Page 34

I jolt awake with a sharp gasp, my chest heaving like I’ve been pulled from under deep water.

My head throbs, splitting right down the middle, and I squint against the faint, filtered light seeping in through a narrow window high up on the wall.

The room is small—barely larger than a walk-in closet—its walls made of cracked concrete, the kind that traps moisture and makes the air heavy with mildew.

The only thing in here with me is a dented metal bucket sitting in one corner, its purpose obvious. My stomach twists. No bed, no chair, no comfort—just four walls pressing in like they’re hungry to suffocate me.

I try to sit up, and my head swims. My fingers press against my temples as fragments of memory slam into me like broken glass. The car. The sharp prick in my neck. Emilia sobbing like some tragic little actress.

That bitch. That fucking bitch.

“Emilia,” I breathe out under my breath, my voice low, venomous. My jaw tightens until I feel it pulse.

I scan the room again, desperate for anything—a loose brick, a sharp edge—but there’s nothing. Whoever put me here made sure of that. My throat is dry. My skin is sticky with cold sweat.

The sound of a bolt shifting breaks the silence. The heavy metal door swings open with a loud, scraping creak.

Monte steps inside, filling the small space with his smug presence. His lean frame carries an unsettling ease, like he’s walking into his favorite restaurant. Behind him, Emilia follows, her head bowed, eyes darting anywhere but mine. She can’t even look at me.

“Hello, princess,” Monte drawls, flashing his teeth like a predator playing with its food. “Awake already? You always were resilient.”

I push myself upright against the wall, locking my eyes on him. My voice is rough but steady. “What’s going on?”

Monte chuckles, like my question amuses him to no end. His long fingers reach out, and before I can jerk away, he grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back so our faces nearly touch.

“It’s fucking payback,” he hisses, his breath warm and sour on my face. “Your fuck-ass husband thought it was funny to humiliate me. To ruin my family. To lay hands on my cousin and beat him half to death.”

His grip tightens, and pain radiates through my scalp, but I don't give him the satisfaction of a scream. I stare directly into his eyes, swallowing the pain.

“I hear you remember now,” he adds, voice low, sinister, almost sing-song.

My pulse hammers in my ears. My stomach coils. But my face stays still—cold, unreadable.

I glance at Emilia, standing there like a broken doll, her lip trembling, her hands twisting in front of her like she’s praying to disappear. She won't meet my eyes. She knows. She’s fully aware of what she’s done, and yet here she stands, watching.

Without thinking, I lunge forward, my body fueled by something primal. My hand flies to his throat, and I squeeze with every ounce of fury I’ve starved for years. His smirk falters, his eyes flare wide, and in that brief hesitation, I slam my forehead into his face.

Bone cracks sharply against bone. His head jerks back. I feel the sting across my brow, the warmth of my own blood mixing with his. We both stumble apart. My chest heaves as I clutch my head, blinking past the sharp throb behind my eyes.

Monte recovers first, rage twisting his features into something monstrous. His lip is split open now, blood trailing down his chin. “You little bitch.”

He lunges again—faster this time—and I can’t stop him. My back slams against the hard concrete floor. My breath shoots out in a broken gasp as the back of my skull scrapes against the cold. His full weight pins me, one hand pressing into my collarbone, the other cocking back for a blow.

Terror claws up my throat—but before the fist can fall, Emilia’s voice cuts through the room like a lightning strike.

“Stop!” she screams.

Her body slams between us, shielding me, trembling violently. Her arms spread wide as if she could somehow take the full force of him. She’s crying, breath shaking. “You said you wouldn’t hurt her! You promised!”

Monte freezes mid-swing, teeth grinding audibly.

His chest heaves. The tension between us is thick enough to choke.

The muscles in his forearm twitch, his fingers curling and uncurling, as if fighting the urge to continue.

I feel Emilia’s heartbeat pounding against my ribs where she’s pressed over me.

Monte breathes hard, wipes at the blood from his nose, then laughs—a low, hollow sound.

“You know what?” His voice is cruel now, like oil poured over flames. “Maybe you two should spend some time together. Same bloodline and all.”

“Wait. What?” she breathes out, confused. “What does that mean?”

Monte’s grin widens, but he offers no answer. He simply stands and strides toward the door, his boots clapping against the concrete.

“Monte, what the fuck does that mean?!” Emilia cries, panic breaking through her voice now.

She stumbles after him, reaching for his arm—but he’s faster. The door slams with a deafening metallic clang, the lock sliding into place with a heavy click. She’s locked in with me.

“Monte!” Emilia pounds on the door with both fists, her voice shrill, near hysterical. “Open the door! This isn’t funny! Monte! Open the fucking door right now!”

Her fists slam again and again, but the door doesn’t budge.

Emilia kicks the door again, her bare foot slamming against the metal with a dull thud. Over and over, the same useless pounding. Her breathing grows heavier, her movements more desperate.

I watch her from where I sit, my back resting against the cold stone wall. My head throbs, but I stay still, staring ahead blankly. My voice slips out, quiet, almost absentminded.

“You’ve been played, Em.” My fingers trail over the seam in the concrete absently. “Can you stop it with the ruckus?”

Emilia ignores me, her fists hammering at the door now, the metal vibrating faintly with each strike.

Sweat glistens along her hairline, damp strands sticking to her temple.

Her breath quickens, ragged and sharp. And then, as though something breaks inside her, she stumbles toward me, dropping to her knees, her face flushed and panicked.

“They have Serevin!” she blurts out suddenly, eyes wide and watery.

I jerk upright. “What?”

She wipes the sweat from her upper lip with the back of her trembling hand, her voice catching as she speaks quickly, the words tumbling out of her like a confession she’s held in for too long.

“Monte told me—Vittoria has him,” she says breathlessly.

“And if I didn’t bring you, she was going to go after me next.

Monte’s family, Vittoria—they’re working with the Families in Melbourne.

They’re fabricating documents to discredit Serevin—” She chokes on her own breath, fingers digging into the fabric of her jeans.

My mind sharpens instantly. The dread in my chest solidifies into a sick certainty.

“They’ll kill me,” I say slowly, the pieces clicking together, “so they can claim everything. Mine. Serevin’s. Both.” I stare at her. “You were going to help them hurt him.”

Emilia’s face crumples. She lets out a sound between a sob and a bitter laugh.

“Yes!” she shrieks. “Because I’m a disgusting rat!

What else am I supposed to be? I can’t fight Vittoria!

She’ll crush me!” She points to her own chest, voice growing shrill, tears streaming freely now.

“You and Serevin—you were born powerful. I’m an orphan, Fee! I’ve always been disposable!”

I exhale sharply and roll my eyes. “Oh, cry me a river.”

Her breath hitches, and she stares at me, eyes wild, as if she’s barely keeping herself upright.

Then suddenly, she grabs my forearm, clutching it with clammy hands. “We need to get out of here,” she begs in a thin, trembling voice. “I need to leave Melbourne. Australia—anywhere. Please.”

I glance toward the tiny barred window high above us. Pale light filters through, casting thin stripes across the filthy stone floor. My mind races. She paces frantically, chewing on her fingernail like a child, her panic vibrating through the air.

“Do you care for anyone apart from yourself?” I ask flatly, my tone dry.

Emilia freezes mid-step, staring at me. “No,” she whispers hoarsely. “I don’t.” Her voice breaks. “But I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here!” she repeats, louder, nearly hyperventilating now as she continues pacing, her feet slapping against the concrete.

I follow her movements with my eyes. She’s going to spiral. She always does.

But I already know my role in this. I don’t have the luxury of falling apart. I’ve done enough of that.

I glance at the bucket sitting near the corner of the cell—the only thing we’ve been given. My eyes narrow as my brain starts stitching something together. My pulse calms. I turn toward her slowly.

“I have a plan.”

^^^^

Nightfall sinks into the small stone room like a heavy fog, curling in from the tiny grated window. The beam of moonlight that once painted lines across the filthy floor has dimmed to nothing more than a faint glow. The air is damp, stale, and thick with the sour scent of sweat and fear.

Emilia lies curled up near the wall, her knees tucked to her chest. She’s been sighing for what feels like hours now, her breath shaky, her body tense but motionless. Every few minutes, she lets out another long exhale like she's trying to steady herself, but it only makes the silence louder.

I pace back and forth on the other side of the cramped space.

My bare feet slap against the cold stone, each step methodical, controlled.

My mind races while my body stays in motion.

The dim light catches on my damp hair as I run my fingers through it, tugging lightly at the strands to keep myself awake, focused.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The soft metallic click from the door’s lock echoes like a gunshot in the suffocating silence. My muscles tense instantly.