Between Tyrants

She feared the monster she knew…until the devil himself knocked.

——

Rose’s POV

The front door slammed open with a bang that rattled the walls and sent a shudder through my chest. 

I jolted upright in bed, my pulse was thudding so loud. The sudden violence of the noise flung me into sharp alertness.

12:03Am

The green digits on the nightstand glowed.

I slid off the thin mattress, my bare feet brushing the cold wooden floor.

Slowly, I crept to my bedroom door, pressing my ear against the worn wood. 

Staggering footsteps. The rattle of keys slipping from a drunken hand and hitting the floor. A low, slurred curse, all these were proof that my uncle, Giovanni was home.

He always came back drunk, but tonight something was different. His movements were more erratic and unpredictable. I could smell trouble. 

“Rose!” his voice thundered up the staircase.

I pressed my palm to the door peeking out.

“You little brat! Don’t you hear me calling you?!” He roared.

Glass shattered somewhere below, followed by a heavy thud that vibrated through the floor.

I opened the door quickly and yelled. “I’m coming!”.

He stood under the living room’s dim light, he had a monstrous silhouette. His once-white shirt was half-untucked, stained with yesterday’s grime. The stench of alcohol clung to him, so strong that you could taste. His eyes, once clear blue like a summer sky, were bloodshot and hollowed of life.

“Where’s my goddamn food?!” he snarled, saliva gathering at the corners of his mouth.

“I…I’ll bring it right away.” I stammered, turning toward the kitchen, but his hand shot out like a viper striking, yanking my hair hard enough to make stars explode behind my eyes.

He slammed my face down against the jagged corner of the coffee table. The sickening crack echoed inside my skull.

Warm blood filled my mouth. 

“You wait until I ask? My food should be waiting the second I walk through that door!”

Fists rained down with a merciless rhythm, I was drowning in a blur of pain. At first the pain was suffocating then distant, as if my body was trying to slip away, to hide from the torment.

It wouldn’t have mattered if the food was ready.

Last week, it had been. He said it was cold and poured scalding soup down my arm as punishment. The scar was a trophy for him.

“Please,” I choked, my words slurring through the blood and tears . “Please stop.”

Begging only made it worse.

The relentless blows kept coming until suddenly there was a knock at the front door.

Three soft raps.

Giovanni froze.

His bloodshot eyes flicked toward the entrance with suspicion. Then, he turned back to me with a sickening smile curling his cracked lips.

“I wonder who that could be,” he crooned, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “One of my friends, maybe. Dropping in to say goodnight.”

My heart hammered in my chest. His friends were worse, brutal men with dead eyes and grabby hands. Nights when they came were horrific nightmares. He’d let them do whatever they wanted, while he watched like it was some sick show.

I tried to forget those memories, but my body could never .

Giovanni smoothed his greasy hair back and adjusted his stained shirt that hung loose on his gaunt frame. For a moment, I saw the man he used to be before the bottle and rage swallowed him whole.

My uncle. The man who smiled, who smelled of clean cologne, and had a steady job and a life in motion.

That man died the day the fiery flames licked the bones of our entire family. 

This monster was born that day.

Giovanni walked toward the door, pulling it open with too much eagerness.

Then he froze, his face drained of color. 

It wasn’t one of his friends.

A tall and broad man stood in the doorway. He cast a shadow that swallowed the room, a silent warning that this was no ordinary visitor.

He did not say a word, but the room bowed to his presence.

Giovanni tried to shut the door, but the man stepped forward, wedging his boot in the frame.

“No, no,” the stranger said, his voice low and rough. “That’s not how this works.”

He pushed the door open effortlessly. Two more men slipped inside, standing behind him like sentinels. 

“Giovanni,” the stranger said, “It’s been too long.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Not even close.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

Deep bronze skin stretched over muscles carved like obsidian. Dark hair slicked back with ruthless precision. Thick brows shadowed eyes the color of glaciers, like green ice sharp enough to freeze souls.

His jaw was strong, sculpted as if by ancient hands, bearing lips that could kiss or kill.

His hands were covered in thick tattoos, from the eagle on his neck to the strange letters on his fingers that were covered in gold rings. He wore an oxblood dress shirt, that was unbuttoned revealing his tattooed chest and torso with a black suit over it. 

He moved with a predator’s grace, like a man who didn’t just own places, but owned people.

“W-what are you doing here?” Giovanni stammered, backing away like a cornered animal. “How did you find me?”

The stranger tilted his head. “You really thought you could run from me?”

“I—I wasn’t running…”

“It looked like running.”

Giovanni gulped.

The man glanced around flicking an invisible speck from his lapel. “Where’s my money”

Giovanni’s voice trembled. “I don’t have it…not yet.”

That earned a long, disappointed sigh.

Then, the strange man unbuttoned his jacket, revealing a black pistol holstered at his waist. He drew it out and leveled the barrel at my uncle’s forehead.

“Giovanni, Giovanni, Giovanni…” he murmured, shaking his head like a disappointed father scolding a reckless child. “I didn’t come all this way for excuses.”

“I’ll get it soon… I… i promise!”

The Stranger’s finger twitched, there was not a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

Giovanni’s knees buckled.

“Please,” he whispered, his cracked lips trembling. The drunken bravado was gone, replaced by raw, crushing fear.

As I watched him, a sense of long overdue justice filled me.

Let him taste helplessness. Let him understand what it means to be at the mercy of another.

“Please!”. Giovanni cried falling to the man’s feet.

The man wasn’t fazed. 

His eyes just scanned the room like a judge before passing a sentence.

Then his gaze landed on me.

Our eyes locked.

The air thickened.

He stared, unblinking.

I couldn’t hold his gaze.

Couldn’t speak.

He drank me in, every bruise blooming on my skin, the ripped shirt clinging to my slender frame, the streaks of blood on my chin.

His hard expression was a mask, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

I couldn’t hold his gaze any longer, so I looked down, burning with shame. 

My body ached. My breath was shallow, stolen by the weight of his gaze.

Then, his deep voice cut through the silence.

“Who is she?”

 Every debt has a price. She was his.

Rose’s pov 

“Who is she?” His voice was low, deep and commanding.

Giovanni spun around, suddenly aware I was still there. “What the f*ck are you still doing here?” he snarled. “Go upstairs. Now!”

I flinched and turned around instantly.

“Wait!”

Came the commanding tone.

I stopped mid-step, frozen by the weight of it. His presence wasn’t just authority, it was gravity, causing me to bend to his will without question. 

“I asked you a question, Giovanni.” His brow lifted, it was a warning disguised as curiosity. 

Giovanni hesitated, throwing me a bitter look. “She’s my niece,” he muttered like the word was an insult.

The man’s eyes narrowed as they flicked back to me. I forced myself not to shrink beneath the intensity. I knew exactly what he saw: the blood smeared