Elina's kick was savage, a desperate, feral thrust of her leg aimed violently at his face, an attempt to dislodge the suffocating weight of the heavy body that pinned her down.
"Get off me, you son of a bitch! Get the fuck off!" Her shriek was ripped from her throat amidst the ragged gasps of her drugged stupor.
He rose from the impact of the blow as if it were a mere fly, utterly indifferent to the blood already welling from his split lip. He wiped it away with the edge of his thumb in a slow, deliberate motion, and then smiled. It was a cold, unnerving smirk, devoid of a single flicker of remorse.
"Hmph. You know, I've always adored this side of you, Elina. That audacity, that defiance, that unreachable nature... But enough games now."
He slammed her back down with renewed, punishing force, his weight crushing her until her bones felt close to shattering. She writhed beneath his grip, fighting with a futile, desperate savagery, even as the anaesthetic fog continued to creep thick and heavy inside her brain.
His hand moved slowly, calculatingly, before he tore her shirt to shreds, the cheap fabric giving way to reveal a vibrant, scarlet-red bra and the heaving, tempting swell of her breasts beneath.
He stared down at the sight with a consuming, predatory hunger—a craving that seemed insatiable. Then, he lowered his head to the bared skin, burying his face between the curves of her chest.
"Hmmmm, I have craved this feeling, my Elena, my love, my property... Can you feel this?"
Abruptly, he sensed her strange stillness. She had stopped struggling. He lifted himself, looking at her, and was met with a harsh, challenging smirk. That was when he noticed the sound of rapid footsteps drawing near. He turned, and before he could react, a fist like a granite block crashed into his face, dropping him to the floor in a single, definitive strike.
Elina looked toward Luca. The veins on his neck and arms were taut, transforming him into a rigid statue of contained fury.
He fixed his gaze on her, then at her near-naked body, and let out a scorching, heavy exhalation. He tore off his leather jacket with lightning speed and draped it over her trembling form.
"There's a knife in the inner pocket. Do me a favor and free yourself from those restraints, then cover up properly. We will discuss this reckless stunt of yours later."
She replied with a sudden, strange obedience mingled with terror. His words were a veiled threat, a promise of hell deferred. As she returned to the task of freeing herself, he viciously stripped off his silk tie and wrapped it around his fist with the lethal precision of a killer.
He stood over Frédérick, who was weakly attempting to get up, towering over him with patent arrogance.
"Are you the man they call her husband, you filthy degenerate?" Frédérick barely managed to snarl, anticipating a verbal fight.
Luca did not afford him that courtesy. He kicked him directly in the face with a force that sent his molar teeth flying out like scattered pebbles. He hauled him up by his thinning hair.
"Hah... I'll kill..." Frédérick couldn't finish the sentence before one blow followed another. Luca struck relentlessly, devolving into a mindless machine of pure violence. His eyes became two dark, horrifying voids, completely devoid of light or mercy.
Elina stopped working on her restraints and watched, detached and cold.
Luca finally stood up, looking at her as he meticulously rolled up the cuffs of his blood-splattered shirt.
"Didn't I tell you to get out of those goddamn restraints? Enzo will be here soon. Or do you prefer to show off your breasts to him as well?" he roared, his voice dangerously low and muffled with rage.
She dared not provoke his anger further or challenge his sudden, terrifying authority. She quickly returned to unlocking the last of her bindings.
While she worked, Luca seized Frédérick, dragging him violently, and began to repeatedly smash his head against the wall. Blow after brutal blow. The young man's nose became a veritable cascade of running blood.
He could no longer move. In one last, vicious gesture, Luca tossed him to the floor like a sack of rubbish, then turned and approached Elina, who had just freed herself and was wearing his jacket without zipping it.
Luca violently threw the jacket open, indifferent to her half-bare body beneath, and reached for the inner pocket.
"What are you doing?" she asked with an unnerving calm.
He finally pulled it out: a sharp surgical scalpel. "I found it."
She replied with undisguised curiosity:
"What will you do with that?"
He offered no answer. Instead, he calmly and deliberately zipped the jacket up over her, concealing her from view, and then returned to the fallen man.
He lifted Frédérick's head and plunged the scalpel with savage force into his right eye.
"I would have killed him if his death wasn't going to cause a diplomatic shitstorm. For now, I'll settle for an eye. If he tries it again,
I'll take the other one," Luca stated, his eyes blazing with fury as he stared at the old man standing by the door—the silent witness who dared not interfere.
He bent towards Elina and lifted her in his usual, crude fashion, like a sack of potatoes thrown over his shoulder. She groaned in pain.
"Ouch! Can you put me down? This way you carry me is annoying!"
His irritation was palpable, his silence the only response. But he did set her down. Then, he picked her up again, this time properly, cradling her against his chest.
"Wait."
He ignored her and continued moving. But she struggled slightly.
"I said, wait!"
He sighed with weary impatience. "What now?"
"Sofia. She's here somewhere."
He walked on, his answer calm and completely detached, as if discussing the weather:
"She's with Enzo. Don't worry."
Elina watched his movements. She chose not to make things worse. The bodies of guards were strewn here and there; pools of blood stained the floor of the mansion. They finally reached the car.
He gently placed her inside and sat beside her, while Sofia, her friend, was already in the passenger seat next to Enzo.
The atmosphere was suffocating, truly. There was little left to say.
"Removing the chip was an imbecilic move." He spoke calmly, breaking the heavy silence.
She felt a flush of shame, realizing he had just saved her despite her removing the tracker.
"I said from the beginning I didn't like it."
"Fine. I won't force you to keep it. But you will inform me of your whereabouts from this day forward. I need to know where, when, who, and with whom... Do you hear me?"
Enzo, who was watching the scene in the rearview mirror, replied instead:
"She's asleep, Luca."
"What?"
Luca finally turned and faced her. She was soundly asleep inside his jacket, safe and oblivious, as if he had been speaking to a stone. Up front, Sofia and Enzo struggled, barely managing to stifle their snorts of laughter.
"Hahaha, you two are hilarious. Do you find this funny?"
Enzo instantly replied: "Extremely." His laughter grew louder.
Minutes later, they arrived at her grandmother's house.
"Well then, Signor Luca. Carry your wife and put her in her bed. I cannot carry her." Sofia said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She handed him the key and added: "I'll take off on my own from here. You take care of her."
Luca had no retort. He accepted without argument.
He opened the door slowly, ensuring no sound was made, and tip-toed through the darkness, carrying the sleeping Elina carefully in his arms.
"Welcome back, my dear son-in-law." A sharp voice cut through the darkness.
He froze.
Suddenly, the light flipped on, revealing the Grandmother seated in the center of the living room, her hands clasped in anger, one leg crossed imperiously over the other.
Fuck, I'm dead, Luca thought internally.
"Did I not tell you not to see the bride until the wedding? Do you have an explanation as to where the two of you were after midnight?"