chapter 3

Author's pov

"What are you trying to do, Teresa?" He sneered, his eyes blazing with fury. "Call the police? Think they can protect you from Lorenzo's wrath?"

As she struggled to her feet, her eyes locked on his, burning with a fierce determination. "I'll never give it to you," she spat, her voice venomous. "You'll have to kill me first."

"Oh no, Teresa, you're just a fool for drama!" he sneered, his eyes rolling with exasperation. "I don't want to kill you, even if Lorenzo asks me to. But I will take your money, the disc, and... "

His gaze roamed the room, searching for something to covet, and his eyes landed on the wine cellar. "Wow, Booker's Rye whiskey! My favorite!" He rushed to the cellar, pulling out the bottle with a flourish. "Let's celebrate our little transaction, Teresa!"

He poured two glasses, his excitement bubbling over like madness. "Come on, Teresa, join me!" He gestured with the glass, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's that bitch?" he snarled, trying to get up from the stool. But before he could take a step, Teresa walked in, a bag of money in her hand.

"Take it and get out of my apartment," she spat, her eyes blazing with contempt. "I won't give you the disc, so don't even bother asking."

The stranger's grin grew wider as he took the bag, his eyes gleaming with greed. "Oh, I'll take it all right," he said, his voice dripping with menace. "And I'll also take the disc. That's my main purpose here."

Teresa's fists clenched tightly, her hair flipping gently, the strain of it blowing across her face, giving her an uncomfortable pleasure. With a swift motion, she punched him across the chin, making him moan slowly.

"Hey, what was that for, you slut?" He rubbed his face, his anger palpable as he landed a punch on her nose, causing her to stagger back, blood gushing out and staining her clothes.

As he sipped his whiskey and turned to pack up the money and jewels, he felt a hard hit on his head. He turned to her, his eyes wide open, his gaze drifting to her hand, holding an empty whiskey bottle, the edge stained with his blood.

Teresa's face went pale as she backed away gradually, her eyes fixed on the knife in his hand. "You don't have to do this," she whispered, trying to reason with him.

But he was too far gone, his eyes blazing with fury. He lunged at her, grabbing her hair, and she struggled to break free. But he was too strong and too quick, and he stabbed her in the chest with a pair of knives, the blades sinking deep into her flesh.

Teresa's eyes bulged in terror, her mouth frozen in a silent scream as she crumpled to the ground, her life force flickering out like a dying flame. The stranger loomed over her, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes cold and empty as a snake's scales. He gazed at her body with a flicker of satisfaction before snatching the bag and bolting out the back door, dodging the CCTV cameras he had only partially disabled.

With a swift motion, he pressed his shirt against the gash on his head, stemming the bleeding as he fled the scene, leaving behind a trail of destruction. The silence was deafening; the only sound was the soft thud of his footsteps echoing through the hallway. She was fighting to crawl down to the landline, with blood dripping on the floor, paving the way for her.

Roberto's car screeched to a halt in Teresa's compound. He burst out of the vehicle, his eyes blazing with fury and his fists clenched so tightly that they seemed to tremble with restrained anger. He stormed towards the door, his footsteps echoing through the stillness, but just as he reached for the handle, his phone shrilled to life, shattering the tension.

He spun around, his eyes narrowing as he snatched the phone from his pocket. His mother's voice was laced with worry, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush. Roberto's expression darkened, his jaw clenched in a snarl. "What has he done now?" he growled, his voice dripping with venom.

Without another word, he flung himself back into the car, peeling out of the compound with a squeal of tires. His eyes fixed intently on the road ahead, his mind seething with a mix of anger and foreboding. The streets blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors as he sped towards his destination, his heart pounding in his chest like a drumbeat of doom.

The air was heavy with anticipation, the shadows cast by the fading light seeming to writhe and twist in agitation. Roberto's thoughts raced with dark imaginings, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel like a vice. What new chaos had his father unleashed? And what would be the cost of his wrath when he was the one at fault?

The mansion's grandeur was suddenly overshadowed by an eerie silence as if the walls were holding their breath. Cristiano's anger was replaced by a sense of dread; his eyes locked on the clock as if time itself were mocking him. 7:37 p.m.—a moment that would forever be etched in his memory.

The knock on the door shattered the stillness, and the room was electrified with tension. Cristiano's gaze met his wife's, then his son's, their eyes wide with fear. The clock seemed to tick away as if counting down to a fate that couldn't be escaped.

The door burst open, and six men in police uniforms strode in, their ID cards held high like a badge of authority. The bold letters on their shirts seemed to scream "police" in a deafening silence.

The leader's voice was firm and commanding: "Good day, Mr. Cristiano Morgan. You're under arrest for the death of Teresa Antonio."

The words hung in the air like a guillotine, ready to drop and seal Cristiano's fate. The room seemed to spin, and the once-mansion now felt like a prison, trapping him in a nightmare from which there was no escape.

The sound of handcuffs echoed through the hall as the offices led Cristiano out of the mansion.