32. Victoria
VICTORIA
The first time Olivia and I ran, we were sixteen.
We weren’t running from guns.
We weren’t running from men.
We were running from my mother’s charity dinner, our shoes dangling from our hands while damp grass clung to our bare feet.
Music drifted from the house behind us. Olivia laughed so hard she doubled over beside the old garden wall, one arm wrapped around her stomach.
“Vick,” she gasped, “one day we’ll leave for real.”
I looked back at the glowing windows. At the people inside pretending kindness came naturally to them.
“And go where?”
“Anywhere nobody knows our names.”
I believed her.
I believed there would always be a road waiting for us.
I believed Olivia would always be beside me.
Now she sits in the back seat behind me, and for the first time in her life, she has almost nothing to say.
My hands tighten around the steering wheel.
Mud sprays behind us as we leave the woods behind. The road ahead stretches narrow and slick beneath the rain. The trees are thinning, but relief never comes.
Every bend feels wrong.
Every set of headlights in the distance makes my chest tighten.
Beside me, Lorenzo sits upright.
He shouldn’t be.
Minutes ago, his body went heavy against the seat. His head fell back against the window, and I thought he was dying.
I thought the man who destroyed my life and then threw himself in front of my daughter would bleed out beside me before I understood what that meant.
Now one hand presses against his neck while the other works across the shattered screen of his phone.
Blood covers his fingers.
The phone shouldn’t work.
The glass is split down the middle, pale cracks spreading across the display, yet he keeps typing.
I glance at him.
“Road,” he says.
His voice scrapes.
I look forward again.
In the mirror, Elsie sits between Mrs. Abena and Olivia.
Her cheeks are streaked with tears.
She clutches Mrs. Abena’s cardigan so tightly that the wool has stretched beneath her fingers. Mrs. Abena keeps one arm around her while the other stays tucked against her side, where fresh red stains are already spreading through the bandage.
Olivia stares through the window.
Her knees are pressed together.
Her injured hand rests in her lap.
I look at Elsie.
Then Mrs. Abena.
Then Olivia.
Then Lorenzo.
Then the road.
Again.
And again.
Until the miles blur together.
This is the longest drive of my life.
Because I keep waiting.
Waiting for another car to appear behind us.
Waiting for Lorenzo’s hand to slip from his throat.
Waiting for Elsie to ask a question I can’t answer.
Waiting for the estate to swallow us whole.
Because once those gates close, I don’t know who I’ll be inside them.
A guest.
A prisoner.
A mother with nowhere left to hide.
Lorenzo’s phone buzzes.
He reads the message and types a reply.
“How are you doing that?” I ask.
“What?”
“Using that thing.”
“It works.”
“It’s shattered.”
“So am I.”
The words pull my eyes toward him before I can stop myself.
He doesn’t look up.
It should sound like a joke.
It doesn’t.
The road widens.
The trees give way.
Then the estate wall comes into view, black iron stretching between towering stone pillars.
My stomach knots.
The gates are already opening.
Lorenzo lowers the phone into his lap.
Matteo stands beyond the entrance with three men beside him.
Their hands hover near their coats.
Their eyes stay fixed on the car.
I drive straight through.
The gates close behind us.
The sound is quiet.
Elsie still flinches.
“It’s all right,” I tell her.
The truth is, I don’t know if it is.
The mansion rises ahead, glowing with light.
Men stand near the front steps. One speaks into a radio. Another starts toward us before the car has fully stopped.
I kill the engine.
Silence settles.
For a second, nobody moves.
Then I push open my door and climb out.
My legs threaten to give beneath me.
I force them steady.
Crossing to the back seat, I pull the door open.
Elsie reaches for me immediately.
“Aunty Vicky.”
I lift her into my arms.
She curls against me without hesitation, trusting me with the blind certainty only children possess.
My throat tightens.
I kiss the side of her head and try not to look at the blood staining her sleeve.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”
Olivia climbs out after her.
I catch her arm.
She looks at my hand first.
Then at me.
Her eyes are hollow.
“Stay close.”
She nods.
Lorenzo gets out on his own.
Of course he does.
One hand still covers his neck.
His shirt is dark beneath the collar.
Too dark.
His face has lost what little colour it had left, but he steps away from the car before anyone can help him.
Dr. Luciano descends the stairs with two assistants behind him.
“Inside,” he says. “Now.”
Lorenzo’s gaze slides past him to Mrs. Abena as she’s helped from the back seat.
“Her first.”
Luciano stops.
“Don Nero?—”
“Her first.”
Mrs. Abena shakes her head.
“I can wait.”
Lorenzo looks at her once.
She falls silent.
Luciano mutters a curse and gestures toward one of the assistants.
“Take her in. Clean the wound. I’ll be there shortly.”
Then he reaches for Lorenzo.
Lorenzo steps back.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding through the cloth.”
“Then move faster.”
Luciano’s jaw tightens.
This time he doesn’t argue.
Two men move closer, keeping pace beside Lorenzo without touching him.
Ready if he falls.
Lorenzo walks toward the medical wing under his own power.
Halfway up the stairs, his shoulder dips.
Only once.
My arms tighten around Elsie.
“Lorenzo.”
He stops.
His eyes find Elsie first.
Then me.
“Inside.”
That’s all he says.
Then he follows Luciano through the clinic doors.
They close behind him.
The courtyard feels quieter after that.
I remain where I am, Elsie in my arms and Olivia tucked beneath my hand.
Mateo descends the stairs.
His gaze lands on Olivia.
Recognition flashes across his face.
I see the exact moment he remembers.
The money without delivery.
The drugged men.
The woman who disappeared before delivering what they’d paid for.
Olivia lowers her eyes.
Mateo says nothing.
That silence hurts more than any accusation.
He turns to me.
“The Don wants you moved to the main suite.”
“The main suite?”
“Yes.”
“I already have a room.”
“Not tonight.”
His gaze shifts to Elsie.
He doesn’t explain further.
He doesn’t need to.
Lorenzo wants her close.
Close enough for guards to watch every entrance.
Close enough that no one reaches her first.
Olivia’s voice comes quietly.
“Me too?”
Mateo looks at her.
The pause is brief.
Still, it lands.
“All of you.”
I adjust Elsie on my hip.
“And Mrs. Abena?”
“She’ll be treated first. Then she’ll be moved near you.”
Elsie lifts her head.
“Nana Abena is coming?”
“Yes, baby.”
“And the man?”
I know exactly who she means.
“The doctor is helping him.”
“The one with red?”
“Yes.”
She studies the mansion.
The lights.
The guards.
The stone walls towering around us.
“What do I call him?”
My throat closes.
Olivia looks away.
I smooth a hand down Elsie’s back.
“You don’t have to call him anything yet.”
“Is he my uncle?”
“No.”
She considers that.
Then looks back toward the house.
“Is he a king?”
A tired smile slips free before I can stop it.
“No, sweetheart.”
“But he has guards.”
“Yes.”
“And this house.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
I rest my cheek against her hair.
“He isn’t a king.”
I glance toward the mansion.
“But he lives like one.”
Mateo turns and leads us inside.
I follow.
Olivia stays so close that her sleeve brushes mine.
For once, she doesn’t walk ahead.
Doesn’t smile.
Doesn’t speak.
The mansion feels different with Elsie here.
Larger.
Quieter.
Filled with too many doors.
I’ve lived here for weeks, yet Mateo leads us through halls I’ve never seen.
Past the grand staircase.
Past the library corridor.
Into a darker section of the house where marble gives way to polished wood.
He stops beside a wall panel I would never have noticed.
It opens.
A lift waits behind it.
Elsie’s eyes widen.
“A secret door?”
Mateo glances down at her.
“Yes.”
“Do you have more?”
“A few.”
She looks impressed.
I almost laugh.
The ache in my chest stops it before it can happen.
Inside the lift, Olivia keeps her eyes on the floor.
Her hand trembles.
I want to ask what happened after we were separated.
I want to ask whether she’s hurt.
I want to ask if she understands that Mateo hasn’t forgotten anything.
But Elsie touches my cheek.
“Will Nana Abena sleep with us?”
“If the doctor says she can.”
“And the man with red?”
I swallow.
“He needs the doctor more than we do.”
“He said I was safe.”
I close my eyes for a moment.
“He meant it.”
The lift doors slide open.
The hallway beyond feels warmer than the rest of the house.
No marble.
No echo.
Dark floors.
Soft lighting.
A vase of white flowers resting on a narrow table.
Two guards stand beside double doors at the far end.
Mateo approaches.
One of them opens the door.
I step inside and stop.
The suite is enormous.
A sitting room stretches before us.
Deep sofas.
A fireplace burning low.
Bookshelves.
Heavy curtains.
And a table already prepared with food.
Warm milk.
Bread.
Fruit.
A bowl of soup.
Someone thought of Elsie.
That nearly breaks me.
Beyond the sitting room sits a dining area.
Another hallway disappears deeper into the suite.
From where I’m standing, I can already see three more doors.
A ridiculous thought catches me.
Every week I discover another part of this estate.
Every week it feels larger.
More impossible.
A person could live here for years and forget there was a world beyond the gates.
Forget there were neighbours.
Forget ordinary people existed at all.
Mateo gestures toward the table.
“The child can eat. Clothes are being brought up. No one enters without clearance.”
Olivia looks around.
“This is insane.”
Mateo ignores her.
I turn to him.
“Lorenzo?”
“With Luciano.”
“That tells me nothing.”
“It’s all I have.”
The honesty in his answer frightens me.
Elsie points toward the food.
“Is that for me?”
“Yes.”
She studies Mateo carefully.
“Are you a guard?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a sword?”
“No.”
“A horse?”
“No.”
Her brow furrows.
“Then what do you guard with?”
For the first time since the woods, a sound escapes Olivia that almost resembles a laugh.
Mateo clears his throat.
“Other things.”
“Secret things?”
“Yes.”
Elsie nods, satisfied.
Mateo looks at me.
“I’ll be outside.”
“Will someone tell me when he wakes up?”
He pauses near the door.
“Yes.”
Then he leaves.
The doors close behind him.
For a moment, none of us moves.
No gunfire.
No shouting.
No glass breaking.
No men ordering us to get down.
The quiet feels unfamiliar.
Elsie wriggles in my arms.
“Can I have soup?”
“Yes.”
I carry her to the sofa and settle her against the cushions.
She looks tiny there.
I feed her while Olivia remains standing near the fireplace, arms wrapped around herself.
“Sit down.”
She doesn’t move.
“Liv.”
Her gaze stays fixed on the flames.
“He heard me.”
I know what she means.
The woods.
The car.
Everything she said before the world turned upside down.
“I said we should kill him.”
“Yes.”
“And then he saved her.”
My eyes drift to Elsie.
“He saved you too.”
Olivia releases a shaky breath.
“That makes it worse.”
Elsie looks between us.
“Who saved who?”
Olivia blinks.
“Soup saved us.”
Elsie accepts that answer without question.
A moment later, she tears off a piece of bread and holds it out.
“You can have some.”
Olivia stares at it.
Then her face crumples.
She sinks onto the carpet beside the sofa and takes the bread with trembling fingers.
“Thank you, baby.”
“Bread helps.”
Olivia presses the bread against her lips and looks away.
I reach down and smooth a hand through her hair.
For a while, none of us speaks.