Page 140 of Brutal Crown

“You don’t know what you’re invoking,” Ermanno says. “You’re just a boy?—”

“I am the heir of the Romano line,” I cut in. “And by the old rules, that gives me the right. I have a valid cause. I have proof. And I’m not afraid to die for it.”

Silence befalls the room again.

“You have limited time to get ready. What you do next decides everything.”

Then the storm outside breaks open. Lightning flashes through the ruined dome as a heavy downpour befalls the earth.

I don’t wait for their response. I turn my back on them and walk into the storm I’ve summoned.

37

LIA

“Thank you,” I murmur as the nurse wraps the last layer of bandage around my feet.

She nods, offering a faint smile as she smooths the blanket over my legs.

“Get some rest,” she says quietly before turning and slipping through the heavy oak doors.

The room is quiet after she leaves.

I let out a slow breath and sink back into the pillows.

Dante moved me here a few nights ago. I don’t know exactly where we are, but I know it is remote, quiet, and better than the cell I woke up in after my fake kidnap.

The room I’m in feels like something straight out of a novel. The walls are cream-colored stone, and the window stretches from the floor to the ceiling, framing the mountains in the distance like a painting. Rain has started to mist against the glass, soft and rhythmic. A fire crackles in the fireplace across the room. The bed beneath me is softer than anything I’ve slept in for weeks, and the air smells of rosemary and lavender.

It should be peaceful. And in some ways, it is.

I’ve been using this forced solitude to rest and to sleep properly, to breathe without fear snapping at the back of my neck. I’ve read, journaled, cried. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and just stare at the ceiling, letting the silence hold me.

But I can’t stop thinking about Francesco.

Where he is. What he’s planning. Whether he’s safe.

The last time I saw him, I was walking down a path I thought would lead to my grave.

He still thinks I’m dead or gone forever. I just wish I could hold him firmly in my arms.

I blink back the tears and grab the romance novel on my bedside table. I flip the pages absentmindedly, ignoring the small sting in my hands.

The burns on my palms are healing. The skin is red and raw, but it’s no longer blistering. My knees are scabbed over and tight when I move, but the pain has dulled as well. The burns on the soles of my feet… those are worse. They throb with every step I take. Walking is still a punishment. A reminder of what I endured. Of what I chose.

The door clicks open again, and my breath hitches when I see who it is.

Marco steps inside, a bag in his hand. His damp hair curls slightly from the rain, and there’s a tiredness in his shoulders that I haven’t seen before. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes soften when they meet mine.

He takes in the room, his gaze flicking over the stone walls, the blankets, and the fire. Then to me. They trail over my face, then down to the bandages peeking out from under the hem of my blanket.

Something crosses his eyes.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me,” he says in a low voice.

I nod once. “Come in.”

He sets the bag down on the bedside table and sits in the armchair near the bed. His hands are loosely clasped on his lap. I can tell something’s weighing on him, but he’s not sure where to begin.