My Boyfriend Sold Me to Bellandi—Too Bad I Was Bellandi’s Heiress Chapter 03

My Boyfriend Sold Me to Bellandi—Too Bad I Was Bellandi’s Heiress Chapter 03

Marco stared at me for a long time. Something shifted in his expression — scrutiny curdling into a sick kind of thrill.

“Holy shit. She’s a match. A dead ringer.”

His rough fingers dragged over my cheek.

“She’s identical. That portrait in the Don’s study — same face.”

Every muscle in my body locked. I forced my voice through my ruined throat. “You’re Marco? I’m—”

He hit me before I could finish. Harder than Ethan ever had.

My head snapped sideways. Blood ran down my chin.

“How do you know my name?”

Marco fisted my hair and wrenched my face up toward his.

“You’re collateral. You don’t get to say my name like we know each other.”

“No, listen — I’m really—”

“Shut up.” His hand closed around my throat.

“One more word, and I’ll cut your tongue out.”

The air disappeared. I clawed at his wrist with both hands, but my fingers had nothing left.

The Vales stood off to the side, barely breathing, those desperate smiles still plastered across their faces.

Ethan’s father cleared his throat. “Mr. Rossi, about the arrangement… maybe the Don would like to—”

“The Don’s upstairs. He sent me down to verify the merchandise.”

Marco let go and stood.

“This one’s got a mouth on her.”

He lit a cigarette, took a slow drag, and crouched back down. The ash he tapped off landed on my cheek.

“You should be grateful you’ve got that face.”

“But don’t forget what you are. You’re a payment. That’s it.”

He tilted my face up with two fingers.

“The Don doesn’t like anyone mentioning his ghost. When he walks in, keep your head down and your mouth shut. Know your place.”

I couldn’t stop coughing. Tears streaked through the mess on my face.

“I’m telling you the truth… I’m Don Bellandi’s niece — please—”

“You got a death wish?”

Marco’s face twisted, and he drove his foot into my stomach.

I folded in half. It felt like everything inside me got knocked loose.

“You think I don’t know who the Don’s family is?”

“You’ll say anything to claw your way into the syndicate, won’t you?”

He jerked his chin at one of his men.

“Get me a bottle.”

One of them produced a bottle of vodka within seconds.

Marco cracked the cap, pried my jaw open, and tipped the bottle into my mouth.

The vodka hit like liquid fire. I gagged and choked, the overflow pouring down my chin and soaking through my clothes.

“Drink.” He tipped the bottle higher. “All of it.”

His face was pure menace.

“Run your mouth in front of the Don, and I’ll send you to the brothel rings. See how fast you learn to behave down there.”

He didn’t stop until more than half the bottle was gone.

I collapsed sideways, dry heaving. My throat was raw, shredded. I couldn’t have strung a full sentence together if my life depended on it.

Even Ethan was starting to look uneasy. “Mr. Rossi, what if she can’t talk when the Don gets here…”

“Better if she can’t.”

Marco cut him a look.

“Saves her from saying something stupid.”

He crouched over me and took my right hand.

“Pretty fingers.”

Ice shot through my veins.

“Real shame.”

He smiled. Then he bent my index finger backward until it broke.

The snap was loud enough to echo off the walls. The sound that ripped out of me didn’t sound human.

“That’s one.”

He said it the way someone counted reps at the gym.

“I’ve got nine more if you don’t fall in line.”

My whole body was shaking. Tears, snot, blood — I couldn’t tell where one ended and another began.

“The Boss is coming down.” The man by the door said it like a warning.

Marco straightened up instantly, tugging his jacket smooth. The menace vanished from his face like someone had flipped a switch.

The Vales scrambled to their feet, heads down, hands folded in front of them.

The door opened. A man filled the frame.

Black coat, sharp features carved from something colder than skin. The kind of presence that changed the air in the room.

My uncle. Don Bellandi.

His eyes swept the room once, and his brow creased.

“What the hell happened in here?”

Marco moved forward quickly. “Don, they’re here to settle a marker. They brought a tribute—”

“I’ve told you. Don’t bring trash into my sanctuary.”

His voice could have frosted glass.

“Clean this up.”

He turned to leave.

No. Don’t go.

I threw everything I had left into moving.

My legs gave out immediately. I hit the floor again.

My throat wouldn’t give me anything. Not a word, not a sound.

His footsteps didn’t slow.

Desperation took over. I clawed at the chain around my neck — my mother’s necklace — and ripped it free.

With my left hand — the only one that still worked — I hurled it across the floor toward him.

Metal hit marble. The sound rang out, sharp and clear.

His footsteps stopped.

He looked down.

The Bellandi crest. A pendant he’d designed himself for my mother’s twentieth birthday.

One of a kind. The only one ever made.

His head snapped toward me.

His eyes went from the necklace on the floor to my face — the tears, the bruises, the blood.

Something behind his eyes shattered.

And then he said my name. My full name. His voice barely holding together.

“Elena Bellandi.”