Some people believe that love is a beautiful feeling—something that fills them with butterflies and joy. But in this story, the opposite is true: love becomes a mask, a façade used by some men to justify their violence against women.
As women, we must remember the saying: "The true coward is the one who hits a woman." At the first sign of abuse, we must not only walk away—we must report these men and fight until they are held accountable for their actions.
In this story, machismo is portrayed as a disease—one that consumes certain men and drives them to assert their supposed power over the women they victimize. They may present themselves as sheep, but in truth, they are beasts—soulless, devoid of conscience, and without remorse.
What these monsters fail to understand is that with every act of abuse, humiliation, or rape, they strip us of our dignity, our self-worth, and our identity—until there is nothing left. With each blow, they steal not only our peace but our dreams: our ability to be mothers, to rebuild, and to become who we once were before they broke us.
Some men abuse simply because it's all they've ever known—because they were raised in environments where violence was normalized. And so, the cycle continues—generation after generation—unless we find the strength to break it.
This was the case of Verónica Pardo, who discovered her husband's true nature far too late. Her family and closest friends also realized the truth too late: Francesco was a demon in sheep's clothing.
The Pardo family is deeply Catholic. They donate a significant portion of their income to the Church and to those in need. They live by their principles—condemning sins like pedophilia and striving to serve as moral examples. All major family decisions are made collectively and guided by faith.
Verónica's father, Fernando Pardo, owns a shipping company and finds purpose in supporting the Church and helping others. His wife, María, owns a restaurant and shares his deep commitment to charity. Together, they take pride in giving back to their community.
Fernando and María have six children: Fernando Jr., Facundo, José David, Azucena, María, and the youngest, Verónica.
Fernando Jr. works alongside his father and manages the Minnesota branch of the company. He moved to the U.S. with his wife, Daniela, and their two children, also named Fernando and Daniela. Despite the distance, he frequently visits Mexico and remains committed to the family's charitable work.
Facundo, the second son, co-founded a successful coffee business with his best friend, Rafael. They opened a branch in Toronto, Canada, where Facundo now lives with his wife and their two children.
José David, the third son, owns a foreign trade company and opened a branch in South Korea. There, he met and married a Korean woman, and together they have four children.
Azucena, the fourth child and eldest daughter, works with her mother at the restaurant. She fulfilled a lifelong dream of opening a branch in Brazil, where she now lives with her husband and three children.
María, the fifth child, is a journalist, writer, and lawyer. She was promoted to a leadership role as a foreign correspondent in Spain, with all expenses paid. She met her husband there and became the mother of five.
Verónica, the youngest, grew up in a stable, loving household where divorce was never seen as an option. A proud Mexican woman, she values her family and friends above all else and enjoys spending time with them.
She belongs to a close-knit group of nine childhood friends: Alejandro, Antonio, Ignacio, José Antonio, Mauricio, María de los Ángeles, Esperanza, and Alfonsina. They've shared nearly everything in life—except for the most personal and painful experiences.
Verónica had always dreamed of studying Business Management in Argentina, and when the perfect opportunity arose, she knew she needed her family's support. At first, they were hesitant, influenced by the negative news they had heard about the country. But Verónica was persistent. She convinced them, and she traveled to Argentina with her eight friends.
Upon arrival, they encountered some hostility from a few locals, which made them uneasy. Still, they refused to let it dampen their spirits. With the help of GPS, they eventually found the house they had rented online.
During her first year at university, Verónica met Francesco D'Agostino, an Argentine of Italian descent who saw himself as superior to everyone else. He looked down on other Latin Americans and behaved as though no one could measure up to him.
Francesco was the kind of man who believed, due to his upbringing, that he had the right to control and demean women. At home, he learned that dominating women was the only way to make them obey.
His childhood was deeply traumatic. At the age of two, he witnessed his father beating his mother. Frightened and confused, he would run to his room and cry. Over time, he realized that the violence wasn't isolated—it was frequent, and often triggered by trivial things: the way his mother dressed or did her makeup.
On one occasion, when his mother had dressed up, his father flew into a rage and assaulted her in front of witnesses—including Francesco. After venting his fury, the man walked away, leaving his wife bruised and bloodied. With great effort, and with help from other women in the family, she managed to stand. They took her to the bathroom, where she cleaned herself as best she could, covering the marks on her face with heavy makeup and hiding the bruises on her arms and hands with long sleeves and gloves.
That day, the men and women of the D'Agostino family avoided each other. Francesco, caught between two worlds, didn't know where he truly belonged.
"Son, stay with us. This is where you'll learn to be a real man," his father said coldly, casting a hostile glance at the women.
The women in the family lived in fear. A single look from their husbands was enough to warn them of the violence that awaited at home.
That evening, the women arrived home first. Not finding the men there, they quickly began cleaning—desperately trying to prevent another outburst.
The next morning, the smell of breakfast woke them. Startled and unsure of what to expect, the women walked into the kitchen—only to find the men cooking. A delicate aroma filled the air.
"Good morning, darlings. Did you sleep well?" the men asked in unison, handing their wives beautiful bouquets of roses—a symbolic apology for the violence of the day before.
"Why are you giving us flowers?" the women asked, their voices trembling, their nerves on edge, bracing for whatever might come next.
"Because we're sorry about what happened yesterday," the men replied, handing over the bouquets, which carried a subtle scent of strawberries.
Years passed since that episode, and gender-based violence in the household only escalated. Makeup could no longer hide the bruises inflicted by their husbands. One day, during another violent altercation, Francesco's aunt, Greta, was killed.
The women were left in shock. The abuse had reached such terrifying levels that it could no longer be concealed—and the only witness to all of it was Francesco.
Gradually, Francesco internalized the belief that abusing women was a way to assert dominance—a twisted proof of masculinity and control. He grew up convinced that to dominate a woman was to prove his worth, to take what he wanted without remorse.
Meanwhile, the women in the D'Agostino household lived in constant fear. Their husbands' unpredictable moods made it impossible to know how to behave without provoking rage. The atmosphere in the house was charged with tension and terror—never love. This was the environment that raised Francesco and shaped his twisted worldview.
The neighbors had long known the truth: the men in the D'Agostino family were abusers—perhaps even murderers. If a woman died at their hands, they felt no remorse. To them, murder was the ultimate act of control.
Neighbors reported the abuse multiple times. But when the police showed up, the women—paralyzed by fear—lied to protect themselves from retaliation.
That fear became ingrained. And tragically, Francesco learned the worst lessons from the men in his family—not only how to abuse, but also how to manipulate and deceive. Deception became his most powerful weapon.
For this reason, Francesco never found real love. He abused his partners whenever they failed to meet his impossible standards—criticizing how they dressed, spoke, or completed simple tasks. His reactions were violent. The women who suffered under his control often ended up hospitalized—or worse.
Although some families fought for justice, Francesco always escaped consequences. His family's influence and power shielded him from accountability. Then came Verónica.
The first time Francesco saw her, two things became immediately clear:
First, he knew he could fall madly in love with her. Second, he believed she would be easy prey.
He approached her under the guise of friendship. Verónica welcomed him into her circle of friends. Soon, he had gained their trust. She introduced him to her family, unaware of the darkness behind his charming demeanor. They even traveled to visit relatives together. Everyone seemed to like him—except her mother, who felt something was off.
Francesco, recognizing this, made a calculated effort to win her mother over. Slowly, through carefully staged gestures, he succeeded. Tensions eased, and he became fully accepted by Verónica's family.
Verónica and Francesco grew inseparable. Eventually, he invited her to meet his family. But the moment she walked into the D'Agostino home, the women looked her straight in the eye and said:
"Run. Run from him."
"He's not who he says he is."
"He's a monster."
"Don't wait for him to love you. Once you're married... he'll beat you to death."
Verónica didn't know how to react. She remained silent for the rest of the day.
While others chatted around her, she replayed those words over and over. For a moment, she wanted to run. But she stayed by Francesco's side, feigning calm. She told no one, but the women's warnings stayed etched in her mind.
In the following weeks, Verónica made excuses to avoid going back to the D'Agostino home. When Francesco asked about it, she changed the subject. She disliked confrontation and avoided negativity in her relationships.
Still, their bond deepened. Francesco told her friends he wanted to make things official. Though they didn't know him well, they celebrated the news.
A month later, Francesco asked Verónica to be his girlfriend. To celebrate, she booked her favorite restaurant, decorated it herself, and planned a romantic evening with music and a serenade. She even gave the chef a list of her favorite dishes.
When Verónica arrived, she was pleasantly surprised.
"Do you like it? I planned all this for you," Francesco said, pulling out her chair.
"I love it, Francesco. You didn't have to go to so much trouble, but thank you," she replied, smiling.
Francesco was nervous and struggled to find the right words.
"Verónica, I have something to ask you," he said, taking a bite of his food.
"What is it?" she asked.
He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and said, "Verónica, will you be my girlfriend?"
Overjoyed, she answered simply, "Yes."
That night, they shared the news with friends and family. Everyone congratulated them warmly.
Two months into the relationship, Francesco took her to see his office.
"I want to inaugurate it with you," he said.
Verónica declined, but Francesco, consumed by rage, raped her.
After the assault, he dressed and left as if nothing had happened. Verónica, devastated and ashamed, made a decision: she would leave him and pretend he never existed.
Unsure of what to do, she invited her friend Alfonsina to a restaurant and confided in her. Outraged, Alfonsina urged her to report him immediately. Verónica agreed. She knew the situation had gone too far.
On her birthday, Verónica was preparing to report Francesco. But something unexpected happened: he had planned a surprise. He gathered both families and all their friends for a birthday celebration at her home—with the intention of proposing.
When Verónica arrived, she was stunned. So many people were there. It felt unnatural. On a normal day, no one came to visit—let alone all of them at once.
The first thing Francesco did was look for his mother. He found her engaged in animated conversation with his relatives. Verónica stood frozen, her feet seemingly glued to the floor.
As she approached, Francesco seized the moment. In front of everyone, he asked for her hand in marriage. Overwhelmed by the weight of the eyes on her, Verónica felt trapped. She nodded, accepting the proposal—not out of love, but out of fear.
Cheers and applause filled the room. But while others celebrated with joy, Verónica felt like she was suffocating. For the next month, Francesco bombarded her with apologies. He swore he hadn't slept since the assault, that he was consumed by guilt. His tears and apparent sincerity eventually wore her down. Verónica convinced herself to forgive him—and to pretend nothing had happened.
When Alfonsina found out, she was devastated. Unable to understand Verónica's decision, she chose to step away and refused to attend the wedding.
The ceremony was modest but beautiful. Guests smiled, danced, and toasted. But Verónica's joy was incomplete—her best friend's absence was a painful void.
After the wedding, the couple honeymooned in Hawaii. What was meant to be a celebration became a descent into horror. By pure chance, they encountered their exes: Óscar Valderrama and Luisana Lombardo. Though stunned, the four avoided interaction.
But one afternoon, Francesco saw Verónica speaking to Óscar. His jealousy ignited instantly. Without hesitation, he slapped Verónica across the face and then beat Óscar in a violent outburst.
Witnesses called the police. Francesco was arrested.
In prison, rage consumed him. He bribed officials to gain early release. His first goal upon leaving? Revenge.
He found Verónica in the hotel lobby, talking to Óscar. Without a word, he grabbed her and dragged her to a room. There, in brutal silence, he beat and raped her.
"This is what you get for being a whore," he spat, before leaving her crumpled on the floor, bloodied and sobbing.
Verónica eventually crawled to the bathroom. When she looked in the mirror, she didn't recognize the woman staring back. Bruised, scratched, bleeding—she was broken in body and spirit.
She whispered, again and again, "This is my fault…"
She tried to hide the damage with makeup. But nothing could cover the pain. She stayed in that room for four days, ashamed and afraid to face the world. On the fifth day, weak and hollow, she stepped outside. Óscar saw her and, without asking questions, gently escorted her to lunch.
In a low voice, she asked for help: a doctor, someone she could trust. Óscar contacted his cousin Renato, a discreet and compassionate physician. When Renato examined her, he muttered in fury, "This is domestic abuse… damn sadist."
His glare to Óscar said it all: I want to kill him. But they both knew vengeance had to wait.
Renato told Verónica to rest and recover. Before leaving, Óscar begged his cousin to keep everything confidential. Renato, reluctantly, agreed.
Three weeks later, Francesco reappeared with flowers and a serenade. He knelt, cried, begged. Verónica, still emotionally entangled, forgave him once more.
The next day, they met with Óscar.
"I want to apologize," Francesco said.
Óscar stared at him coldly. "I don't know what you said to make her forgive you, but I won't. A man who beats his wife is no man at all."
Looking at Verónica, he added, "I hope you don't regret this. That man will kill you."
Then he left—and never returned.
Two weeks later, the couple returned home from their honeymoon. They looked happy. Family and friends welcomed them back with a celebration. The past seemed buried.
But it wasn't. One afternoon, Verónica was chatting with her sister María while ironing. Distracted, she forgot the iron on Francesco's shirt.
When he came home and smelled something burning, rage exploded. He snatched her phone mid-conversation and beat her with whatever he could find.
Verónica fled to the basement, seeking refuge. But Francesco followed and continued the assault. Desperate, Verónica grabbed a nearby bat and struck his head. He collapsed. She locked the basement door and escaped.
But he regained consciousness, broke down the door, and raped her again. Then came the kicks to her head. She screamed, cried, begged—but no one came.
On the phone, María listened in horror as her sister pleaded for her life. The abuse lasted until nightfall. Then, exhausted, Francesco delivered one final blow—words as cruel as his fists:
"This is what you get for being an idiot."
Then he left. Verónica lay motionless, her body wrecked. The call was still connected. María, in shock, waited a few seconds before hanging up.
She knew she had to act. After telling her husband, he responded without hesitation: "You have to tell your siblings. Now."
They arranged a video call with the entire family to decide what to do.
As María recounted what had happened, her siblings were left in shock. They felt anger, helplessness… and guilt. They hadn't seen the signs—or maybe they had, but chose to ignore them. The ones who erupted in fury were Fernando, Facundo, and José David. They had long suspected Francesco.
Without hesitation, the three of them agreed to travel to Argentina. They were determined to confront Francesco and rescue their sister from that living hell.
The first to arrive was José David. Upon entering the house, he found Verónica lying motionless on the floor. She wasn't breathing. He rushed to her side, tried to revive her—but it was too late.
He called emergency services. Within minutes, an ambulance arrived. The paramedics did everything they could, but in the end, they confirmed the worst: Verónica had been dead for two days.
José David collapsed to his knees, devastated. He cried, screamed, and cursed Francesco with every ounce of his being. Soon after, forensic investigators arrived to perform the autopsy—while Francesco shamelessly called his own family to inform them of Verónica's death, feigning innocence.
When José David received the autopsy report, each detail hit him like a dagger. Every word was a fresh wound. He cursed Francesco with all the fury he had harbored for years—while the man still walked free.
Despite his broken heart, José David received each family member as they arrived. He explained what had happened with as much strength as he could gather.
The pain was unbearable, impossible to put into words. But nothing compared to José David's fury, which he unleashed by punching walls, desperate for an outlet to his suffering.
A few days later, Fernando, Facundo, Azucena, and María arrived. They were all devastated. Of the six siblings, only José David had studied law. In addition to owning a multinational company, he was an internationally recognized attorney.
While the rest of the family began planning the funeral, José David went to the police. He introduced himself as a lawyer and filed formal charges against Francesco for domestic abuse, rape, and murder.
He presented all the evidence he had gathered: photographs, medical reports, recordings, and eyewitness testimonies. After reviewing the documents, the police immediately issued a warrant for Francesco's arrest.
They searched for him for days, until they finally located and apprehended him. With support from Verónica's family and friends, José David pushed for the trial to begin that same week.
During the trial, he summoned every possible witness: Alfonsina, Óscar, and his cousin Renato. The proceedings lasted two weeks, during which he gathered even more damning evidence—enough to ensure that Francesco would never again taste freedom.
The jury deliberated and returned their verdict: guilty of domestic violence, multiple counts of rape, and premeditated murder. The judge pronounced the sentence clearly and without hesitation: death by electric chair.
The Pardo family and Verónica's friends wept—not because of the sentence itself, but because justice had finally been served. They were grateful to José David, who had led the trial with courage, intelligence, and unwavering determination.
At the wake, the tears continued to flow. But amidst the pain, there was one small, bitter consolation: Verónica had not borne Francesco a child.