ABSOLUTE INSANITY: A forbidden bond-Chapter 158: Desperate

Chapter 158: Desperate
Chapter 158
ROMEO POV
The air on the top floor of the house was typically sterile, silent, and thick with the scent of expensive polish.
Tonight, as the elevator doors whispered open, I dragged in the heavy, metallic stench of fresh blood and dry earth. It was almost midnight.
Below me, the last of the glittering façade of my forgotten engagement party was being dismantled.
I could hear the faint, muffled hum of the cleaning crew—a symphony of efficiency scrubbing away the public humiliation I’d made.
My dark suit, tailored a mere twelve hours ago, was now a wreck. The left shoulder was torn, the dark fabric stained crimson and slick with mud that had dried hard against the wool.
My knuckles were split, and my jaw ached from clenching it for four continuous hours. I should have been downstairs fake smiling at investors, receiving congratulations, and enduring the polite conversation of Marina Valerio’s father.
Instead, I had been waist-deep in a skirmish on the East Port docks—the one Antonio tried to reschedule.
The weapons shipment had been sabotaged. Not just intercepted, but actively ruined by a rival crew who clearly wanted to send a message.
They didn’t just want the crates; they wanted the blood of the men securing them. I had arrived late.
By the time I got there, the ambush was already fully underway, a chaotic, brutal slaughter under the harbor lights.
I didn’t lead the cleanup. I was the cleanup.
It was necessary. Strategic alliances could wait.
Immediate threats to the foundation of the empire could not. The feeling of physical violence—the sharp, clean break of bone, the warmth of spilled life, the absolute, undeniable clarity of survival was a Don role.
I reached my door and paused, my senses still buzzing from the fight. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.
I needed a shower. I needed to scrub the filth off my skin and the memory of their pathetic struggle out of my mind before I could face anyone and the paperwork that now surely dwarfed Mount Everest.
I reached for the handle, intending to bury myself in the black marble and steam of my private bathroom.
My head snapped up, focusing on Katya’s door.
Nothing. The corridor was dim. I frowned, dismissing it as fatigue. No one was ever on this floor unless they were invited, or unless they were her.
She was the one exception to the rule of order,
I opened my door, stepped inside, and dropped the heavy, damaged suit jacket onto the floor.
It hit the marble with a dull, wet thud that made me wince. I didn’t bother shutting the door with it’s lock. I just wanted to fall down and sleep. I was past exhaustion.
It felt like my bones were dissolving under the weight of the last four hours.I stripped off the ruined trousers, tossing them in the same heap.
Walking straight into the ensuite bathroom, the cold marble a welcome shock against my bare feet.
I didn’t even look at the mirror. I just wanted water. Hot. Burning. I turned the shower to full blast, then caught sight of the mask.
The expensive, molded leather one I used for public appearances—the one that covered the left side of my face, the ruined side.
I snatched it off, dropping it onto the sink counter. I was breathing hard, the steam already starting to fill the black marble space.
The heat was agonizing, glorious. It felt like it was cleaning the violence out of my veins. I leaned my head against the cool tile, letting the water hit the bruises and the cuts on my shoulder.
Antonio would be downstairs now. He would be facing the Valerios, giving the pre-arranged excuse. The Don was delayed by an unexpected, high-priority asset transfer.
He would announce the end of the party, ensuring everyone knew that while the Don didn’t show up.
I was scrubbing the grime and the dried blood off my chest, breathing hard, trying to slow the adrenaline that still raced through my body.
When I heard it. A small, almost tentative sound. Click.My head snapped up. The sound of the main bedroom door opening, making me freeze.
My mind, sharp from the fight, instantly registered the breach. No knock. Just entry. Only one person would be stupid or desperate enough to walk into my room at this hour, uninvited.
My nonna.
A cold, clean wave of fury cut through the exhaustion. She was forcing my hand. She was here now to give me a really unrequested opinion about my life and I don’t need it.
I cut the water abruptly, grabbed the nearest towel, wrapped it low around my waist, then reached for another, twisting it roughly over my wet hair and pulling it forward.
It wasn’t a enough to hid, but it did the job. It shadowed my forehead and covered the line of the scar, obscuring the upper half of my face just enough.
In nothing but a see through lingerie.
I ripped the bathroom door open and to my greatest surprise. It was Marina. She was sitting down on my fucking bed. In nothing but a see-through lingerie.
She was perfectly positioned against the dark, heavy duvet, her pale fabric catching the low ambient light of the room.
Her legs were crossed, one hand resting on the silk sheet. She looked up at me—wet, half-naked, and furious—and the flirtatious smile she gave me was utterly sickening.
"There you are, my husband," she purred, her voice soft and entirely too confident. "I was just getting comfortable. This evening has been so exhausting, hasn’t it?"
The audacity of it made the weariness vanish, replaced by a cold, immediate rage. She must be so stupid and desperate to be on my bed after me not showing up.
Her intention was clear here, to force the consummation, to bind the alliance in a way that signatures and contracts couldn’t undo.
She was here to solidify her status, using my bed as her final contract clause. And after I had just spent four hours covered in the blood of men who tried to tear my empire apart, this political coyness felt like an ultimate, unforgivable insult.
Why. That single, exhausted question echoed in my mind. Why would she still come when I didn’t even show up to the party?
Didn’t she understand rejection? Didn’t she understand humiliation? Was the a kink to hee.?
I didn’t spare a word. Talking would only invite negotiation. Talking would give her control.
I matched over to her, reaching the bedside in three strides, my gaze locked on the smug, calculating shine in her eyes.
I gripped her hand. Hard. It wasn’t a warning grip. It was a vise. Bone against bone.
Her smile instantly vanished.