Exposed to the CEO Behind the Mafia Mask

Chapter 571: Chapter 167 Temporary Refuge

Lila’s POV

Consciousness returned with a violent jolt as I found myself slumped in the back seat of a black sedan. Every muscle in my body screamed in agony, and the world spun sickeningly around me. Struggling to sit upright, I caught the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. It was Scott, one of Connor’s enforcers who had driven me from the Thorne Group offices to this nightmare.

”Don’t worry, miss. I won’t hurt you,” he said quickly, noticing the panic flooding my features.

”You already have by delivering me to that psychopath,” I replied, my voice cracking. I glimpsed my reflection in the window and barely recognized the battered face staring back. Fresh tears carved paths down my swollen cheeks. ”Look what she did to me.”

”Miss, I just follow orders from the famiglia. We don’t question the bosses,” Scott said, avoiding my gaze in the mirror. ”Please don’t make this harder. I’m taking you to my place where my wife will patch you up until Connor gives new instructions. Nobody will lay a hand on you there. The don was furious with that crazy woman for what she did to you.”

”You won’t let me go, will you?” I already knew his answer would crush what little hope I had left.

”I can’t, miss. Now please stay quiet. You’re in bad shape, and I don’t want to have to use restraints,” he warned. I decided silence was my best option, especially given how much pain coursed through my broken body.

Eventually, Scott pulled up to a modest house surrounded by high brick walls and wrought iron gates. After the electronic locks disengaged, he helped me from the vehicle and guided me toward the front door. ”Estelle! Jolene!” he called out.

A middle-aged woman appeared, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of me.

”Mother of God! What’s this, Scott?” she gasped.

”A girl, obviously,” he replied gruffly. ”Come on, help me get her inside.”

”Who is she? Be careful what kind of trouble you’re bringing into my house!” she warned, her weathered face creasing with worry.

”It’s famiglia business. Help me get her to the couch, and I’ll explain everything,” Scott responded. The woman’s disapproval was etched deep in every line of her face.

After settling me onto their worn sofa, they retreated to the kitchen to speak in hushed tones. When they returned, Estelle carried medical supplies and clean clothing in her arms.

”Come, child. I’ll help you get cleaned up,” she offered with surprising gentleness. I stood gratefully; I desperately needed to wash away the blood and humiliation. ”Scott, go get those bandages I mentioned. She needs proper dressing for these wounds.”

In the small bathroom, Estelle helped me peel away my torn clothes and positioned a plastic stool under the shower head. The lukewarm water stung my open cuts and bruises, forcing involuntary groans from my lips.

”Sweet Jesus, who did this to you?” she asked, genuine horror coloring her voice. ”Let me wash your back, dear.”

Her touch was remarkably gentle as she carefully cleaned away the dried blood and debris. I wept silently, not from the physical pain but from the cruelty I’d endured and the terrifying uncertainty that stretched ahead of me. After helping me dry off, she handed me fresh clothes.

”These will be loose on you, but the undergarments should fit. They’re new—I bought them for my niece, but I can get more later,” she explained while helping me into soft cotton pants and an oversized sweater. The loose fabric was a blessing since anything tight would have pressed against my injuries.

When we returned to the living room, Scott sat waiting with a manila envelope beside him on the coffee table.

”Miss, the don says you’ll stay here tonight. Tomorrow is your wedding ceremony,” he stated flatly, still avoiding direct eye contact.

”What? This girl is marrying that monster Connor? Absolutely not!” Estelle was horrified.

”Estelle, stay out of famiglia business! You know what happens to people who cross the don,” Scott warned, genuine fear creeping into his voice.

”Scott, for the love of God, what will happen to this child with that evil man?” Estelle persisted, her maternal instincts overriding her caution.

”It won’t be worse than what her own mother did to her,” Scott replied, gesturing toward my battered face.

”That woman is not my mother!” I snapped with more force than I’d managed all day.

”What do you mean? Everyone in the families knows you’re Claire and Nathaniel Sullivan’s daughter. Though no real mother would do this to her child,” Scott stood up, genuinely confused.

”Lila Sullivan! My God, I didn’t recognize you with your face so damaged,” Estelle breathed. ”Scott, have you lost your mind? You’ve kidnapped a Sullivan family princess. This will bring war between the families!”

”Estelle, it was the don’s orders—and her mother authorized it,” Scott insisted before walking toward the kitchen.

”The other families will demand blood, and you’ll end up in a shallow grave because of your boss!” Estelle called after him. She turned back to me with deep compassion. ”Come, let me tend to those wounds properly.”

With meticulous care, Estelle cleaned each mark on my body, applied antiseptic ointments, bandaged the worst injuries, and gave me strong painkillers. When she finished, she sighed heavily, her eyes brimming with pity and anger.

”Estelle, please help me. That woman truly isn’t my mother,” I begged desperately, grabbing her weathered hand.

”Oh, child, if I help you escape, that man will have my whole family killed,” she said, torn between compassion and the brutal reality of famiglia justice. ”Why do you say she’s not your mother?”

”Because she isn’t. I just discovered the truth. She stole me as a baby and has been lying to everyone for years. She’s always beaten and tormented me. Today, she was going to kill me,” I explained, my voice trembling.

”I never trusted that woman. So different from Mr. Sullivan’s first wife—now she was a real lady from good famiglia,” Estelle said with a nostalgic smile.

”You knew her?” I asked eagerly, sensing a potential ally.

”Yes, my mother worked for the Sullivan household. Mrs. Alice was kind, honorable, and loving—everything a don’s wife should be. My mother only left when she got cancer and moved in with family, shortly before the lady became pregnant again. Sometimes I’d visit there, and Mrs. Alice always welcomed me warmly, invited me to sit in her parlor, offered proper hospitality, and treated me with respect. As for Claire, I’ve known her reputation for years through the famiglia network. She acts innocent now, but she’s rotten to the core! Did you know she was Connor’s mistress before she married into the Sullivan family?”

”I discovered that recently. I feel terrible for my father,” I admitted.

”Do you know who your real mother might be?” Estelle asked softly.

”It could be my father’s first wife, or perhaps someone else. I don’t know yet,” I sniffled as she gazed at me with deep sympathy.

”Oh, honey! What a terrible situation! I wish I could help—nobody deserves to marry that pig Connor. They say his first wife died from his beatings, and the families covered it up.” Seeing my terror, she quickly added, ”Don’t think about that now. I’ll make you something to eat. Just rest there—the medicine I gave you is strong and will make you drowsy. But listen—don’t try to escape. There’s no way out without Scott seeing you, and if you try, he’ll have to restrain you, which would be much worse given your condition.”

I nodded, accepting the harsh reality. In my current state, I wouldn’t make it past the front gate anyway. The crushing realization settled over me like a death shroud: no one was coming to save me from this nightmare.