His Villain

24

Life had dealt its cards with a fair hand to Romano, revealing their deceit and forcing them to pay for their mistakes. The news of their downfall continued to dominate the headlines across the country, garnering sympathy from many. It was a stark reminder of how easy it is to deceive others when one possesses power. Venezio had followed a similar path, always exhibiting a tendency to wield his power with precision.

Celia had been discharged from the hospital after four days, during which Dante and Warren had never left her side. They tried to make excuses for her, but she knew they were genuinely concerned about her well-being. They wouldn't leave her alone until every detail of her and Vincent's kidnapping case was crystal clear.

If it weren't for Dalia persuading her brother not to take any reckless actions towards Celia, she might have ended up six feet underground.

It was seven o'clock in the morning when Celia woke up, feeling refreshed and grateful that she could now regain some semblance of normalcy. In the past, Dante had carried her everywhere she needed to go, never allowing her to step out of her bed. He even accompanied her to therapy sessions and made sure she took her medication on time, down to the exact second.

Celia despised receiving sympathy from others as it made her feel powerless, incapable of exerting control over her own life. She detested the feeling of not being in control.

The enticing aroma of chocolate pancakes, hot chocolate, and French toast wafted through the air, tantalizing her senses. Water drooled at the corner of her mouth.

When she first met Dante and Warren six years ago, she had been astonished and awestruck by their talents. They excelled in various areas, from cooking and painting to managing her mood swings and making her laugh with their nonsensical and absurd jokes.

She made her way to the kitchen, leaning against the wall, quietly savoring the view in front of her. A small smile played on her lips.

"Sit, Lia. Breakfast will be served in two minutes," Warren announced without turning around. Dante emerged from the guest room of her apartment and placed his hands on her shoulders, gently guiding her to a bar stool to take a seat.

As promised, Warren started serving them his delectable food. Celia murmured a grateful "thank you" and eagerly took a forkful of pancake, emitting a contented moan. The two men sitting across from her choked on their own food, taken aback by her reaction. She giggled at their surprise, clutching her stomach.

"Don't tell me both of you are virgins," she said, laughter in her voice. Warren smiled, and Dante comically shook his head.

"Warren, your exhibition is next week, and you haven't painted anything yet. Please don't waste your precious time on me. I can take care of myself. Focus on your profession, not on me," she asserted firmly, turning to meet Dante's warm brown eyes. Before he could say anything, she cut him off with determination. "You haven't attended your work either. It's been one week. Trust me, they won't kill me in your absence. I won't accept any more excuses from either of you. Starting from today, both of you will resume your work." With her authoritative statement, she slammed the fork down on the table, issuing a challenge.

"Dalia will be here in the afternoon to sketch the person," she added, leaning back on the bar stool. She heard Warren mutter something under his breath.

Raising an eyebrow at him, she waited for an explanation.

He shook his head negatively, and finally, they both nodded in agreement. They stood up to clear the table and wash the dishes.

****

It was two-fifty in the afternoon when the doorbell interrupted Celia's reading. Glancing at the clock, she thought, "Dalia said she would be here at exactly three." Before she could ponder further, the bell rang again.

Getting up from the couch, she placed her book on the table and headed towards the door. But before she could unlock it from the inside, a loud bang echoed through the door, triggering her instincts that something was amiss. She quickly secured the lock again and took a step back. The bell rang again, and she hurriedly searched for a phone to call for help. Not finding one in the living room, she rushed to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. Spotting her phone on the bed, she unlocked it with trembling fingers and dialed Dante's number.

"Damn it! Come on, pick up," she muttered anxiously.

Unbeknownst to her, the intruder forcefully swung open the main door of her apartment. The sound of heavy footsteps grew closer. Cursing the person on the other side of the door, she realized her room door was her only shield now. Dante must be busy with his students, she reasoned.

With that thought, she called Warren. He answered the call on the second ring, but before she could say anything, two men barged into her room, breaking the previously secure lock on her door.

"Warren, hel-" she began to plead, but one of the men snatched her phone and disconnected the call. The other man pinned her down on the bed, and a tear rolled down her left eye.

This was it.

A powerful punch landed on the left side of her face, causing her to cough and taste the metallic tang of blood in her mouth.

Forcing her to stand, the second man restrained her hands behind her back while yanking a fistful of her hair. The first man delivered a brutal kick to her stomach, leaving her breathless. In that moment, she harbored a fleeting desire to unleash her fury on both men with her bare hands. But before they could continue their torment, a young woman accompanied by two men burst into the room. Two guns were aimed at the intruders, and with their final punches, the intruders took their last breaths.

Two shots were fired-one by Dalia herself and the other by her assistant-directly between the eyes of the assailants.

Three bodies collapsed to the ground, one still breathing, and the other two lifeless. Celia closed her eyes, the realm of unconsciousness beckoning her with open arms.

Dalia rushed to Celia's side, tapping her face gently to keep her conscious. But it was already too late; the pain from the kick to her stomach surpassed that of any bullet wound.
...........

Too much of actions?