3. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Olivia
“ Y our brother came today.”
Principal Abbott’s four words have the hairs on the back of my neck rising. The urge to look over my shoulder is so powerful that I’m turning my head before I even know it’s happening—assessing for threats. The only thing over my shoulder, however, is the window to the room that has been mine for the past six years. I swallow audibly, and wince when I see her hawkish brown eyes register the movement.
“Miss Stepanova, I cannot be bought,” the older woman says, disappointment dripping from her tone.
And what a relief that is. Her school wouldn’t still be open if she was so easily swayed. Running a high security boarding school for the elite of the world means that the woman before me is probably one of the wealthiest women in the country. Any bribes she might receive would be nothing compared to her reputation being destroyed and her livelihood going away. Lucky for her students and today, lucky for me. I had known something was up when they put all the students and staff into lockdown. I watched from the window behind me as her security team began barring all entries and exits to the dorms.
“What did he want?” Do I even want to know?
“He wanted to see you, claimed he only had the best intentions. That’s why our guards stripped him of no less than five weapons. I reminded him of the contract I entered with your father. Deceased or not, his lawyers can still rip them up if anything happens to you on these grounds.”
These grounds being her two hundred acres of gilded prison. Two hundred acres have been as far as my world has stretched since I was five years old. And like its high stone walls, I have been its most consistent presence.
“He asked me to give you this.” Her bony, well-manicured hand holds out a folded piece of paper. “He wrote it before he left, so there is nothing tainted. It seems innocent, but you and I both know the nature of the man,” she adds at the look on my face.
I hesitate in taking it. I don’t want to know what he has written there. My self preservation tells me it’s nothing good. And yet morbid curiosity has me reaching out to pluck it from its place.
“Your twenty-first birthday is not far off. Have you thought about what you will do when you leave?”
If it’s possible for hope and dread to pin a person to the spot, that is what this question does. One part of me feels a fluttering of something warm and exciting in my chest at the opportunity of freedom. On the other hand, today’s visit from Riccardo Dolmino has a stone settling in my gut. It’s a reminder that feels like a pressure on the back of my neck, a reminder that something more sinister lays beyond the walls.
“I don’t really know.” I shrug, offering her a weak smile. “University most likely.”
She nods her head, but I see the pinch of uncertainty in her brow: she’s worried for me.
“You are one of our brightest students Olivia. Your GPA scores were the highest in your graduating year. You will come into your fortune and will have more than enough money to put yourself through a good university and set yourself up.”
I nod mechanically, because we both need it—this false hope. My future has always been in shades of grey. I know my brother’s appearance has something to do with the fortune that was left to me upon our father’s death. According to the solicitor, Riccardo was unaware of me—his illegitimate half-sister. The shock of it further drilled home when the solicitor read the will, enlightening my brother that I was the beneficiary of half our father’s fortune. A father who I never even knew.
I try not to look too deeply at the memory of the man who sired me. Our one and only meeting is hazy at best, a nightmare at worst. Don’t think about it, I remind myself. There are more pressing matters at hand. When I turn twenty-one, I plan to leave this place. There will be no more guards, and no more walls. For the past two years, I have been planning my exit from Ironwood. And yet I still can’t settle on an exact location. I only hope that when I make my move, there will be a place that is safe enough. The constant weariness of my situation settles over my shoulders. I try to remain optimistic, but life beyond these walls still seems like a dream.
“With your practice, LSAT scores, you have what it takes to get into Harvard.”
I meet her gaze. She has always tried to encourage me to take my future into my own hands, believing in me. Mrs Abbott is not a silly woman. She knows more about my history than I do, knows what waits for me beyond these walls, and yet she encourages me to have hope.
“Just think about it,” she says, turning towards my bedroom door.
“I will,” I reply, sliding my thumb over the sharp edges of the note in my hand.
She doesn’t know what it’s like. I take a deep breath as the door closes behind her. She is just doing her best. But what she’s really doing is trying to fill me with a false sense that my future is my own. My exceptional grades only come from years of trying to control the one part of my life I can.
Surrounded by all my worldly possessions, I let the paper slip from my fingers. He touched it, I remind myself, and that thought has my stomach twisting. It floats to the floor, and the urge to ground my heel into it is so strong that I turn my back on the spot and stomp to my closet, flinging open the door. Being cooped up inside for the day and the news of my brother’s visit has left me rattled and anxious. My fingers sift through clothes till I rip some running tights and a crop top from the top draw and toss them onto the bed.
Ignoring the elephant in the room, I wrench my sweater over my head, kick my boots off and wiggle out of my jeans. Such things shouldn’t hold much weight, or carry such presence, but the inconspicuous piece of folded paper is a reminder. Mrs Abbott read the note. She wouldn’t have given it to me if it was an open threat and yet the way her fingers shook slightly as she handed it over, she was just as rattled by her meeting. Whatever is inside that hastily scrawled note won’t be something that makes me feel warm and fuzzy. I hastily pull on my running clothes as the cool air nips at my bare skin. As I stuff my feet into my sneakers, I finally reach for the note, holding it at arm’s length for a moment.
“Okay, brother dearest, do your worst.”
Anger is swift and welcome. I allow it to help me find my courage as I unfold the paper.
I look forward to our reunion, little sister.
Not long now.
My fist closes around the paper. Ice fills my veins despite my simmering rage. My first family contact ever has left me feeling like an animal caught in a trap. He knows my location, he probably knows what I look like. And yet I know nothing of him, just a name and that he is my greatest threat. My time is running out. That is why I was put here, to be protected by these walls, because the Mafia’s reach is as long as its memory.