Chapter 30 – Serafina
Marcello’s Estate
“Mama, I’m scared,” Bianca whispers, her small voice trembling like a fragile thread about to snap. Her little fingers clutch mine tightly, as if letting go means she’ll vanish into the darkness swallowing us.
I pull her close with one arm, my other bracing Isla’s frail body against me.
Isla’s breaths are shallow, her swollen belly pressing against my side.
Her wrists are raw from the ropes, her skin mottled with bruises.
Even in half-consciousness, she fights to stay upright, her chin tilted as if sheer will can hold her together.
The cage reeks of rust and damp. The iron door gapes just slightly ajar, taunting me with its false hope. Freedom, only an inch away, but locked by forces far bigger than metal.
I press my lips to Bianca’s hair, murmuring, “Mama will protect you. I promise.” My voice breaks, but I force strength into the words. My baby can’t hear the quake in my chest. Not now.
My eyes sting as I turn to Isla. She forces a smile, the corners of her lips trembling. “I missed you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse, each syllable a battle.
A sob claws its way up my throat, but I swallow it down, shaking my head. “This is my fault,” I breathe. “I did this to you. I dragged you into this.”
Isla’s weak laugh echoes like a ghost. She shakes her head, wincing at the motion. “Don’t be silly,” she rasps, her eyes soft. “I knew you’d come for me. Always.”
Her words cut deeper than any blade. My vision blurs, and suddenly I’m back in that cramped academy room, two girls standing in front of a cracked mirror.
We pinned our shiny new badges to our chests, our hands clasped together, swearing we’d never leave the other behind.
Always come for me, she had whispered then. And I had promised.
I clutch her now, my arms trembling around her battered body. “I’ll get you out. I swear it. You and Bianca.”
Bianca whimpers, pressing her face into my side, hiding from the nightmare. My tears finally spill over, dripping into her hair.
“I’ll get you safe,” I whisper again, as much to convince myself as them. “We’ll all be safe.”
I cup Bianca’s cheeks, forcing my trembling lips into something that might pass for calm. “Baby, I know this is scary,” I whisper, my voice quaking as my thumb wipes at the tears streaking her face. “I know you’re confused, but listen to me—we have to find a way to help Aunty Isla, okay?”
Before she can answer, Isla jerks against my arm, her eyes wide, panic breaking through her exhaustion. “No…no…God, no….” Her voice cracks, and I see it in her face, the clench of her jaw, the arch of her back—she’s going into labor.
“Shhh, Isla, it’s okay.” My voice trembles as I press a hand to her damp forehead, stroking sweaty strands of hair back. “You’re safe. I’m here. I swear to you, you’ll be safe.” My other hand grips hers, tighter than I mean to, as though I can hold her pain for her.
Desperation claws at me. I glance at the rusted bars—warped, corroded with age.
I drag myself upright, my arms straining as I push with every ounce of strength I have left.
My palms burn, my muscles scream, but the iron groans, shifting just enough to give me hope.
The gap widens, jagged edges scraping my skin as I try to wedge myself through.
Too big. I’m too big.
My breath comes in shallow gasps. I shove harder, the metal biting into my ribs, but my body won’t pass. I slam my fists against the bars in rage and despair, sobbing as I drop back inside.
“Mama, look.” Bianca’s small voice cuts through, and when I lift my head, my blood runs cold.
She’s on the other side of the cage. She managed to squeeze through.
My heart seizes. “Bianca—no!” My voice hisses out sharp, desperate, louder than it should be. I scramble to the bars, clawing at them, my arms straining through the gap. “Come back here, right now!”
Her big hazel-green eyes are wet but steady. “Mama, I’ll go and find someone to help Aunty Isla.”
“No!” The word rips from my throat. I reach for her, my fingers brushing only air. “Please, baby, please come back in. It’s too dangerous.”
Isla’s weak voice joins mine, a trembling whisper. “Bianca…sweetheart…please, listen to your Mama. Come back. Don’t go.”
But Bianca only shakes her head, her chin wobbling with fear and determination far too big for her tiny body. “I’ll be fast.”
She turns, running into the shadows.
“Bianca!” I choke her name, my voice shattering. I throw myself at the bars again, squeezing, wriggling, dragging skin raw against the rust. The iron bites into my shoulders, my hips, until I’m stuck halfway, sobbing, powerless.
“God—no!” I slam back into the cage, curling around Isla, rocking her trembling body as if that will keep us both from breaking. My tears soak into her hair as panic churns through me.
My baby is gone. Out there. Alone.
My chest heaves, sobs tearing out of me as I clutch Isla’s trembling body.
My thoughts betray me—Cristofano. If he’s angry…
if he’s looking for me…. I press my forehead to the cold bars, squeezing my eyes shut.
No. If he were looking, it would only be to pay me back for the betrayal. Not to save me. Not to save us.
Bianca’s face flashes in my mind, and I choke back another sob. Focus. Think of her. Just Bianca.
Isla groans against my chest, the sound ripping me apart. “I’ve got you,” I whisper fiercely, rocking her. My fingers smooth her damp hair, my lips brushing her temple like a mother’s blessing. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Then—footsteps. A sound from the shadows.
My head snaps up, panic rising like bile. A switch clicks, flooding the room with light so bright I flinch.
And there she is.
Alessandra. Limping. Blood stains the side of her elegant dress, a crude bandage pressed against her ribs. A gun gleams in her shaking hand, her sapphire eyes duller now, desperate but blazing with something feral.
The door creaks open, metal against metal, and for a second, I think I’m hallucinating. But she steps forward, steady despite the limp, her finger tight on the trigger.
Her gaze meets mine—icy, burning. Then she says, her voice raw and clipped:
“Get out. Get out—now.”
I stare at her, stunned, my pulse roaring in my ears. My arm tightens instinctively around Bianca’s empty spot, my other hand locked around Isla’s wrist. My lips part, but no words come.
I wedge my arm under Isla’s weight, hauling her up as gently as I can. Her face is pale, sheen of sweat on her brow, and every step makes her groan. My throat burns as I whisper encouragement, even though my own body is trembling.
Behind us, Alessandra’s voice lashes out like a whip.
“And where’s your brat?”
My heart jolts. I keep my mouth shut, clutching Isla tighter, praying Bianca has found some kind of safety.
Alessandra sneers. “Silent, huh? Fine. I’ll find her myself and feed her to the dogs.”
“Don’t you dare—” I start, but she cuts me off with a harsh, “Move!”
The barrel of her gun jabs the air, her sapphire eyes gleaming with fury. My stomach knots, but I grit my teeth and push Isla forward. “She’s in labor,” I whisper hoarsely.
Alessandra rolls her eyes, shifting her weight with a hiss as her hand presses against her bleeding side. “Couldn’t care less,” she snaps. “I said move!”
Her voice echoes against the stone walls, sharp and grating. I bite back a sob, adjusting Isla, whispering, Just hold on, just a little longer, as we shuffle forward.
We turn a corner, and three guards appear. My breath catches in my throat, but Alessandra raises her gun, her voice slicing through the corridor like command itself.
“Stand down!”
The guards hesitate, eyes darting between us and her, but her glare hardens, a queen in rags. Slowly, reluctantly, they lower their weapons.
We keep moving. Step by step, my arm aching from Isla’s weight, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Finally, the corridor thins.
It’s here that I notice Alessandra faltering. Her breaths come shallow and ragged, her free hand clutching her side. Crimson seeps between her fingers, spreading dark across the fabric. Her once perfect poise is unraveling, her porcelain face drained of color.
For the first time, she looks…fragile.
But the gun is still steady in her hand. And her eyes, though dimming, never stop burning holes through me.
I tap Isla’s arm twice. A signal. Her glazed eyes meet mine, confusion flickering, but she understands enough to shift, pressing herself against the wall for balance.
Alessandra’s voice cracks the air.
“Move, damn it!” she yells, jabbing the gun toward Isla.
I don’t move toward Isla. I move toward her.
I launch myself forward, catching her off guard. My shoulder slams into her chest, and she staggers, gasping as her back collides with the wall. Her gun swings wild, the shot ringing into the ceiling, plaster dust raining down.
I grab for her wrist, twisting it hard. She snarls, fighting back with surprising strength even through her bleeding side. Her knee drives up toward my ribs, but I pivot, slamming my elbow down into her wound.
She screams. Her body buckles, and the gun clatters to the floor. I don’t think—I react. I kick it toward me, scoop it up, and aim it at her face.
Alessandra’s eyes blaze with hatred, lips pulled back in a snarl. She’s pale now, trembling, one hand clutching her torn side. Still, she tries to spit words like venom. “You stupid—”
“Shut up,” I snap, my own voice shaking with rage. My hand trembles, not from fear but from the sheer adrenaline coursing through me.
Behind me, Isla groans. My head whips back—her body sliding down the wall. I rush to her, pocketing the gun, my free arm circling her waist to hold her upright.
“Serafina….” Her voice is barely a whisper. She’s drenched in sweat, her face ashen. “I’m slowing you down. Go. Find Bianca.”
“No.” My voice cracks. I grip her tighter. “I am not leaving you.”
Her hand, shaking, finds my wrist. “I can’t walk. And you know it.” Her lips twitch in something like a smile, though pain distorts it. “Bianca needs you more.”
Tears blur my vision. I shake my head violently. “No, no, Isla, don’t you dare—”
She winces, shifting her body against the wall. “Help me to a corner. I’ll be fine.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, dragging her to a shadowed alcove. She slides down carefully, biting back a cry as her body folds into itself. My chest aches so badly I can hardly breathe.
“I’ll come back for you,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to hers for a fleeting second.
She nods weakly, her eyes glassy. “I know.”
My fingers curl around the gun. My heart pounds so hard it hurts. I force myself to stand, to step away, even though every instinct screams to stay with her.
For Bianca, I remind myself. For her.
My chest heaves as I run, every step thunderous in my ears. Bianca. I need to find Bianca. The thought repeats, a prayer and a curse. My lungs burn, but I don’t stop.
I skid around a corner—straight into two armed men.
Their guns swing up, but I’m faster. My body slams into the first man, knocking his weapon to the side as I ram my knee into his stomach.
He doubles over, groaning. I wrench the gun from his hand, but the second one grabs my braid, yanking me back.
Pain sears my scalp, and a cry escapes my lips.
“Bitch!” he snarls, shoving me toward the wall.
I twist at the last second, driving my elbow into his jaw with all the strength I have. He stumbles but doesn’t fall. He swings at me, a fist grazing my cheek so hard stars burst across my vision. My knees weaken, my body begging to crumple, but I force myself upright.
I shove the barrel of the stolen gun under his chin and pull the trigger.
The recoil kicks my arm back, the sound deafening.
His body collapses at my feet. The first man, recovering, lunges, but I fire again, the bullet tearing through his shoulder.
He screams, falling to the ground, and I finish him with a hard kick to the temple. He goes limp.
My body shakes as I stumble forward, adrenaline a fire in my veins. My hands are trembling, my face throbs where he hit me, but I don’t let myself stop.
I burst into an open courtyard, moonlight spilling like a spotlight over the cracked stones. Relief doesn’t come. Instead, my heart plummets.
Marcello Vitale is there.
He stands like he’s been waiting for me, gloved hands folded behind his back, pale blue eyes glinting with amusement. He looks immaculate as ever, his navy suit pristine, his hair in perfect order, as if this whole nightmare is nothing but a game to him.
I freeze. My body screams at me to run, to retreat, but the moment I turn, two guards step out from the shadows, rifles aimed squarely at me.
Marcello smiles, slow and poisonous.
“Well,” he drawls, his voice dripping with satisfaction, “you’re a tough one, Mrs. Bellarosa.”
The title makes bile rise in my throat.
He strolls forward with leisurely steps, as if he has all the time in the world. My hands twitch, my finger brushing the trigger, but I don’t move. I can’t—not with the guards so close.
He stops in front of me, tilts his head, and with a gloved hand, he lifts my chin as if I’m a child to be inspected. His eyes glitter, cold and mocking.
I slap him across the face, the crack echoing through the courtyard. Before his smirk fades, I spit—right across his cheek.
The guards tense, guns cocking. My heart seizes.
Marcello chuckles low in his throat and raises a hand, gesturing them to wait. Then his hand swings across my face. The slap burns, rattling my teeth, forcing a cry from me.
Rage flares hot, and I lunge at him, ready to claw, to shoot, to kill—
A cry stops me.
I whip my head around, breath frozen in my chest.
Down the corridor, two men drag Isla, her body sagging between them. Her face is twisted in pain, sweat soaking her hair, and then—
A dark wetness spreads down her legs. Water trails across the stone floor.
My stomach drops. “No….” The word slips from my lips as my knees weaken.
Her water has broken.
And she’s still in their hands.