Chapter 7 In the world of the Castellanos

• The lavish dining room of the Castellano mansion was filled with tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Tony, usually the calm and composed son of Antonio, was sitting across from his father, clenching his fork so tightly his knuckles were white. Antonio, a man known for his iron fist in business and family matters, stared at his son with a mixture of disappointment and annoyance.
• “Tony, this isn’t a discussion. You’re going to marry Cassandra, and that’s final,” Antonio declared, slicing into his steak with the precision of a surgeon. “The Castellano family does not tolerate defiance, especially not from my own son.”
• Tony’s temper, usually kept in check, finally snapped. “I’m not some pawn you can just move around, Dad! I’m not going through with this stupid arranged marriage. I don’t care what deals you’ve made or how much money is at stake!”
• Antonio put his knife and fork down with exaggerated care, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Listen here, Tony. You’re only where you are because of me. You think your cushy life just fell into your lap? You’re here because I put you here. I can take it all away just as easily.”
• Tony’s patience finally reached its limit. He slammed his fist down on the table, causing the expensive china to rattle and a few glasses to tip precariously. Antonio raised an eyebrow, half-shocked, half-amused.
• “Well, well,” Antonio smirked, taking a sip of his wine as if nothing had happened. “Look at that. My son has some fire after all.”
• Tony stormed out of the room, his mind racing with frustration. He needed an outlet, something or someone to vent his anger on. The answer came to him in a flash: the basement. That’s where Marissa was kept—his father’s latest captive and the perfect target for his overflowing rage.
• *
• Tony descended into the damp and dark basement, his footsteps echoing loudly against the concrete walls. There, on a makeshift bed, Marissa lay fast asleep, unaware of the storm brewing just a few feet away. Tony stood at the door, momentarily caught off guard by how peaceful she looked. But his anger quickly resurfaced. How dare she sleep so soundly while he was being pushed into a life he didn’t want?
• With a growl of irritation, Tony grabbed an old, dented metal basin, filled it hastily with cold water, and stomped back to Marissa’s side. Without hesitation, he threw the water onto her, watching with a perverse sense of satisfaction as she jolted awake, gasping and sputtering.
• “What the hell, Tony!” Marissa spluttered, her eyes wide in shock. Before she could even gather her bearings, Tony grabbed her by her hair and yanked her head up, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
• “Who gave you permission to sleep, huh?” Tony sneered, the venom in his voice palpable. “You think you get to just relax while I’m dealing with this mess?”
• Marissa blinked, trying to process what was happening. She knew better than to push back too hard, especially when Tony was in this kind of mood. But she was exhausted, both physically and mentally, from being Antonio’s prisoner for weeks. “Tony, I—”
• “Oh, don’t even try to explain,” Tony snapped, cutting her off. “You think I won’t kill you if I have to? Well, I’m more than capable of doing it right now.”
• Marissa met his gaze defiantly, refusing to look away despite the pain radiating from her scalp. “If you’re going to kill me, then just do it,” she said, her voice soft but unwavering. “Get it over with, Tony.”
• Tony paused, taken aback by her boldness. He pulled out a small, shiny knife from his pocket, twirling it in his fingers with a casualness that was almost theatrical. He leaned in closer, letting the tip of the blade hover just above Marissa’s skin. “Oh, I’m not going to kill you,” he whispered, dragging the knife lightly across her arm, just enough to leave a faint red line. “I just want to see you squirm.”
• But Marissa didn’t squirm. She didn’t even flinch. Instead, she looked at Tony with an expression that was equal parts defiance and resignation. Tony’s frustration mounted. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go; she was supposed to break, to cry, to beg. He pressed the knife a little harder, but Marissa’s stoic demeanor remained unchanged.
• Tony threw the knife aside in disgust and resorted to something simpler, something he knew would get a reaction—he wrapped his hands around her throat and began to squeeze. “You wanted to die, right? Here’s your chance. Just sit there, and don’t fight it.”
• Marissa’s breath hitched as Tony’s grip tightened. She clawed at his hands instinctively, gasping for air. “You’re…pathetic,” she choked out between strained breaths. “You’re nothing without…without your father. Is this what you’ve become? His attack dog?”
• Tony’s grip faltered just a fraction, her words cutting deeper than any knife could. But he tightened his hold again, refusing to let her have the last word. Marissa’s vision blurred, and she felt the familiar pull of unconsciousness creeping in. Just as darkness started to envelop her, Tony released her suddenly, and Marissa collapsed back onto the bed, coughing and wheezing.
• “Damn it!” Tony cursed, pacing back and forth as if unsure of what to do next. “You’re just…you’re so annoying! Why can’t you just—just—break?!”
• Marissa, regaining some of her composure, let out a weak, bitter laugh. “Sorry to disappoint you, Tony. But I’m not going to give you that satisfaction.”
• Tony was left standing over Marissa, seething. He looked down at her, still trying to catch her breath, her face a mix of pain and defiance. Despite everything, Tony couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect for her resilience. Here was someone who had every reason to give up, yet she refused to bend to his will.
• “This isn’t over,” Tony muttered, rubbing his hands through his hair in frustration. “You might have survived today, but don’t think for a second that means anything.”
• Marissa’s lips curled into a faint smile. “It means I’m still here. And that’s enough for now.”
• Tony stared at her, baffled. He’d never met anyone like Marissa—someone who could look death in the face and still find the nerve to smirk back. He didn’t know whether he wanted to throttle her again or congratulate her.
• With a final glance at Marissa, Tony turned on his heel and stormed out of the basement, slamming the door behind him. Marissa listened to his footsteps fade away, her own heartbeat gradually slowing. She lay back, staring at the ceiling, feeling oddly triumphant.
• She knew she was living on borrowed time, but for today at least, she’d won. Tony might have all the power, but Marissa had something far more valuable—her will to survive. And in this twisted game between captor and captive, that was enough to keep her fighting.
• Antonio sat back in his armchair, swirling his glass of brandy and chuckling to himself. He’d heard most of the commotion from the basement and couldn’t help but feel a surge of twisted pride. Tony was finally starting to act like the ruthless Castellano heir Antonio always knew he could be.
• “Ah, my boy,” Antonio mused aloud, a grin spreading across his face. “Just a little more, and you’ll be just like me.”
• Antonio raised his glass in a mock toast, as if toasting his son’s inevitable transformation. But somewhere deep down, even Antonio knew—he was playing with fire. Tony wasn’t just a carbon copy of his old man. There was something different about him, something unpredictable.
• And in a house full of secrets, power plays, and unspoken rivalries, the real question wasn’t who would bend first—but who would break.
• What began as another family feud had quickly turned into a twisted dance of power, pride, and defiance. For Tony, the road ahead was uncertain, full of pitfalls set by his father and traps he’d set for himself.
• And for Marissa, every day was a gamble, a struggle to maintain her sanity and spirit in the face of overwhelming odds. But as long as both were still playing the game, neither side could claim victory.
• In the world of the Castellanos, it was all about who could outlast the other, who could endure the longest in a battle where neither side was willing to yield. And in this house of broken souls, it was anyone’s guess who would come out on top—or if either of them would make it