Morally Decadent (Morally Questionable Book 3) by Veronica Lancet

Author:Veronica Lancet
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Veronica Lancet
Published: 2021-03-08T18:30:00+00:00

TIME PASSES AND I FIND that it's not so easy to bury my heart as I'd previously thought. Enzo and I engage in small taunting matches, but even when he annoys me his presence is comforting. I feel trapped between my pride and my feelings. My pride doesn't let me give him an inch, whereas my feelings want me to give him my entire heart.

Lucia, noticing the drift between us, keeps upping her antics. She knows I can't leave, so she does everything in her power to make me miserable.

The pinnacle of it all was when I found a small camera embedded in the wall. Initially, I'd been furious, thinking she'd been spying on me — on us — the entire time. But as the anger had subsided, I'd realized that I could use this to beat her at her own game. I'd left the camera there, and I'd moved some furniture around so that it obscured the view of the bed.

Seeing that she can no longer monitor me, Lucia had become more creative. Case in point, the situation I'm staring at now.

I shake my head as I watch a rat running around my room before burrowing under my bed.

She's trying, but that doesn't mean she's succeeding. Rats don't phase me — I am a peasant girl after all. I'm used to animals of all sizes and varieties.

But that can't be said about dear Lucia.

Using some leftovers, I bait the rat until I catch him in a makeshift box. Then, waiting until Lucia's out for her afternoon social calls, I sneak inside her room and leave the rat under her pillow.

Later that night, when I hear a sweet shrill of panic resound in the house, I smile to myself.

Peasant girl - 1; Vicious mother-in-law - 0.

The conflicts continue, and I have no idea if Enzo or Rocco are even aware of the extent of our enmity.

It's not as if I see my husband more than once every couple of days anyway... At this rate he'll even forget he has a wife — if he hasn't already.

One night, though, as I surreptitiously make my way to the kitchen to steal some food, I come face to face with my husband. And I can't even gloat at the way I find him.

His clothes are soaked in blood, more red liquid dripping from his forehead and falling down his cheek. His breath is ragged as he holds on to his midriff, his steps uncoordinated.

I gasp, my hands going to my mouth as my eyes wildly assess his condition.

"Enzo," I whisper, and he puts one hand up to wave me away, trudging his way to his room.

For once, my hatred is put aside as I hurry in his wake, stopping by my room to grab the first aid kit.

He's sitting on the bed, the bloodied shirt discarded next to him, and I see the extent of his injuries. Angry slashes are all over his torso, all of them leaking blood.

"Enzo," coming down to my knees, I start assessing the damage.

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