ABSOLUTE INSANITY: A forbidden bond-Chapter 163: Pure evil.

Chapter 163: Pure evil.
Chapter 163
NONNA POV (Hehe)
The morning sun was too bright for a house shrouded in such dark shadows. I sat by the window of my private chambers, my fingers tracing the cold glass.
Below, in the gardens, the dew was still clinging to the roses, but my mind was stuck in the humid, suffocating atmosphere of last night’s ballroom.
The silence of my room was a heavy weight. My grandson had not shown up to his own engagement.
I sighed, a sound that felt like it carried the weight of the entire Salvatore lineage. I felt the sharp sting of guilt.
I was trying one to be blamed. Me, the one who had emotional blackmailed him into thinking about marriage.
Even though I wasn’t the one who picked his bride or this alliance with the valerio. I was still to be blamed for not going to meet him in private to ask if he was truly happy.
If he truly wanted to marry. I should have known this boy didn’t care about such things, should have known that this marriage was still for business because how would he had bring a bride so soon after how many weeks of me asking?
And as I’d watched the empty space beside Marina Valerio last night, I realized I had only brought him a different kind of war.
I don’t want him to be in a marriage that is loveless, I thought, closing my eyes. I remembered his grandfather. We had nothing in common.
He only respected me as his wife but didn’t love me. We didn’t have any bond but just out kid together.
And now Romeo? Romeo treated his upcoming marriage like a shipment of narcotics—a business deal to be managed, a contract to be signed in blood and forgotten in a boardroom.
I wanted his happiness, but my boy was choosing a crown of thorns. I turned away from the window. I shouldn’t just watch my child get into tat kind of marriage.
I needed to go see Marina and ask. Needed to know if she truly wanted to be with Romeo, or if she was as cold and calculating as the men in her family.
If there was even a spark of affection there, perhaps I could coax it out. I could advise her on how to handle a man like my grandson—a man who lived in the shadows and built walls higher than the Vatican’s.
I reached for the wheels of my chair, my joints stiff but my mind sharp. Marina had been given my old room.
It was in the same wing, just a few doors down, but in this house, a few doors could feel like miles. I wheeled myself toward the door, my heart heavy.
I wanted to apologize for Romeo’s absence last night. I wanted to play the role of the comforting grandmother, to tell her that the Don’s life was difficult, but that a wife could be the anchor.
I opened my door and began the short journey down the hall. The morning staff bowed their heads as I passed.
But as I drew closer to the heavy doors of Marina’s new residence suite, I stopped my chair, my brow furrowing.
A sound was leaking through the thick wood. It was sharp—a rhythmic, whistling crack followed by a heavy thud.
And then, a sound that made the blood in my veins turn to sludge. A wail. High-pitched, broken, and filled with a raw, primal agony that no one should ever have to feel.
That wasn’t the sound of a woman preparing for a wedding. That was the sound of a soul being shredded.
"Marina" I whispered, the name catching in my throat. What was happening to her?
I pushed the double doors open with a strength I didn’t know my aged arms still possessed.
The scent hit me first—cloying peppermint perfume and the iron tang of fresh blood.
Stopping me dead on my track as I lay eyes on what was happening in this room. I saw a maid first, her black-and-white uniform a blur as she raised a dark, polished cane high above her head.
I saw Marina, sitting on the edge of the bed like a queen on a throne, her eyes wide with a manic, terrifying hunger as she watched the floor.
And then I saw the floor. My little shadow. My quiet companion. Katya was curled in a ball, her cloths torn, her back a map of red, weeping fire.
She was biting her lip so hard the blood was chin-deep, her eyes glazed with a pain that had gone beyond screaming.
"What is this?" I didn’t recognize my own voice. The kindness I had prepared, the advice I wanted to give, the "coaxing"—it all evaporated, replaced by a cold, ancient fury
Marina snapped her head toward me. For a second, she tried to fix her face, tried to pull the mask of the "grieved fiancée" back on.
"Nonna! You... you’re early," she stammered, standing up quickly. "I was just—this girl, she was disrespectful. She needs to know the hierarchy of her new mistress."
The air in the room became electrified with a tension so thick it was hard to breathe.
Marina’s words—hierarchy, mistress—were the final sparks in the powder keg of my patience.
"Mistress?" I echoed, the Italian words coming out of my mouth like shards of glass.
"In this house, the only mistress is the one who carries the Salvatore name with honor. You carry it like a weapon for your own petty spite!"
Everything happened in a chaotic blur after that. Marina stepped toward me, her face contorting, her voice rising in a harsh, jagged Italian as she tried to defend her "right" to discipline the staff.
She was shouting about alliances, about her father, about the disrespect she had endured at the party.
I didn’t let her finish. I reached up from my chair, the strength of my ancestors fueling my arm, and delivered a slap so resonant it silenced the room.
Her head snapped to the side, her perfect hair finally coming undone. "Silence!" I hissed. I didn’t have time for her. I didn’t have time for her father or her bruised ego.
I turned my chair away from her, my heart breaking as I looked back at the girl on the rug. Katya was bleeding so much.
The cream carpet was ruined, soaked in a deep, dark red that seemed to pulse with every shallow breath she took.
"Katya," I whispered, my voice trembling with a worry. "Katya, child, look at me." The girl’s eyes rolled back in her head.
Her body gave one final, violent shiver before she went limp. She had fainted.
The pain had finally been too much for her spirit to carry."You!" I shrieked, my head snapping toward the corner where the maid stood cowering.
"Move, you useless girl! Go bring a guard—now! Tell them we need to get her to the infirmary immediately!" The maid scrambled, dropping the cane as if it had turned into a snake. She bolted through the doors, her footsteps frantic.
I ignored Marina entirely. She was standing there, clutching her red cheek, looking at me with a mixture of hatred and shock, but to me, she had become invisible.
She was a ghost, a mistake I would deal with later. Right now, there was only the girl. I leaned as far forward as my chair allowed, my hand hovering over Katya’s shoulder, terrified that even a gentle touch would cause more damage.
The heavy thud of boots sounded in the hallway. A guard ran into the room, his eyes widening as he took in the carnage.
"Pick her up!" I commanded him, my voice leaving no room for hesitation. "Carefully! To the infirmary! If she stops breathing before we get there, it will be your head!"
The guard didn’t say a word. He scooped her up, and I winced as her head fell back, her blood staining his uniform instantly. I wheeled my chair around, following them out into the hall.
I didn’t look back at the room. I didn’t look at the shattered "Donna" standing by the bed. We moved toward the elevator in a grim procession—the guard carrying the broken girl and me, the Matriarch, following behind like a shadow.
As the elevator doors hissed shut, I looked at Katya’s pale, blood-streaked face and made a silent vow.
Marina Valerio would never spend another night under this roof.