Chapter 20 - Bianca
The space feels too silent when I emerge, a small vine of uncertainty and fear of impending danger lodging itself deep into me as I pace around yet again, searching. I’m not sure what exactly, but my search soon comes to an end when I notice it—a wooden door that sits slightly ajar. It’s on the second floor, and I immediately take notice of it when I realize I haven’t looked inside yet. I must’ve missed it in my first scan of this place. I slip inside, closing it quietly behind me, and inhale deeply when I look around—it’s a library. It's quiet here. The windows are bolted, which would explain why there aren’t any men situated here. It's empty.
The room is filled to the brim with old books, the spines worn and faded with a few newer titles. It smells of dust and aged paper. I step behind a tall bookshelf, trying to keep myself from view if anyone else is to enter the library and take a deep breath to try and calm my racing mind.
My fingers trace the spines of the books, feeling the rough texture grazing the pads of my fingers as I pray one of these will somehow give me the answers I’m seeking. Namely, how the hell I’ll get out of here. I do this for a while, even almost getting lost in the names of the titles. But then I notice a small desk tucked away in the corner, and I move towards it. It's full of drawers —ones I try to open more out of boredom, not expecting any of them to be unlocked, but one gives way. There's a singular worn book, what appears to be a leather-bound diary, hidden away in the corner. Curious, I nudge my hand towards it, pulling it out and opening it. I leaf through the pages, which are thin and yellowed with age, the handwriting elegant and precise. I turn back to the first page, noting the name. It belongs to my grandfather.
I read a few entries, which are mostly just descriptions of his meetings and financial proceedings; his wife, and their toddler children. But then I come across something that makes my blood turn cold in my veins. It starts off more like a stream of consciousness, describing his bitterness and hatred towards the Barkovs, who at the time emerged as a rival family, though one entry, in particular, catches my eye. He writes about a young woman called Anya—Aleks's younger sister, who I remember from the conversation with Akim—when he admitted she was murdered several years ago.
Enrico describes discovering that Anya was in love with one of his guards. Our guards. Enraged, he kidnapped and tortured her. He doesn't describe the whole process in detail, but it makes my stomach clench with disgust nonetheless. He proceeds with describing the cruel enjoyment he took when he killed her lover, then reveling in Anya’s parents’ deaths only months later. The slight bitterness that it wasn’t his hand that brought about their death, but the mourning for their daughter—something neither of them could fully recover from. His goal back then was to annihilate his emerging rival, the Barkov family, believing it would end their power and influence, but he wanted to do it himself. To end their lives like they were nothing more than cattle.
The text hits me like a punch to the gut. Aleksei’s vendetta against my family, his reason for kidnapping me in the first place, everything makes sense. I knew it did, but seeing it confirmed like this by my own grandfather, who by all accounts was a monster and didn't feel a shed with remorse, makes me sick to my stomach. A dead man’s actions set this whole chain of events in motion. I read through some of the other entries, coming to terms with the fact that the man I’ve known as my grandfather was a fucking sociopath, describing Lorenzo as unworthy— unfit to take on the family business.
Apart from the bile now rising, it also causes a swell of anger within me. This changes everything. My father had nothing to do with the deaths and Aleksei’s sister—he is seeking revenge from the wrong person. I need to find a way to get away from here, and I need to act fast. I can't let Aleksei’s misguided vengeance turn everything to dust.
I place the treacherous book back in its place, shutting the drawer, and then run through the library, determined to make it back to Grigor. When I arrive downstairs I'm panting, though he doesn’t look like he moved an inch, still in a disassociated state by the look of him.
“I realized I need to stitch one of his wounds. When I was upstairs I—“ I fire the words out, knowing just how unbelievable they sound, but proceed nonetheless. “I was in a state of shock when I cleaned him up, and I only realized upstairs one of his cuts is too deep and requires stitching.
Both the men outside the cell look unimpressed, but one leaves while the other unlocks the cell.
I run to Grigor, squeezing his shoulder. He bolts awake from his dazed state, leaning his face closer to mine, and whispers. “They didn't take my knife. It's hidden in my boots. Take it out. Do what you have to do.” It sounds like a hopeless whisper, but the light In his eyes betrays hope—a challenge to me. Could I really do it, if push comes to shove? Could I harm the men here if it was to protect a man who was by all accounts wished I never existed; never caused the chaos I did in the Barkov family.
I could because I’m not just fighting for myself now, but for the two of us. And the baby inside me deserves to have an uncle, be that as it may.
I nod back at him, bracing myself for what I’m about to attempt.
One. Two. Three . I count in my head before deciding to go through with it.
I turn to the man outside to speak to him, praying to whatever higher power up there that goes as planed. This is going to be a huge bluff which, if it doesn't work out, will land us in more trouble than it will do us good, but I have to try it nonetheless. I remember from the first time that the guard went to fetch the med supplies that we have a few minute tine span to complete this.
I use the momentary courage as an opportunity and exit the cell.
The silent man advances closer and just as he is about to lock the cell upon my exit, I take the sheath of the knife I sneaked from Grigor and knock it into his head as hard as I can. He stumbles backwards but is only disorientated, so I double down on the motion and bring the hilt down as hard as I can until he falls to the ground unconscious.
I fiddle with the keys attached to the carabiner on his pants until I find the smallest one—I presume for the chains binding down Grigor. I take it and run inside the cel, quickly unlocking the chains around his ankles and his wrists with shaky hands. It gives way and we both stand up, Grigor immediately leaning into me for support, limping on one leg. Fuck.
“What are we going to do now?” He asks, and I detect a hint of fear in his voice. “I took a quick glance around when they were taking me down here, and this place is so heavily manned that they’ll get us the moment we set foot outside of here.”
“I’ve got an idea.” I quickly let out. “It's bold, but if it works out, it could mean that we'd be able to get out.”
There is a small enclave in the basement that I notice. I position Grigor’s hand around my shoulder as we limp in its direction in the hopes that in the few moments I’m gone, they won’t notice him here if someone comes searching.
I turn towards him, resolute now. I’ve never been more sure of something before in my life, partly because this time Grigor’s life depends on it.
“I know you don't trust me, and that's okay. I wouldn't trust myself either if I was in your shoes. But listen to me—the only person who can help us now is my sister. I need to go and find her. And I will come back for you.” I speak in a hushed tone as fast as I can, and he nods.
The walk up the stairs is fast. It seems that this time, finding Giorgia is even faster—she’s sitting alone, looking pensive but distinctly on edge in a barebones room containing a desk and a chair.
She jolts back into the present moment when she notices me standing there.
“I need to speak to you, Gia. But not here—I don’t trust that we’re fully alone if you know what I mean.” She nods to my request, silently getting up to follow.
Just as I turn the corner to lead her down the stairs, her brows furrow.
“Where are w—“ I hush her question, scared it’ll attract attention from the guards around.
“Trust me, please. ” I grab at her wrist, and she hesitantly follows after me. But just before we descend the stairs, I notice their staring nervously at yet another closed door. I look back at her, eyebrows raised in question. She looks back to me nervously, as if in silent admission. Whatever it is—they’ll have to wait.
We move swiftly. Once we're in the basement, she takes a few seconds to notice the guard laying on the floor. She'll looks at it with her wide eyes, mouth opening and closing. Grigor shuffles out from his corner, probably having waited to see who the intruders were. She looks to him, terrified, and I anticipate her steps backwards towards the steps before she even takes them.
“Gia, look at me.” I come to her, palming her cheeks and turning her so she faces me directly. “I need your help in getting out of here. There's things at stake that I don't have the time to explain right now, but if this will be the last thing you’ll do for me, please let it be this.” I plead with her, but I see the fear in her eyes hardening into something else. Something distant. She shakes her head violently, trying to pry herself away.
“You—you’re not right , Bianca. You don’t know what you’re saying. You need to stay here . We need to get him back in his cel—“ She is beginning to get frantic, clawing at my hand, grasping onto her like she’s like my last hope—because she is.
“Listen, I’m fully aware of everything—I was kidnapped against my will by the Barkovs, but there’s bigger things at stake now. Please . I beg you.” She slows at the last words, and just when I think she’s softened, she hardens her voice.
“Do you hear yourself?! Bianca, you sound insane! What are you talking about?” She half shouts, but I don’t sense any fear from her now. She just sounds... angry. I recoil from her, unused to this tone from her. I’ve never heard her sound like this before. She still doesn’t understand—and I glance at Grigor before looking back to Gia.
I take her palm and place it over my stomach, bracing myself for what I’m about to say. For what is meant to be a joyous occasion but is instead a means for survival.
“I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing this for the two of us. And I don't mean Aleksei.” I get closer to her face before inching towards her ear. “I'm pregnant. Gia,” I whisper. “ Please. ”
She gulps, staying entirely still for a moment. Quiet. Too quiet. I reach for her hand, squeezing the cold, clammy flesh.
“Okay.” She whispers, so quietly I almost don’t catch it. “Wait down here. I’ll tell the guards to go report to mom so we have some time to sneak him out. I can’t promise you anything—“ She nods to Grigor, “when it comes to him though. But I’ll try my best.”
When she leaves up the stairs, the silence hangs over us like a curtain of anxiety, both of us looking at each other, half expecting the shouts of the guards coming to apprehend us. Grigor is the first to break the silence.
“You trust her?” He lets his question hang in the air.
“I need to—it’s the only option we’ve got.” He accepts my response with a small smile.
“Alright, Rossi.” The name slips from his lips more like a term of endearment now, catching me off guard. “Guess I’ve got no choice but to put all my trust in you.”
He… trusts me . The admission startles me, even if it was said only in the heat of the moment. Soft thuds of footsteps signal someone’s arrival, but I don’t shuffle into the enclave to hide—even if it is the guards coming down, there would be nowhere to escape to. I sigh deeply when it’s Giorgia’s silhouette I make out coming downstairs. She halts midway, motioning quickly with her hands.
“Come now—there isn’t much time.” Her voice is quiet but urgent.
Grigor pushes himself off the damp wall and secures his arm around my shoulder, and we begin making our way up the stairs. He almost falls a few times, and it’s only then I notice just how badly he’s been beaten. Giorgia walks ahead, peeking out into the corridor and ushering us through when it’s deemed clear.
The room she knocks open is the one she was staring at previously, and the moment we are inside, I find out why. A man is passed out on the floor—face badly bruised and leaking blood in some places. I take Grigor’s hand from my shoulder and run to him, checking his vitals as soon as I reach him.
“What the hell is happening here, Giorgia?” I whisper-shout to her. “Who is he?”
But it’s not Giorgia that answers. Grigor speaks up.
“That’s…” He pauses, hissing in pain when he breathes deeply. “My brother, Maksim.”