Page 6

THREE

F allon

After the first couple of days, time loses all meaning. The days blur together, each one a repeat of the last. The only sign of life is the occasional tray of food slid through a small slot in the door—barely enough to keep me alive.

At night, when the cold becomes unbearable, and my stomach feels like it’s eating itself from the inside out, I sing.

It’s the only thing that keeps me from losing myself in the dark, the only way to drown out the silence that threatens to drive me mad.

Just like Grandma would drive me crazy, taunting me through the closed door.

“In the dark where shadows creep,

Little firefly takes her leap,

Wings aglow, she dances light,

Unaware of the spider’s sight.”

My voice is soft and trembling. Right now, it’s all I have. The words echo off the stone walls, filling the empty space with a haunting melody. It’s a song from my childhood, a rhyme my father used to sing to me when we played in the dark.

“Where shadows sway, and critters play,

A spider waits to snatch its prey,

Spinning webs, so soft, so tight,

Lurking there, just out of sight.”

Back then, my father was the spider, a playful predator chasing his little firefly through the night. The spider in my life has changed over time. Milo became the spider who watched in the dark.

“Through the silence creeps a fright,

A spider stalks in the dead of night,

Its fangs so sharp, its timing right,

Trapping prey in webs spun tight.”

Leone became the spider who kept me locked away, who tried to protect me and ended up trapping me instead. His love was a web, one that bound me to him, kept me safe, and also kept me from flying free.

“Little firefly, don’t you stray,

The spider’s web blocks your way,

Wings once free, now caught, bound tight,

Little firefly ceases flight,”

Mikhail. Mikhail is the spider that will bite. He’s the one who will sink his fangs into me and watch as the light fades from my wings.

“Fading fast, she’s lost her fight,

The spider looms with shadowed might,

A single bite and out goes her light.”

My voice wavers, the last word hanging in the air like a final breath. The darkness seems to press in closer, suffocating me, but I keep going, even as my voice fades to a whisper.

I barely finish the last line when the door creaks open, a sliver of light cutting through the dark. I stop singing, my breath catching in my throat as I squint against the sudden brightness. A figure steps into the doorway, and even before my eyes adjust, I know who it is.

Mikhail.

His silhouette is a dark shadow against the light, his presence filling the room with the promise of violence. He doesn’t speak at first, just stands there, watching me with cold, calculating eyes.

Finally, he steps forward, the door closing behind him with a soft click. “I see your song has changed,” he says, his voice low, almost mocking. “From a creeping spider to one that bites. How fitting.”

I don’t respond, my throat too tight with fear and anger to form words. Instead, I hold his gaze, refusing to show him the terror that’s threatening to swallow me whole.

“Leone wants proof you’re still alive. He wants to hear your voice,” he tells me.

My heart pounds. Each beat a drum of impending doom. Mikhail’s words hang in the air, a promise of the suffering to come, and I know there’s no escape from this. Not for me. Not for Leone.

“So it’s time I make you scream firefly.”

His words curl through the air violently, and I fight back the urge to shrink under his gaze.

He doesn’t move right away. He just stares at me, letting the silence stretch, letting it press on my chest until I feel like I might choke on it.

I force myself to my feet.

I don’t stumble. I don’t shake.

If he wants a scream, he’ll have to earn it.

He steps closer, slow and predatory. The air in the cell thickens with his presence.

Each footfall lands like a warning—measured, assured, in complete control. The cell seems smaller with him inside it, the walls pressing in like they’re in on whatever he’s about to do.

I don’t move.

The air thickens, stifling. It smells of mildew, old sweat, and something coppery that could easily be blood.

“I was expecting more from you,” he says. “Tears. Pleas. The usual mess.”

He doesn’t smile, not really. It’s more a twitch of the mouth, like he finds something amusing but doesn’t want to waste energy enjoying it.

He circles me, the way men in power do—like I’m already his and this is just the formality of watching me squirm.

“No begging,” he muses. “No screaming. Not yet.”

He pauses behind me for a moment too long. The weight of his stare presses into the back of my skull.

“Funny how the quiet ones always make the best noise, once the fear sets in.”

The words slide into my ears like broken glass. I hold still.

My jaw clenches as I answer, voice dry and tight. “I’m not going to give you what you want.”

His footstep lands in front of me again. He studies me like I’ve just offered him a dare.

“I haven’t even told you what I want,” he replies. “But that’s the thing with girls like you. You assume. You prepare for all the wrong outcomes.”

“I’m not stupid,” I snap, before I can think better of it. “I know whatever it is, it won’t end well for me.”

He lets that sit in the air between us.

Then he leans in, not close enough to touch, but enough that I feel the heat of his breath. “You’re half right. This isn’t about your intelligence, Fallon. It’s about control. You’ve lost yours. I’ve got mine.”

He steps away, finally giving me space. Yet the room doesn’t feel any less suffocating.

“I’m not here to bargain,” he adds. “This isn’t a deal. It’s not even a conversation.”

I take a breath. “Leone already took everything from me. There’s nothing left to take.”

“You sure about that?”

He’s not smiling now. His tone shifts—cold and surgical.

“I could take your life,” he says flatly.

I laugh, though it comes out dry and hoarse. “If you were going to kill me, I’d be dead already. You need me.”

“Need is such a fragile word,” he murmurs. “So is alive. You’re useful. For now. That’s all.”

He closes the distance again. No rush. No warning.

“And that,” he says, eyes narrowing, “is where you make your mistake. You think being useful is the same as being untouchable. That’s not how this world works.”

I don’t respond.

“I’ve broken people who were more valuable than you,” he says, now close enough that his voice rakes across my skin. “Men who begged for their lives. Women who offered anything to make it stop. You think you’re different because you grit your teeth and pretend you’re unafraid?”

I say nothing, meanwhile my pulse thunders.

He studies my silence, then whispers, “You’ll learn. Everyone does.”

He pulls something from his coat—small, fast, deliberate. A switchblade clicks open, metal catching the dim light.

My breath stalls.

He turns the blade over in his hand, almost casually, like it’s just a tool in a trade he’s long since mastered.

“You’re still pretending,” he says. “Still playing the martyr. Like you’re above fear.”

I look at him. Just look. And say, “I’m not afraid of you.”

His eyes flicker—something cold and calculating behind them.

“No?” he says. Then lowers his voice to a near whisper.

“You will be.”

He twists the blade, the point pressing against the tip of his index finger. He ponders for a second like he is a butcher debating where he should cut first.

Instead, he reaches for my left hand.

“I’m curious how you came to be,” he says lightly, like we’re having a conversation over coffee instead of in a dungeon of his making.

“This one—” he lifts my wedding hand, tapping the ring with the tip of the blade, “—means something to Leone, doesn’t it?

Or were you merely a transaction, a business deal?

” I grit my teeth. A slow, sly smile spreads across his face.

He twists the ring on my finger between his, turning it over.

“Bigger than the one he gave Lydia,” he murmurs.

I rip my hand back instinctively, and he jerks it forward again, gripping my wrist.

“Don’t,” I hiss as my panic spikes.

“Don’t?” he echoes, feigning surprise. “I thought you weren’t afraid.” With a sharp flick of his wrist, he slices—not deep, but enough to draw blood just beneath the ring. He doesn’t remove the finger. The metal is now slick on my finger, blood-streaked.

“That’ll make a nice close-up,” he says, smirking. “I wonder what Leone will say when he sees it.”

He turns to nod at the camera in the corner of the room, the tiny blinking light taunting me. A few seconds later, the door opens, and a man enters with his phone. He moves off to the side, pointing the camera of his phone directly at me.

“We’re now live,” he says, his voice low, intimate. “Smile, firefly.” I glare at him, and he chuckles, letting my hair go as he walks around me slowly.

“You never answered.” My brows crease when he continues. “How did you meet Leone?”

I don’t want to answer. I’m also trying to mentally prepare myself for whatever he has planned next, so stalling seems like a good idea for now.

“I worked for him,” I answer.

“Hmm, I thought it odd he would choose love and not alliance. Lydia was for power even if he refuses to admit it. He knew I wouldn’t come for him if he had my sister on his arm.

The family feud started with our fathers.

So I’m shocked he didn’t marry a second time for the same thing.

” I say nothing instead, taking this information in.

“But who am I to speak? My wife was a nobody, too,” he replies. I leave my face blank as he speaks of my mother; her face has haunted me since being brought here.

He steps behind me and grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. Pain flares along my scalp, I don’t scream. I clamp my teeth down on the sound, locking it behind my lips.

He drags the knife along my jaw, not slicing, just pressing the flat of the blade to my skin.