Page 12 of The Vagabond

MAXINE - TWO MONTHS AGO

T he Gatti estate is beautiful.

It’s the first thing people say when they see it. Manicured lawns, marble staircases, security systems so advanced they could track a ghost through fog. Everything polished. Everything quiet.

But even a palace is a prison when you didn’t choose to stay. And I didn’t.

I woke up every morning in silk sheets that felt like a lie. Ate breakfast made by strangers who called me Miss Andrade like I was royalty, not what remained of a bad wreckage. I walked the gardens like I was part of the landscape—an ornament meant to be seen but never really touched.

And Brando?

He watched me like I might dissolve if he blinked.

I know he loves me. I know. This isn’t about love. It’s about drowning.

Because he’s always there. Always asking if I’m okay, if I’ve eaten, if I slept. There are guards outside every door. Cameras that track my movements like I’m one step away from disappearing again. I can’t leave without an escort. Can’t breathe without someone hovering.

He doesn’t mean to smother me. But he is. And I’m suffocating in luxury.

I try not to think about the past. I really do.

I fold it up neatly in my mind like a sweater you only take out in winter—useless in the warmth, but always there, waiting.

But it doesn’t stay folded. Not when I walk past the mirror and still don’t recognize the girl staring back at me.

Not when I flinch at sudden noises and still sleep with the lights on.

Not when I remember him. The man with green eyes and a badge and a fake name.

Saxon.

Devon.

Whatever the fuck his name is.

He saw me. And then he left. And I ended up at the Gatti estate—trapped in a gilded cage, with Brando breathing down my neck and every version of me screaming to get out.

And then one morning, Brando and I got into a fight.

Brando’s voice was too sharp in halls that were too quiet.

“Where are you going?” He snapped.

He said it like I’d committed treason.

I turn, keys in hand, sunglasses perched on my head.

“Out,” I say simply.

“With who?”

“By myself.”

He blinked like I’d said something in another language.

“You’re not cleared to go anywhere alone.”

I laughed. Bitter. Low. “Cleared? Am I in a fucking prison again?”

Brando stepped forward, his voice tight. “You know that’s not what this is, Maxine. We’re just trying to keep you safe.”

“I’m not safe!” I snapped, suddenly louder than I meant to be. “I haven’t been safe since the day they took me. And being wrapped in your version of it—it’s killing me.”

His jaw flexed. “We just worry?—”

“I don’t need you to worry!” I exploded. “I need to feel like I’m a person again. Not a project. Not some fragile thing you tuck away so no one can break it. You can’t control me forever, Brando!”

He looked wounded. Which made me somewhat smug. Because I’d been bleeding quietly for months, and no one noticed.

“No one’s trying to control you?—”

I cut him off. “You have a tracker on my phone. Guards that follow me everywhere. You check in like I’m five seconds from jumping off a bridge. You’re not protecting me, Brando. You’re suffocating me.”

His expression hardened, that Gatti steel creeping into his eyes. “You think walking into the city alone is the answer? After everything that’s happened to you?”

“I think doing anything on my own is the answer.”

I stepped closer. And I meant the next part with every shattered piece of me.

“If you don’t let me leave… I will disappear. I won’t tell Mia. I won’t call. I’ll vanish. Because if I don’t take back my freedom now, I’m going to forget what it feels like.”

He stared at me like I’d slapped him. Maybe I had. Because I meant every fucking word.

Silence stretched between us, filling the room like a thick fog. Dense. Choking. It felt like we were both standing on a landmine, neither of us willing to move, because we didn’t know what would happen if we did.

My chest rose and fell like I’d just run a marathon. My pulse was thundering. My palms were slick with sweat, fists clenched at my sides .

I love Brando. I do.

But love doesn’t mean obedience.

Not when I’m dying inside.

The door creaked open, and then?—

“What’s going on?” Mia’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. She walked into the room with wide eyes and her hand braced on the doorframe. “I could hear you guys from the other end of the house.”

She looked between us, trying to piece the puzzle together.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Because now that she was there, I felt the weight of it in my throat. I felt the tears pressing against the back of my eyes, burning with fury I’d held onto for too long. I blinked them back, refusing to fall apart in front of the two people who loved me the most.

Brando didn’t answer. He just shook his head like he’d been sucker-punched and didn’t know how to respond. His arms were folded across his chest, body rigid.

“I want to leave,” I managed, voice raw. “I need space. I need… air.”

Mia looked stunned. “You want to leave the estate?”

“Yes,” I snapped. “I need out of this place, Mia. Out from under the guards, the trackers, the fucking chokehold of being someone’s tragedy.”

Brando muttered something under his breath.

I whirled on him. “Say it louder.”

He lifted his gaze to mine. “I said it’s not a chokehold. It’s protection.”

“Yeah? Because being followed to the fucking bathroom is real protective.”

Brando’s jaw tightened.

Mia stepped between us like a buffer. She raised a hand toward me, palm out, gentle. “Max. Talk to me. Not at me. ”

I sucked in a breath. Exhaled like it hurt.

“I feel like I’m living inside someone else’s idea of what recovery is supposed to look like,” I said, quieter. “Like I’m being dressed in safety nets and rules and security detail because no one trusts me to exist outside of my own fucking trauma.”

Mia blinked, and I could see her absorbing my words. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to reach for me, but she didn’t.

“I know you’re scared,” I whispered, softer now. “I know you’re all scared of what happens if I’m out there by myself. But I’ve been in cages, Mia. Literal ones. And this—this is just another version of that. The food’s better. The walls are prettier. But it’s still a fucking cage.”

Brando cut in, voice sharp. “You’re not a prisoner here.”

“No,” I shot back, “but I’m not free either.”

Silence again.

It dripped down the walls like oil.

Mia finally spoke, slow and deliberate, directing her words at her husband. “Brando. She’s not a child.”

He stared at her like she’d betrayed him too.

“She’s been through hell,” he said. “I’m not going to let her walk back out there alone. She could get hurt.”

Again. He didn’t say it, but I knew that’s what he meant.

Mia stepped closer to him, hand on his arm. “You’re not letting her do anything. You’re trying to control her.”

Brando exhaled like he’d been punched.

“She’s not the girl we lost. She’s the woman who came back,” Mia says. “And if you keep treating her like she’s glass, she’s going to shatter for real.”

My throat tightened. Because I’d never felt more seen.

Brando didn’t speak right away. His eyes flicked to mine, and there was something raw there. He was terrified.

“She almost died,” he said hoarsely. “Sophia died. We can’t risk losing anyone else. ”

“And you won’t be able to save her every time,” Mia said softly. “But you can trust her.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Mia turned to me.

“Max,” she said gently. “We’ve been trying to protect you because we love you.

Because watching you come back from that place…

it’s the bravest thing I’ve ever seen. But you deserve to try.

To live again. I just need to know—really know—that you’re doing this because you’re ready.

Not because you’re trying to prove something. ”

I nodded slowly. My throat was too tight to speak.

Mia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me, tight, and I sagged into her. All my carnage, all my fire—it sank down into a soft, simmering ache.

“I just need to breathe,” I whispered. “I need to remember who I am outside of all this.”

She nodded into my shoulder. “Okay.”

We broke apart.

Brando ran a hand down his face, defeated but listening.

He didn’t speak. Just gave one tight nod and walked out of the room.

And I swear, the air shifted. Lighter. Not entirely free. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was standing on my own feet.

And I wasn’t about to fall.