Page 75

The road narrows the deeper we go.

I feel her arms tighten around me as the Ducati hums beneath us, her cheek pressed against my back like she’s trying to disappear into me. There’s no music. No talking. Just the wind, the engine, and the thoughts clawing their way up my spine.

I take the turn without thinking. Gravel cracks under the tires as we leave the main road behind, slipping through the rusted iron gates that mark the edge of what used to be my mother’s world.

It looks worse every time I come.

The vineyard’s mostly gone now, overtaken by weeds and time. The vines stretch wild over crumbling trellises, and the house is barely standing. Ivy strangles the stone walls like it’s trying to hold the place together out of sheer memory.

I kill the engine.

She climbs off behind me, slow and silent, pulling off the helmet and staring at the ruin in front of us.

She asks, “What is this place?”

I don’t answer right away. Just swing my leg off the bike and stand still for a second, taking it in. The ghosts are louder here. Always have been.

“This was my mother’s vineyard,” I say finally. My voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else. “She used to bring Enzo and me here when we were kids. Before everything turned to shit.”

I walk forward, gravel crunching beneath my boots, and stop near the old wall where she used to sit. It’s cracked now, overrun with moss. She’d drink wine there. Laugh. Breathe.

“She was pregnant when she died.” I feel her behind me, still, quiet. “She was going to have a daughter. Our little sister. If she was born, she would have been about your age.”

I don’t know why I’m telling her this. I never talk about my mother. Not with Enzo. Not with anyone. But the words refuse to stay buried.

“What happened?” Jordyn asks, her voice low, hesitant.

I stare past the broken trellises. Past the stone ruins and the overgrowth swallowing this place whole.

“She made the mistake of trying to leave,” I say.

“When she found out she was pregnant, she packed two bags. One for her. One for Enzo and me. We left in the middle of the night, no lights, no goodbyes.”

My jaw clenches until it sends a dull ache up the side of my face. “We got as far as the border before his men found us.” I don’t say my father’s name. He doesn’t fucking deserve it.

“They dragged Enzo and me into one car. Put her in another. I remember the way she fought...screamed our names until her voice cracked. And then the door slammed shut. That was the last time we saw her.”

I pause, the silence sharp around me.

“I never saw her again. Just the casket.”

When I finally turn, Jordyn’s watching me, not with pity, but something else. Something still. And I hate that she sees me like this, raw, exposed, shaking under skin that usually feels bulletproof.

“Sometimes,” I murmur, “I still hear her voice in my head. Screaming for us. Like it’s carved into the back of my skull.”

The air feels thick enough to drown in, heavy with things I’ve never said out loud, things I swore I buried so deep no one would ever dig them up again.

But then I feel her.

A gentle hand on my arm. I glance down, and there she is, stepping closer like she isn’t afraid of the darkness I just laid at her feet.

She slides her hand up my bicep, slow and steady, until her fingers curl at the back of my neck, her thumb brushing against my nape soothingly.

“She loved this place,” I say. “Said it was the only spot in Sicily that didn’t reek of men and power. Just sun, and earth, and peace.”

Jordyn looks out at what was once the vineyard, the wind catches the ends of her hair, lifting them like soft ribbons. She doesn’t say anything, just stares at the rows of wild, overgrown vines twisting toward the sun, as if they’re still trying to grow despite the decay.

“This is the first time I’ve brought anyone here,” I murmur. “You’re the first.”

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just holds on tighter.

“You still come here?” she asks gently.

I nod. “When I need to remember what peace felt like. Or to remind myself what I lost.”

She steps in closer, and peers up at me. “Thank you for bringing me.”

Her voice is soft and sincere.

I look at her and something in my chest twists in a way I can’t control.

“She would’ve liked you,” I admit. “You smile like she did, like you don’t belong in the dark.”

“You don’t belong there, either.” She states, pressing her small hand against my chest.

Her words land with more weight than she probably realises.

You don’t belong there, either.

I want to believe her. God help me, I do. But she’s never seen the worst of me, not really. Not the version of myself forged in blood and silence, the one who learned to survive by becoming something cold and unrecognisable.

Still… her hand stays pressed to my chest. Right over the spot that aches.

“I’ve lived in the dark my whole life, bambina,” I murmur. “It doesn’t let go of people like me.”

“Maybe not,” she says, her voice steady. “But maybe it can’t hold you the same way it used to. Not if there’s light pulling at you.”

Her eyes lift to mine, wide and clear. So fucking brave.

I stare at her, at the defiance in her softness. The way she looks at me, like I’m not a lost cause.

My hand slides up to her jaw. Thumb brushing along the curve of her cheek.

And I don’t say a word, I just kiss her.

Not to claim or to dominate. But to feel.

To let her know that in this wreckage of vines and memories, in the place where something precious was taken from me, she’s become something I never saw coming. Something that makes me want to stay.

Her lips are still soft against mine when I pull back, just enough to breathe. But I don’t let go of her. I wrap my arms around her waist and hold her against my chest, both of us facing the vineyard. It stretches out in front of us like a graveyard of something once loved.

Jordyn leans her head against my shoulder, silent for a beat.

Then, softly, she asks. “Why didn’t you keep it alive?”

I blink, the question sinking into my chest like a slow knife.

She doesn’t mean it to wound. I know that. But it still does. I exhale through my nose. “Because I didn’t know how.”

She turns in my arms just enough to glance up at me.

“I was twelve, bambina. All I knew was that this place hurt to look at. Every stone, every row of vines, every bit of soil reminded me of her. I thought if I left it, if I let it rot, it would be like she was still here. That it would mourn with me.”

Jordyn’s eyes search mine. “And now?”

I pause. Long enough to let the truth rise.

“Now I think letting it die might’ve been the cruellest thing I could’ve done to her.”

The wind shifts. Birdsong carries faintly through the trees. Somewhere in the distance, a door creaks on rusted hinges. I look down at her again.

“You’re the first person to ever ask me that,” I say, and she turns in my arms, eyes drifting back over the rows of wild vines curling into the sky. “It’s not too late to change that.”

I frown, but Jordyn doesn’t look at me. She’s staring at the land like she sees something I can’t. “This place is stunning, Ares. I mean, really stunning. It’s not completely destroyed… it just needs someone to believe it’s still worth something.”

Her voice thins to a whisper. “Look.” She lifts her hand, pointing toward a stretch of the vineyard where the vines have managed to thread themselves through the cracked wooden supports, still blooming in soft bursts of green. “They’re still fighting to live. Even with no one tending to them.

Fuck, her words hit me hard. Like a steel bat straight to the ribs.

Because for a moment, I can’t tell if she’s talking about the vineyard, or about me .

So, I look at her, the girl who’s burned her way through every locked door I’ve built around my past, standing barefoot in a field of ghosts, and telling me it’s not too late to bring something back to life.

“Ares, if you want to keep your mum’s memory alive, this right here is the place to do it.”

And for the first time, I think maybe… she might be right.

The house is barely holding itself together, vines crawling through cracked windows, floorboards sagging beneath years of dust and silence. Still, Jordyn walks through it like she’s stepping through history, brushing her fingers along the stone walls like they might speak to her.

I follow a few paces behind, watching her take it all in.

There’s something surreal about seeing her here, her softness inside a space that’s been nothing but ruin since the day they buried my mother. She doesn’t belong in places like this, but fuck if she doesn’t light them up anyway.

She turns a corner into what used to be the kitchen, her footsteps soft.

Then she pauses. Her hand lifts to the edge of the table, gripping it.

“Jordyn?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Her shoulders sway, slightly, but wrong.

I move fast.

She staggers once, and I catch her before she hits the ground. Her skin is clammy, her breath shallow. Panic kicks up in my chest.

“Hey, hey, look at me, ” I murmur, steadying her against me. “What’s wrong?”

“I, I don’t know,” she breathes, wincing. “Just… got really dizzy. And nauseous.”

Shit. I guide her down slowly until she’s seated on a low step near the hearth, crouching in front of her with both hands braced around her waist.

“Why didn’t you say something?” I ask, quieter now. Not angry, just worried.

“I didn’t feel it until a few minutes ago. It came on fast.” I watch her carefully. Her eyes are clearer now, but her face is still pale.

“I’m okay,” she says quickly, trying to wave it off.

“The hell you are.”

I pull off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders, ignoring her protest.

She leans into me anyway. My hand strokes down her back, slow, grounding. “It’s probably side effects of the pill. Could be your body adjusting, or dehydration.”

She nods faintly.

I reach into my pocket, grab the bottle of water I always carry on the bike, and unscrew the cap.

“Here,” I say, holding it to her lips.