, his body slumped, but his eyes... they still burned with defiance.

Lord Rossi stared at him for a long moment, then turned to me.

His expression shifted. It was... amused.

Oh no.

"I think," he mused, "we should let my little girl decide."

I froze. "W-What?"

And then—before I could react—he pulled out another gun.

He stepped forward, grabbed my bound wrists, and cut me loose.

I gasped, my fingers trembling as I rubbed at my raw skin, confused.

But the confusion turned to sheer horror when he pressed the gun into my hands.

"What..." My voice cracked. "What is this?"

Rossi smirked. "If you want him to live, Adriana, then you do it."

The world stopped.

Vincenzo barely lifted his head, blood dripping from his lip as he whispered, "Adriana... Tesoro...."

Tears streamed down my face, my body shaking so hard I could barely breathe.

"You love him, right?"Lord Rossi tilted his head, mockingly gentle. "Then put him out of his misery."

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t breathe.

Vincenzo—bleeding, broken, barely alive—looked at me, and for the first time, he looked afraid. Not for himself. For me.

And I realized...

This was never about killing him.

It was about breaking him.

Breaking us.

"Go on, sweetheart." Lord Rossi leaned in, his voice low. "Pull the trigger."

The gun felt like fire in my hands.

And for the first time in my life... I didn’t know what to do.