Chapter Fourteen – Elaria
The guard walks ahead of me, not speaking.
The garden behind the house stretches far. This garden is walled by tall hedges and stone. Ivy curls along the southern perimeter, and gravel paths slice between small groves of lemon trees and low white roses. There’s a bench at the far end I’ve sat on once. A fountain that doesn’t run anymore.
We pass it all.
Fausto was my uncle. My father’s brother and business partner, until he wasn’t. To me, he was a strange man who disappeared from my life, not that he was ever there.
Why is he searching for me now?
The guard leads me past the rose beds and the trellises that bend beneath wisteria. We walk deeper, where the trees grow thicker and the path narrows. The earth here is darker.
He stops at a small alcove pressed into the hedge wall. It's barely visible unless you know to look—half-shrouded by a twisted vine and an arch of thorny branches. The space behind it is just wide enough for someone to crouch behind the lattice that’s warped into the stone.
“Here,” he says. “Stay low. I’ll watch the entry.”
I nod, stepping into the space. The gravel here is uneven. A root juts from the wall at ankle-height. The wind whistles through the branches above, just enough to drown distant sounds.
I crouch. And then I hear it.
The soft buzz of his phone.
I glance up.
He’s turned away, just enough to hide his screen. One hand tapping. Not checking. Sending.
I freeze.
His shoulders are still. Too still.
My stomach coils.
A dull thud pounds in my ears—pulse or dread, I can’t tell. He pockets the phone.
He turns and his lips curve up in a smile. I know the shift. My fingers wrap around the knife I’d slid into my clothes as I left the table. It can’t do much but it can distract him while I run.
I aim for his left eyes but he senses my panic and moves with me. His elbow hits my shoulder as he twists.
I stumble back.
He growls—animalistic, shocked.
His hand grabs my wrist before I can stab again.
“You stupid—”
His fist connects with the side of my face. Everything jolts sideways.
The world tilts.
My knees give. I land hard, breath ripped from my chest. I taste dirt.
My cheek burns. My ears ring.
He’s on me before I can move. His knee presses into my back, his hand wraps around my hair, yanking my head back.
“I didn’t want to do it this way,” he hisses. “But you don’t listen.”
He pins my legs. One hand fumbles at his side, pulling a small plastic case from inside his coat. The case snaps open.
I hear the click of a cap.
Then—
The glint of metal.
A syringe.
My breath stops.
“Please—”
But my voice is weak.
My limbs are weaker.
The tip punches into my neck.
A hard jab.
The plunger pushes down.
Something cold spreads under my skin.
It feels like lightning and ice.
My hands twitch.
My mouth opens but no sound comes.
The world lurches.
Darkness folds over me from the outside in.
****
I’m not unconscious. Not really.
I fall—but not into sleep.
Into memory.
Into someone else’s pain.
*****
Cassian’s bedroom.
Dark. Cold. Silent.
I know this room.
The fireplace is out.
The bed is unmade.
And she’s there.
Giovanna.
A man. No face. He says nothing.
He lifts the knife.
I try to run to her.
I can’t.
I’m frozen, hovering, part of her and not.
The first stab lands in her side.
She jerks. Screams.
The pain tears through me.
I cry out—soundless.
The second stab hits just below her rib.
Her body twists, face contorted.
I feel her fingers twitching. Trying to break the ropes.
I feel everything.
The third stab—deeper.
Blood spills down her thigh. Her mouth opens. She tries to call for someone.
Cassian’s name.
My name.
She doesn’t know which.
The fourth stab is through her collarbone.
Her body convulses. My throat rips. I scream.
Louder this time. Screaming her scream.
Feeling her dying. Each cut like a bell rung through flesh and bone.
The fifth stab lands in her stomach. Her eyes roll.
She falls forward. Her head hits the floor.
A smear of blood on tile. And I fall with her.
****
The car moves beneath me like a tide I can’t feel.
I lie on my side, knees half-drawn toward my chest, arms bound tightly behind my back. The seat beneath me is not a seat at all. It’s flat, hard, covered in rough fabric that scratches my skin every time the vehicle turns.
I’m blindfolded.
I don’t remember when that happened.
The cloth is tight, pulled hard around my skull, pressing into my temples. Sweat has soaked the edges. It smells like oil and dust.
My mouth tastes of metal.
I try to move my fingers. They twitch, but they do not obey. The plastic tie around my wrists has bitten into the skin. My hands are already going numb.
The engine hums low, steady. We haven’t stopped since I was taken.
I count three right turns.
Then the pitch of the tires changes.
The car drives over something hollow. The sound echoes upward.
We’re on wood. My stomach tightens.
The car rolls forward another ten feet before it stops. The engine clicks once as it’s cut off.
I hold my breath. The doors open.
Footsteps.
Multiple pairs.
I don’t hear voices. Just the thud of boots across wood and the creak of boards shifting.
I try to speak. Nothing comes out. My throat is dry. My tongue won’t form the shape of words.
The back door opens.
I hear a voice. Low, flat, impatient.
“Get her.”
Hands grab my ankles first, then under my arms. The movements aren’t gentle.
I’m pulled from the car like a sack. My body hits the cool air. I twitch once—reflex, not control.
They lift me upright.
My legs give out instantly.
My knees collapse.
One of them curses. I’m hauled upward again, dragged rather than walked. My feet scrape against planks. I feel each crack in the wood under my heels.
We’re moving.
The sea is unmistakable. The rocking is subtle, but my stomach rolls. My head dips forward as I’m pulled along.
There’s a low humming in my ears. It could be the engine. Or my pulse.
A set of metal stairs clunks under our feet.
Downward.
We stop.
A door groans open.
A clang. Bars.
My knees are forced to bend as they shove me inside.
The floor is grating—cold and metal. My knees hit first. I grunt, unable to catch myself.
Hands release me.
I slump forward. My forehead touches iron.
Then the door slams shut behind me.
A lock clicks.
I’m left on the floor, body still bound, mind moving slower than it should.
I breathe through my nose in short, shallow gasps.
A minute passes. Maybe two.
Then I hear footsteps again.
Then my blindfold is ripped away.
Light floods in—gray and dull and pulsing with the motion of water.
I squint, blinking rapidly. My head tilts up, neck muscles shaking under the effort.
A man stands in front of the bars.
Hands behind his back. Coat buttoned.
He leans forward slightly.
Smiling.
“Welcome aboard,” Fausto says, voice smooth and bright. “Rough trip?”
I try to answer, but nothing comes out.
My eyes meet his. He tilts his head.
“I imagine you have questions,” he says.
The floor beneath me is slick with seawater and rust. Every time the boat rocks, my shoulder presses harder into the iron frame.
My wrists burn. I think the plastic ties cut deeper when I was dragged here. I can’t feel my hands anymore.
He stands just outside the cage, hands folded neatly behind him, coat buttoned to the throat. He looks like he’s waiting for applause.
“I wonder if your father ever told you the truth,” he says finally.
He begins to pace across the grated floor.
“Did he tell you that you were bound to Cassian as a baby? I guess you figured that out,” he says, seeing my lackluster expression.
“Yes. It was my idea.” He doesn’t gloat—his tone is cool, like he’s stating facts he’s known for years. “Your father was cautious, always so afraid of making the wrong move. But he listened to me. He trusted me. I told him that securing a future with the Rivettis would keep the Fontanesi name strong.”
He stops near the bars, leaning slightly forward.
“I’m the one who arranged it. The binding. I told him it was the best way to protect the family business. One child betrothed. A future of shared power. And your father agreed. Bound you to Cassian, a child himself. Before either of you knew what it meant.”
He straightens. His mouth twists slightly.
“And it worked. For a while. The families got along. Business flowed. Oreste rose. I kept us profitable.”
His voice darkens just slightly.
“But your father—he got soft. Believed he could do it alone. I stepped away. Let him take the spotlight. And when the heat came, he thought I’d left him to clean it up. He never realized I was the one lighting the fuse.”
My stomach turns.
Fausto looks at me. There’s no shame in his face.
He begins pacing again.
“But I didn’t want blood on my hands. That’s not how I work. I prefer leverage. Fear. Timing. So I watched him. Waited. Let him feel safe.”
He stops again, and this time his eyes sharpen.
“Then Giovanna ruined it.”
My throat clenches.
“She was supposed to be quiet. Decorative. But she ran off. Married Cassian. Married him. Not just bonded—she chose him. And Dante?” He laughs once, short and bitter. “Dante told me Cassian was in love with her. That she’d made the boy loyal.”
He shakes his head.
“Couldn’t have that. So we corrected it.”
Fausto meets my eyes, and this time I see the satisfaction underneath.
“Yes. We had her killed. She never saw it coming. Dante arranged the logistics. I made sure no one asked questions. And just to be safe, I waited. A year.”
He spreads his arms.
“Then I made the call. An anonymous report. A quiet tip. Reported a few things to the right people.”
Fausto steps closer to the bars again.
“But here’s what I want to know.”
He crouches slightly, his face level with mine.
“Your father had things hidden. Maps. Codes. Port routes. I’ve searched his home. The ledgers were clean.” His voice lowers. “You know where they are, don’t you?”
He crouches in front of me like a priest ready to hear confession. Except there’s no salvation behind his eyes. Just want. Just fire fed by rot.
I feel him sense it—the refusal inside me. Even as my vision blurs, even as bile scrapes the back of my throat, I don’t move. I don’t flinch.
A long breath leaves him. His smile drops.
Then he steps forward.
The bars groan as his hands curl through the space between them. One arm snakes in. I try to twist away, but I’m too slow. His fingers tangle into my hair, right at the scalp.
My head jerks back with a wet gasp. Pain explodes at the base of my skull. My neck snaps taut, spine curving like a bow pulled to the breaking point. The world tips sideways, then slams into clarity.
“You bitch,” he hisses. Then he drives my head forward.
Bone meets iron.
My forehead bounces off the horizontal bar across the door. Lights flash behind my eyes, blooming like stars made of glass.
I slump, but he yanks again.
My skull hits the bar again. My vision goes white.
The third time, my knees slide, scraping over the grate. A bolt near my shin slices through the fabric. I don’t feel the blood until it drips. My cheek splits along the metal edge. Salt air rushes in. The sting is instant.
Still, I don’t scream.
Only a low groan slips from my mouth—ugly, raw, unformed. My throat tightens, trying to close around it.
My head lolls. My body doesn’t know how to hold itself upright anymore. Blood drips past my brow, thick and warm, trailing into my lashes. I blink, but the world stays blurred.
He slams my head again. The corner of the bar hits just above my temple. I hear the skin split. The heat pours down my scalp like fingers made of fire. My mouth opens, but I only taste blood and salt.
“Fuck!” he roars, switching languages like they’ve failed him. “Puttana silenziosa—What are you protecting?”
I sag against the door, breath coming in short, wet gasps. My knees are puddled in filth and seawater. My arms are twisted behind me, the ties cutting into flesh turned dead from pressure. A bolt presses into my collarbone from the floor, sharp and unwavering.
Fausto leans in close.
His breath is sour. I smell the red wine he drank before this. It clings to his words like spit.
“Tomorrow,” he growls. “I will come back tomorrow.”
He jerks my head up one more time. My neck screams. My eyes won’t focus.
“And I’ll carve it out of you if I have to. Piece by fucking piece.”
He shoves my head down hard. I fall with it. My cheek smears blood across the floor. The metal grating grinds into my jaw.
The cold seeps in. Not like wind. Not like water.
It’s heavier than that. Thicker. Like it’s inside me—curling up behind my ribs, pressing into my lungs, sliding under my skin with each failing breath.
My face is still against the floor. I can’t lift it. I try.
Once.
Twice.
The muscle won’t obey.
Blood has pooled near my lips. I taste it when I inhale—sharp, thick, coppery. My tongue is dry, cracked at the edges. My pulse is distant, like footsteps going the wrong direction down a long hallway.
The rocking of the boat feels stronger. Or maybe I’m just weaker. Each shift slams my body softly against the cage bars. Like the sea is rocking me to sleep.
My eyes start to close. The darkness drips in. My vision folds inward—
And then—
Light.
It gathers in front of me like moonlight pressed into skin. It doesn’t belong here. Not in this cell. Not in this hell.
My lashes stick together.
She’s standing just outside the bars.
Giovanna.
Her dress is pale and flowing, not wet, not torn. Her skin glows like it remembers the sun. Her hair is loose, draped like river silk over one shoulder. Her mouth is soft.
She kneels.
The cage should stop her, but it doesn’t. She kneels as if the bars aren't there. As if time and death forgot her.
She reaches out.
Her fingers are small. I remember those fingers braiding my hair behind the rose trellis. I remember them tucking flowers into the seams of my coat. I remember them wiping tears I didn’t want anyone to see.
Now they hover in front of me, open. Waiting.
My arm lifts, trembling.
It takes all of me. Every shred. My elbow shakes. My fingers twitch. I stretch—closer. Almost there. My skin aches to touch hers.
The world tilts.
My arm drops.
My body falls limp.
My hand slaps the metal floor with a hollow echo.
I can’t cry. I’m too dry. But something inside me folds in on itself. Quiet. Shattering.
Giovanna’s hand doesn’t move. She only smiles—tired and knowing. Like she expected this.
And then—
A single tear slips down her cheek.
At the same time, one slides from my own.
We mirror each other.
For a heartbeat, it feels like a promise.
Then the light fades.
Her form dissolves, soft as breath, until there’s only the dark.
Only the cold.