27. Victoria
VICTORIA
Istep out of the car, and the cold hits me hard enough to sting.
Wood smoke hangs in the still morning air, and one breath of it drags me backwards before I can stop it.
Summer. Open windows. Music spilling from the kitchen. Laughter floats across the yard.
The last time I stood here.
The last time life felt easy.
The memory slips away as fast as it comes.
The house sits at the end of the drive, smaller than it has ever looked in my mind. Pale siding. Dark roof. Two porch steps leading to a closed front door. Curtains pulled tight across every window.
Lorenzo’s men move first.
Both of them get out of the car without a word and spread across the property. One heads for the side of the house. The other circles the yard, checks the porch, the windows, the line of bare trees, then comes back with a short nod.
Clear.
My fingers curl tighter around my coat.
Lorenzo notices.
“Stay close.”
I nod, but my throat is dry.
There’s no car in the drive. No movement behind the curtains. No sound except the wind moving through the branches.
Something heavy settles in my chest.
Lorenzo comes to stand beside me. He doesn’t touch me, but I feel him there all the same—solid, watchful, close enough to steady me.
One of the men climbs the porch steps and knocks once.
The sound cuts through the silence.
Nothing.
He waits, then knocks again.
Still nothing.
My breath catches in my throat.
A third knock.
Nothing.
Lorenzo turns to me. “This is where you wanted to come?”
“Yes.”
“No one is answering.”
His gaze lingers on my face for one beat before it shifts to the door. His hand slides inside his jacket.
The man on the porch does the same.
Ice spreads through my veins.
“Lorenzo.”
He doesn’t look at me. “Behind me.”
“No.”
His jaw tightens.
Then, before either of us can move, a small sound comes from inside.
A hook lifts.
Metal scrapes.
The door opens.
Mrs. Abena stands there.
For a second, I can only stare.
She’s wearing a grey house dress with a cardigan pulled tightly around herself. Silver threads through her braids now, and time has softened and deepened the face I would know anywhere.
Then she sees me.
Her hand flies to her mouth.
“Miss Victoria?”
The sound of my name in her voice collapses the years between then and now.
“Mrs. Abena.”
Her eyes fill instantly. “Holy Mother of God.”
“The last time I came, they said you’d travelled.”
“I did.” Her voice catches. “And now here you are.”
Beside me, Lorenzo lowers his hand from his jacket. His men do the same, their weapons disappearing as quickly as they came.
Mrs. Abena glances from me to them and back again. Her voice softens into the same gentle respect she always used with my mother.
“Come in, child. Quickly.”
A small blur shoots out from behind her legs.
“Aunty Vicky!”
My knees nearly give out.
Elsie barrels straight into me in pink socks and a yellow jumper, curls bouncing around her face. I catch her before she can crash into my legs and lift her into my arms. She wraps herself around me like no time has passed at all.
For a moment, I can only hold her.
“Aunty Vicky,” she says again, beaming up at me.
My eyes sting.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Her little arms tighten around my neck. I kiss her cheek once, then again, then once more because I can’t seem to stop. She giggles and presses both hands to my face.
“You came.”
“I came.”
My voice wobbles on the words.
Mrs. Abena steps back, still looking at me like I’ve risen from the dead.
I carry Elsie into the house, then turn at the door.
“Lorenzo. Come in.”
His men exchange a quick look.
One of them shifts toward the doorway, ready to enter first, but Lorenzo stops him with a single glance.
“I’ll go in.”
The man doesn’t argue; he steps aside.
Lorenzo steps over the threshold.
“Tomaso. Enzo.”
That’s all he says, but it’s enough.
They move immediately, taking up position outside the house. No one is getting near this place without being seen.
The door shuts behind Lorenzo.
The warmth inside brushes my skin before I can take in anything else.
The house is beautiful.
Not grand. Not polished in the cold, expensive way Lorenzo’s world is.
Just lived in. Loved. A soft rug runs down the narrow hallway.
Framed drawings hang by the stairs, most of them done in a child’s thick, determined strokes.
The sitting room opens to the left, bright with sunlight, books, plants, an old blue sofa, and a basket of toys tipped onto its side.
Yellow curtains frame the kitchen window.
Somewhere nearby, a kettle hums on the stove.
The whole place feels alive.
Safe.
My chest tightens.
Elsie settles into my lap the second I sit down, her little fingers patting the buttons of my coat like she’s checking I’m real.
“You stay?” she asks.
I brush a curl from her forehead. “For a little while.”
Footsteps sound overhead.
Then a voice.
“Mrs. Abena? Who is it?”
Everything inside me goes still.
Olivia.
A second later, she appears at the top of the stairs.
She’s already moving before she fully sees me, one hand on the railing, hair falling over one shoulder. And then her face changes, joy breaking over it so fast and so openly it almost knocks the breath out of me.
“Victoria?”
I rise to my feet with Elsie still in my arms.
Olivia takes the last few steps in a rush and throws herself at me.
The force of the hug steals the air from my lungs.
I close my eyes.
For one perfect second, nothing else exists. Not the estate. Not the escape down to the train platform. Not the armed men outside this house.
Just Olivia’s arms around me, tight and shaking.
It’s the warmest thing I’ve felt in months.
Her hand slides to the back of my head the way it used to when we were girls and one of us had cried too hard to speak.
“You’re here,” she whispers. “You’re really here.”
I nod against her shoulder.
“I’m here.”
Elsie is trapped between us and laughing like this is the best game she’s ever played.
Olivia finally pulls back, swiping under one eye with the heel of her hand.
“I thought—” She breaks off and lets out a shaky laugh. “I don’t even know what I thought. I just…”
Her gaze shifts past me.
She sees him.
Lorenzo stands near the hallway, still as stone, coat open, dark eyes taking in the room.
Olivia’s whole face changes.
“Fuck.”
Her hand flies to her mouth, but it’s too late.
The word is already out.