My Husband Sold Me To The Mafia King Who Turned Out To Be My Daddy Chapter 06
Top floor of a private hospital. Outside the VIP surgical suite.
The hallway is packed. Wall to wall with men in black. The air itself feels heavy. Like it’s pressing down on your chest.
My dad’s pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Eyes bloodshot. Fists white-knuckled at his sides.
Inside the OR, seven or eight of the top surgeons in the city are working on me. Sweating. Fast hands.
“Miss Whitmore — the face. It’s deep. Too deep. We have to close it now.”
He glances down.
“The thigh. Christ. That shard almost hit the artery.”
Then my hand.
“And the fingers. The bones are gone, ma’am. Completely shattered. We’re gonna need steel pins.”
The lead surgeon’s holding the syringe. His hand is shaking.
“When we start pulling the glass? Ma’am, it’s gonna be bad. Real bad.”
“I’m putting you under—”
“No general. Local’s fine.”
I cut him off. Ice cold.
“Miss Whitmore, that’s really not—”
“I said local. Do it. Shut up and stitch.”
I snap it out.
I need to stay awake. I need to feel every second of this. Every drop of pain today — those two are paying it back to me a thousand times over.
The scalpel splits my skin. Tweezers dig through the raw meat of my thigh, hunting glass.
The needle punches through my cheek. Skin dragging. Screws driving into the broken bones in my fingers.
I bite down on the gauze. Hard. Sweat soaks me. My nails carve half-moons into my palms.
Not a sound.
Outside the door, my dad hears the silence. He knows I didn’t take the general. He knows I’m awake for all of it.
He can’t take it anymore.
He spins around and puts his fist through the wall.
“Dig! Every last detail! I want to know exactly what my daughter has been living through in that Sinclair house for three years!”
Two hours later. Surgery’s done.
A dozen stitches down my face. Bandages thick and white.
Right hand in a cast. Thigh wrapped. My face the color of paper.
The surgeon comes out mopping sweat off his forehead. Reports to my dad. Terrified.
“Mr. Whitmore. She’s stable.”
“But the thigh — it’s bad, sir. There may be permanent nerve damage.”
“And her fingers… she won’t be lifting anything heavy again. Ever.”
My dad’s face goes purple.
He kicks a trash can across the room. The doctor jumps back three feet.
The door opens. Dad walks in. Eyes red-rimmed. Careful. Like I might shatter.
“Cora. Baby. How you feeling? Does it still hurt?”
I don’t look at him.
I stare at the ceiling. My first words are five flat, cold ones.
“Where is Damon Sinclair?”
Dad freezes. Something dark flickers in his eyes.
“Chained up. Basement of the estate. Don’t worry. Daddy’s not letting them off easy. Once you’re healed—”
“I want to see him. Now. Wheel me down there. I want to watch.”
Dad opens his mouth. He wants to talk me out of it. Then he swallows it all down. Nods.
Half an hour later. Basement of the Whitmore estate.
The iron door swings open. The smell hits me first. Blood. Sweat. Piss. Shit.
Under the dim light, three shapes hang from the wall. Chained. Damon. Vivian. Serena.
A few hours with my dad’s men. That’s all it took.
Serena’s finished. God knows how many ribs are broken. She’s a heap of raw meat on the floor. Barely breathing.
Damon’s stripped to his boxers. Not one inch of skin left untouched. Whip marks everywhere.
Vivian’s mascara is running down her face. A whole patch of hair torn out. Her dress in shreds. She’s shaking in the corner.
The second Damon hears my wheels roll in, he lifts his swollen face.
His eyes lock on me.
Then he moves.
Dragging himself across the floor by the chains. Like a worm.
“Cora! Baby! Oh my God, you came!”
He crawls to my feet. Slams his forehead against the concrete. Over and over. Blood pours down his face in seconds.
“Baby, I was wrong! I know I was wrong!”
“Three years — we were married for three years!”
“Please. Talk to your dad. Get him to let me live.”
“I’m your husband!”
Husband.
I look down at him from the wheelchair. Watching him grovel like a dog.
I laugh out loud. Cold.
“Husband? Damon. When you were auctioning my body off to a mob boss to impress your little side piece — did you remember you were my husband?”
“When you held my hand down so that woman could crush my fingers under her heel — did you remember you were my husband?”
“When you drove broken glass into my leg to buy her wedding of the century — did you remember you were my husband?!”
Every sentence, his face goes another shade whiter.
By the end, he’s the color of a corpse.
“It wasn’t me! It was her! All her!”
He whips his head toward the corner. Points a shaking finger at Vivian. Shrieks like a mad dog.
“Cora, it was Vivian! She put me up to it!”
“She wanted the jewelry! She wanted the property!”
“She had me under some kind of spell, I swear to God!”
Vivian snaps.
The second Damon throws her under the bus, the sweet little angel act is gone.
She flies at him like a rabid animal. Clawing. Biting. Screaming.
“You gutless piece of shit! You’re gonna pin this on ME?!”
“You told me she was some clueless little orphan! No family! Nothing!”
“If you hadn’t lied, would I have even touched this mess?!”
She sinks her teeth into his shoulder. Tears out a chunk of skin.
“You self-made mogul, my ass!”
“Three years you’ve been sponging off your wife!”
“You’re nothing without her! And you had the nerve to act superior?!”
The two of them roll around in the filth. Chained together. Ripping. Biting. Screaming.
Every fake, sweet, in-love mask they wore in public — shredded.
Rats in a sewer would look classy next to this.
I sit there. Watch them tear each other apart. Blank. Bored. Not even angry anymore. Just… disgusted.
Dad stands behind me. His voice comes out low and freezing.
“Cora. How do you want to handle them?”
“Say the word. I’ll have them chopped up and fed to the dogs tonight. No trace.”
I look at the two of them writhing on the floor.
I shake my head. Slow.
“Chopped up? Fed to dogs? Too easy. Too kind.”
I lean back in the wheelchair. My voice is so calm it should scare him.
“Keep them here. Keep them alive. Barely. Don’t let them die.”
“When I’m healed? I’ll come back.”
“And I’ll take back every single thing they owe me. Piece by piece. And they’re gonna pay double.”