Page 58 of Fire and Silk

I take it with slow fingers, unsure of what I’m even touching. The leather smells faintly like lavender and paper. I flip it open to the marked page.

The handwriting is unmistakable. Elegant. Decisive. It loops like her voice, clear and always a little too composed.

If you’re reading this now, I am dead.

And your brother and Mico finally told you the truth.

I’m sorry, my child.

My eyes blur instantly, but I keep reading.

I never meant to hurt you. But I couldn’t leave this world without knowing someone would carry what I’ve hidden for so long. You are not just my daughter—you are heir to a legacy that stretches beyond this country, beyond what you know.

I asked Mico to protect you because I trust him with your life. Because he loves you. Even if he hasn’t said it aloud. I have seen it.

This bond was not only meant to shield your name. It was meant to preserve your heart. And if one day, you understand what I’ve done—if you can look him in the eyes and still see the boy who was willing to die for you—I ask you to marry him.

Not because of the contract. But because he will love you even when you forget how to love yourself.

My hands tremble so violently I nearly drop the journal. I press it to my chest, curling around it as if I can force it to disappear.

Everything in me goes still. Numb.

She knew. All along. And she never told me.

The silence between us thickens, and I hear my own voice echo in it, hollow.

“I don’t know what’s real anymore,” I say. “It feels like everyone in my life has lied to me.”

Mico reaches forward but doesn’t touch me yet. He waits.

I lift my eyes slowly and ask, even though I already know the answer.

“The man who captured me. Is he...?”

He nods . “Yes. He’s the son of the family you’re an inheritor to.”

My blood runs cold.

I shake my head. “What is he going to do to me?”

This time, he reaches for my hands and holds them tightly between his.

“Nothing,” he says, his voice steady and firm. “I told him you want nothing to do with their wealth. That you reject the legacy. I made it clear.”

He lifts one hand to cup the back of mine. His skin is rough but warm.

“Daybreak tomorrow, I’ll take you with me. I promise. We can’t go tonight. You’re too weak and it’s too late to move safely. But I’ll get you out.”

I don’t respond. I can barely breathe.

“We can go back to Italy,” he adds. “Start a new life. I have friends at the academy. I’ve already reached out. You can finish your program. Pick up your violin again. We can disappear together.”

My eyes scan his face. The lines. The stubble. The exhaustion. But also the anchor I used to know—the one I trusted long before I had words for what trust meant.

He watches me.

And I whisper, “How do I know you won’t run from me again?”