Chapter 110
KATYA’S POV
It had been a week.
A full, dragging, nerve-shredding week since that man opened his eyes... and since my quiet, predictable existence in this cursed house turned into sothing that felt like walking barefoot across broken glass.
Every. Single. Day.
I’d been assigned as his assistant — Nonna’s idea. Which ant I moved him around in his wheelchair, brought his als, sorted papers, fetched his dication, and basically existed three steps behind him like a shadow he didn’t want but refused to get rid of.
And sohow, I was still alive.
Still sane... well, mostly. After that shot — the one that had praying for my dismissal — Nonna had taken out of that room and into hers. She’d given advice, reassurance... and sothing else.
A spark.
A determination I didn’t have before. Determination to face my fears.
And that fear was getting the confidence to stand against my abusers. I couldn’t stand up to my father, but I would definitely kill Roo at his weakest. Even though Nonna doesn’t know what I have in mind.
This morning, I stood in the doorway of Roo’s ho office, balancing a breakfast tray and trying not to trip over my own dread.
The room was dim except for the light spilling across his desk. Roo sat there, back straight, shoulders stiff, flipping through so docunt like the pages personally offended him.
He didn’t look at when I entered. He never did. But he always noticed.
"Put it there," he muttered, pointing vaguely to a space beside his papers.
I slowly stepped closer with steady, careful strides. The closer I got to him, the more my pulse ticked up.
Not because he scared the way he used to, but because... I still didn’t understand him. He could bark at , insult , glare daggers at , but whenever he actually had the chance to hurt , sothing seed to stop him.
Sothing I didn’t understand — and didn’t want to understand.
I set the tray down gently and a second later, he "accidentally" nudged it with his elbow.
The plates clattered to the floor, the cup toppling along with them. The entire tray slid right off the edge of the desk and crashed in a ss of food, water, and broken ceramic.
I looked down at it without flinching or showing any expression.
This wasn’t new.
He’d done this three tis already this week.
The first ti had scared to death, but Nonna had been there afterward to give more confidence.
"Clean it," his voice was low, almost bored.
"Since you were dumb enough to set it like that."
Childish? I know. I had always seen this bastard as heartless, demonic, a murderer... but now that I was stuck close to him as his "new personal assistant," I was starting to notice sothing else.
He was stupidly petty.
Petty with a straight face.
Petty with confidence.
Petty like it was a profession — with that dumb mask on his face.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t sigh. I didn’t let him see even a flicker of annoyance. Instead, I turned toward the corner of the office — my corner.
A week ago it had been empty space. Now it was a neatly arranged little setup of necessities I’d quietly begun keeping there after realizing Roo Salvatore had the emotional maturity of a thrown brick.
A broom. A dustpan. Disposable gloves. A small bin. A cleaning cloth.
Everything I needed to survive his... habits.
I crouched and picked up the tools one by one.
My hands didn’t shake anymore.
On the first day, they had. On the second day too. But now? Now I had learned to treat him like a storm I simply had to walk through.
As I approached the ss, the smashed ceramic and spilled food glistened across the polished floor, spreading under his desk like evidence of yet another petty battle I hadn’t asked to fight.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shift slightly in his desk chair to give space. I knelt down and began gathering the shards, careful not to cut myself.
The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, like he was waiting for to slip up, to break, to flinch.
But I didn’t.
What would it cost if I just used one of these sharp shards to slice his neck open?
Where were these thoughts coming from? I had no idea, but I wasn’t arguing. I think I was getting more comfortable with the fact that whatever was stopping him from hurting was also making like this.
I swept the last piece into the dustpan and heard him exhale sharply — annoyed that I wasn’t crying or trembling or begging for a break the way he probably wanted.
Good.
Let him be annoyed.
Let him choke on it.
I stood, dustpan in hand, and turned to empty it into the bin. His eyes followed the whole ti, dark and unreadable.
He didn’t stop staring. Just watched like he was trying to decode what had changed in ... and why I wasn’t breaking the way he expected.
Motherfucker.
"Katya." My na snapped through the room. I froze for only... only a second before turning toward him.
His expression didn’t shift, not even a twitch.
"Bring coffee," he said. "Hot. And don’t take all day."
Of course.
I didn’t answer. Because if the lunatic hadn’t knocked off that tray, he would have gotten his coffee. Literally everything was already set there.
I set the broom aside, dusted off my hands, and turned toward the door. Walking out of that office always felt like stepping out of a cage only to find myself in a bigger one.
The hallway was colder. The kitchen was on the third floor — far from his office.
Which ant a long walk if I wanted to use the stairs, or a short elevator ride. I contemplated my choice.
I could use the elevator and quickly get the entitled man his coffee or I could take all day like he had said using the stairs to get it.
Hmm, I pressed the button to the elevator. I wasn’t stupid to use the stairs because I wanted to be petty.
I would still bring his coffee so why stress myself getting revenge. I will use the elevator and waste ti in the kitchen by eating.
Simple.
††
I’m not seeing y’all comnts, please comnts
Thanks
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