Page 6

The garden is a haven of quiet and stillness, tinged with the soft scent of freshly bloomed roses and damp earth.

The sun is hidden behind the clouds, casting everything in a soft gray light, and I walk along the stone path, my bare feet grazing the cool ground.

I don’t know why I’ve wandered out here.

Maybe it’s the way the world feels quieter in this space—or maybe it’s because I’m trying to understand all of this.

Trying to make sense of a life I don’t even remember.

Brother Stefano’s robes sweep against the stone, his hands clasped in front of him like a man accustomed to taking time. His presence feels almost like a balm to the confusion swirling inside me.

“Fioretta,” he says softly, his voice almost a whisper. “How are you feeling today?”

I stop walking, standing still for a moment, feeling the cool breeze brush through my hair. There’s something about his tone—so patient, so kind—that feels almost like a reminder that I’m not alone. Maybe for the first time since I woke up, I feel like there’s someone I could trust.

I let out a shaky breath, my fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of my robe. I want to tell him how lost I feel, but the words get stuck in my throat.

Instead, I look at him and ask, “Who am I?”

My voice sounds softer than I intended, the question barely escaping my lips as if I’m afraid of the answer.

He steps closer, his eyes filled with a kind of sadness that makes my chest tighten. His hands, warm and gentle, reach out to take mine, and for the first time since I woke up, I don’t pull away. His touch is steady, grounding, like a quiet promise.

“There is so much I can’t tell you,” he says, his voice low. His gaze flickers to the guards positioned around the perimeter of the garden. I can feel them watching us—feel the weight of their eyes like an added pressure.

“Why not?” I ask, my voice a little sharper than I mean it to be. I pull my hands back slightly, not because I don’t trust him, but because the confusion inside me is starting to overwhelm me again.

He sighs deeply, his shoulders sagging for just a moment before he straightens.

He doesn’t let go of my hands but keeps them gently in his, his fingers warm against my skin.

“You’ve always been too pure for this life,” he says, his words heavy with something like regret.

“I’ve always worried for you, Fioretta. You were meant for something else—something better. ”

I don’t understand what he means by that. Pure? What does that even mean in a world like this? I feel a sudden sting of irritation, a small spark of anger igniting inside me.

“But why can’t you just tell me?” I ask, my voice rising just a fraction.

The words feel bitter as they leave my mouth. I know that the question is far from innocent, but it feels good to finally ask it.

Brother Stefano doesn’t flinch. His gaze softens even more, though there’s a certain hesitation in his eyes now.

“Ask me,” he says softly. “And if I can, I’ll answer.”

I look down at our hands, entwined together. His skin is so much older than mine, and yet there’s a sense of strength in the way he holds me. It’s the kind of strength I’ve always wanted but never felt I had.

I swallow hard and look at him again, the question already forming in my mind. But I’m not ready for the answer. Still, I ask, the words slipping out of me with barely any control. “Who are you?” I ask him.

“I am your guardian,” he answers, “and your subordinate at the same time.”

I scan him carefully. He’s a priest, but he feels like he belongs to this crazy world. “Are you really a priest or part of them?”

He nods. “Both, my child. Just like you, I was born into a bloodstained clan. This is my way of paying penance, by giving my life to God.”

I inhale and ask again, “Is it true I’m orphaned?”

The world pauses for a second. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, the silence pressing down on me.

He breathes in slowly, his eyes flickering to the distant guards once more before he turns his full attention back to me.

“You are the daughter of Gaspare D’Angelis, Fioretta,” he says, his voice thick with reverence.

“A once-powerful Mafia don. He adopted you from an orphanage when you were young, raised you in partial isolation from the syndicate to protect you from the blood politics. He loved you, but he couldn’t let you be involved in that life. ”

I blink, the words sinking in. Adopted. Mafia. It all feels like a blur—too much for my mind to process at once.

He continues, his voice quiet but full of sadness.

“Your father had you educated in France and Switzerland—diplomacy, philosophy, fine arts. He wanted you to have a life beyond this world, Fioretta. But when the family began to fracture, when the syndicate grew unstable, you were brought back here.”

I feel a rush of emotions, like the world is shifting beneath my feet. My thoughts start to churn, and panic creeps up my throat.

“But what about my mother?” I ask before I can stop myself, my voice sounding small. “Where is she? Why don’t I remember her?”

Brother Stefano takes a slow breath, his eyes heavy with the weight of the words he’s about to say. He gazes at me for a moment, almost like he’s deciding how much to share.

“There was no mother in the picture,” he says softly, his voice full of gentleness. “It was just your father.”

I blink, the words landing like stones. No mother? That emptiness in me deepens at his confession. I always thought there was something more, something warm I was supposed to remember. But all I can grasp is the cold absence of her, the silence where I expected to find love.

“Friends?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly, unsure why I’m even asking.

Brother Stefano sighs, his gaze distant. “Those who walk this path walk alone.”

I don’t understand what he means, but his words settle inside me like sand in a jar—shifting but never fully settling. I feel the ache that’s been clawing at my chest grow. It’s not just confusion anymore. It’s something else, something deeper. Pain, though I don’t know what to call it.

I touch my chest, pressing my hand to the spot where it feels like something inside me has cracked open. There’s a sharp pressure, an unfamiliar sting that I can’t describe. It’s not just physical; it’s emotional. It’s loneliness, I think. Loss, though I still don’t fully understand what it means.

“Did my father love me?” I ask, before I can stop myself.

Brother Stefano’s expression softens, like he’s carrying a heavy burden with him. He looks at me, his gaze filled with something between sorrow and compassion. “He was a flawed man,” he says quietly, “but you were the light of his life.”

I don’t know if I can believe him. I don’t know if I want to. Flawed man—those words echo in my head—but you were the light. His light? Or just the light in a dark world he couldn’t escape from?

I look around the garden, suddenly feeling the weight of everything pressing on me. The beautiful villa. The guards watching from the corners. Serevin. My husband.

My hand shifts slightly, and my fingers curl instinctively around the wedding ring on my finger. It’s cold against my skin, and the chill creeps through me. I look down at it, the golden band feeling like a foreign object. Not mine.

I don’t know how long I stare at it before I speak again. “My husband,” I say, almost to myself, the question soft but heavy. “He…he doesn’t love me, does he?”

Brother Stefano’s eyes flick to mine, and in that fleeting moment, I see the answer in the quiet tension between us. There’s no word. No direct response. But his eyes—their sadness, their acknowledgment—tell me everything I need to know.

I was married to this man for a lot of reasons. Love wasn’t one of them.

I blink away the sudden tears that sting the back of my eyes, the wetness threatening to spill over.

I feel too much. I feel everything. It’s as though the floodgates have opened, and I can’t stop the rising tide of emotions.

I try to swallow it down, but it doesn’t work. I don’t have control over any of this. I don’t know who I am, or who he is to me, or who I was before.

Brother Stefano sees it—he sees the way the tears flicker in my eyes, how my breath catches, how my body trembles with the weight of everything I don’t understand.

He steps closer, his hands moving to my shoulders in a gentle, fatherly gesture. His touch is warm, and there’s something in the way he pats me softly that makes me want to fall apart right there. He’s the only person who feels like he might understand, even if his answers are painful.

“There, there, my child,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “I know it’s hard. But you’ll be alright. I’ll be here. And I will always be here for you.”

I don’t know how to respond. His words feel like a balm for wounds I didn’t know I had. But there’s also doubt—doubt that I can ever trust him fully, that I cannot trust anyone.

^^^^

The sun is starting to dip behind the walls of the villa, casting the garden in shades of orange and gold, but I don’t care. I’m still stuck here—trapped in a life I can’t remember, with a man I don’t even recognize. The garden feels like a prison, and I want out.

Brother Stefano is leaving, the soft, emotional goodbye hanging in the air. His hug is tight, reassuring, but his face gives away more than he intends. He knows what I don’t. The truth I can’t seem to reach.

I pull back from the embrace, trying to smile at him, just a small one. But the more I think about it, the more it feels like I’m pretending.

“I’ll come back soon,” Brother Stefano says, his voice soft, as though he’s afraid of what might happen in the time he’s away. “Be safe, child.”

I nod, but I’m not sure what to believe. He leaves with his peace, but I’m still left here, unsure.

I turn, and without a word, I face Serevin and Cassian, standing behind me. They’re both watching me, the air around us tense, heavy.

“I don’t want to be here,” I say, the words sharp and clear as I pull the wedding ring off my finger. The cool gold feels like an anchor pulling me down.

I walk toward Serevin and hand him the ring, my fingers cold as I place it in his palm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, his voice low but steady. I can see his eyes flicker to the ring, then back to my face, his expression unreadable.

I stand tall in front of him, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “I have this sinking feeling that my life was miserable with you here. Probably why I ended up in the hospital, wasn’t it?”

The words spill out, coated with resentment. I can feel the weight of them hanging in the air. His gaze shifts slightly, but he doesn’t deny it. That’s all I need. I laugh bitterly, letting the ring clatter onto the floor, the sound sharp, echoing off the stone.

“I’ll take care of myself somehow,” I mutter, almost to myself. “Whatever this hellhole is, you can keep it.” I turn and glance toward the gates, my feet already moving, ready to escape. “I hear my only living relative is dead. I have no one. I have no obligations. No burdens.”

Cassian opens his mouth, like he’s going to reason with me, but I hold up a hand, silencing him before he can speak.

“Shut it, handsome,” I snap, my tone dripping with sarcasm as I point at Serevin. “I’m speaking to him.”

Cassian looks taken aback, but I don’t care. His opinion doesn’t matter to me right now.

“What about your father’s estate?” Serevin’s voice is cold, calculating. “That belongs to you. Stefano told you, didn’t he? You married me to protect that.”

I turn back toward him, my smile a twisted thing that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Luckily, I don’t know, and I don’t care. And that’s a blessing,” I say, the words sharp as knives.

I turn again, this time with purpose, starting for the gate. My chest tightens, but I ignore the flutter of anxiety that claws at my insides.

And then I hear it.

A whistle.

I freeze, my body tensing, and Cassian’s eyes flick toward the guards. They start to move, walking toward me with the silent precision of men who are trained to follow orders without question.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, my heart hammering. I don’t have time to think. I kick out, my feet landing with force against one of the guards’ knees.

They grab me, holding my arms with unrelenting strength, and I kick and struggle, but it’s no use. They’re stronger, and there are more of them. The guards drag me back to where Serevin and Cassian are standing, my feet scraping against the stone as I try to break free.

Serevin doesn’t move as they make me face him. He stands still, watching, like he’s already made up his mind.

One of the guards forces me to look up at Serevin, and I struggle against the grip, but it’s useless.

Serevin grabs my face. His hands are firm, but his touch isn’t gentle. He pulls my face toward his, forcing me to meet his eyes. His gaze is intense, too intense for me to look away from.

“You belong to me,” he says, his voice low, almost like a warning. “Do you understand?”

I can feel the rage building in me. It’s a slow burn, but it rises in my chest like a wildfire.

I laugh, and the sound is full of mockery. I spit on his face, the saliva landing on his cheek with a sickening splat.

“Fuck you.” The words taste bitter, harsh in my mouth.

Serevin wipes his face slowly, his fingers brushing the spit off. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Instead, he looks at the guards and speaks, his voice steady, commanding.

“Take her to my room,” he says coldly. “Lock her up.”

The words hit me like a slap, and I scream, the terror clawing at my throat. “What? You evil jerk! This is illegal! Someone help me! Handsome, oh, come on, not you too—someone help!”

But there’s no one. No one to listen.

The guards drag me away, and I thrash, kicking and yelling. But it doesn’t matter.