Chapter 21 Mara
MARA
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I’ve memorized his morning routine. He’s more on time than a damn clock, if that’s even possible. It’s not, but he’s so robotic that it feels like it.
I debate actually going through with it. The bed is so warm, and I’m still so tired. I hate waking up early.
Despite not really wanting to leave my warm bed, I fling the comforter off, pushing my hair behind my ears.
Right. I can do this.
Quickly tying my robe around me, I clench my jaw to stop my teeth from chattering.
It’s freezing. I quietly make my way out of my room and shut the door behind me.
Not even five seconds after I stop in front of his bedroom door, the handle turns and it opens.
I ignore the butterflies that always show up when he’s around.
Nicolo’s expression doesn’t change when his eyes land on me standing in front of his bedroom. He shuts the door behind him and goes to step around me, but I block his path. Still no indication of what he’s feeling.
That’s if he feels anything.
“I want to start training again,” I blurt out before he tries to side-step me again.
His eyes narrow just a fraction, as if he has a list of information just by looking at me. “You were complaining about training.”
“Umm…” I open and close my mouth twice before I’m able to say, “I know that, but I still want to train.”
“Why?”
Okay. I didn’t expect him to ask questions.
“It’s the only way for me to get my phone back.”
Nicolo lifts a single brow as if to say he doesn’t believe me. “Is that the only reason?” He doesn’t wait for an answer to his question before asking another. “Or did you enjoy pissing me off?”
If he thinks he can intimidate me into backing down, he’s wrong.
“That’s a plus, I guess.”
He makes a sound at the back of his throat before repeating what I said. “You guess.”
I shrug, not sure what else to say. My brain clearly doesn’t work before ten in the morning.
“Well, I’m not training you any longer. Not until you can behave yourself.”
“That isn’t fair. I want my phone. I have no way of telling my brother about the crimes against humanity that you’re committing against me.”
He makes a face like…I don’t even know what kind of face that is. I don’t think he understands facial expressions.
“Funny,” he mutters under his breath. “Anything else, nixie?”
“I want my phone,” I insist again.
“Yes, I heard you the first time,” he drawls.
“Good, I was starting to think that you’d lost your hearing due to old age.”
He clicks his tongue before saying, “Brat.”
“Robot,” I counter.
We both stand there for a minute in silence, neither of us willing to break eye contact. But the cheat snaps his fingers in front of my face.
“You’re such a cheat.”
“It’s not a competition.” He shakes his head.
I wonder what he’d do if I slapped his smug face. But before I can act on the thought, he speaks up.
“Wait here.”
He turns around, going back into his bedroom. He’s in there for a bit, but when he steps back out, he throws my phone at me. I catch it, and by the time I turn to look at him, he’s at the head of the stairs.
“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
When I press the power button on my phone, I of course find that it has no charge at all. Trudging back to my bedroom, I pull out the charger and plug it in. It powers on after five minutes, and at least twenty texts flood the screen.
Taking a minute to read what the hell everyone’s been texting me, I ignore the texts from two of my classmates from college.
Val
Heyyy Mara, just doing a check-in x
Sent three days ago
Val
Mara???
Sent three days ago
Val
I just asked Eli if everything is good with you guys and he said you’re safe. Just get back to me when you can x
Sent two days ago
Me
Hiii Val! Sorry I wasn’t able to respond. Romiro’s robotic brother took my phone for “misbehaving.”
Exiting the chat with Valentina, I open the chat with my cousin Alessia.
Allie
Are you mad at me? Val tells me you’ve been texting her, but I still haven’t heard from you, traitor.
Sent five days ago
Allie
Wait…
Are you actually mad at me???
Sent four days ago
Me
No...I’m not mad at you. Your future brother-in-law took my phone.
Sorry, I didn’t mean to not text you. I’ve just been exhausted with everyone making decisions for me.
Instead of waiting for those two to text me back, I leave my phone on charge and head out of my room.
I’m itching for a cigarette, but I know if I ask that asshole, he’ll say no, and his guards will report to their dictator.
So, despite the fact that he’ll probably know it was me who did it, I still decide to sneak into his room.
The door creaks when I push it open, low and reluctant, like even the hinges are warning me not to go in. Figures.
Of course his room would look exactly like him: cold, controlled, sharp enough to cut glass.
I didn’t get a chance to fully take it in the other night, being half-asleep and getting dragged along.
The bed is made military-tight, sheets tucked with brutal precision, not a wrinkle in sight.
You could bounce a coin off that thing, and it’d probably ricochet back and take someone’s eye out.
The colors are just as depressing: charcoal, black, steel-gray. No warmth, no softness, nothing that even hits at comfort. A robot’s nest.
Except…it isn’t. Because underneath all that order, there are cracks.
A half-drained glass of scotch sits abandoned on the nightstand, the amber catching what little light seeps through the curtains.
A book lies face-down on the side table, spine cracked, a marker shoved between the pages like he left in a hurry.
It smells like him too. Smoke. Leather. That faint cologne he wears that clings to everything and makes my chest too tight. It’s so him, I almost roll my eyes at myself for noticing.
My fingers itch when I spot the cigarette case and lighter on the nightstand next to the scotch glass. Jackpot.
I cross the room quickly, like the walls themselves might snitch on me if I linger, and snag both before I can overthink it. The lighter’s heavy, engraved with something I don’t bother to read. I don’t want to be here when he comes back.
I tuck the cigarettes and lighter into my robe pocket and cast one more glance around the room. It feels wrong standing here, like I’ve walked into the only place where he lets himself exist outside of all that armor.
Too bad for him. He should’ve locked his door.
I slip out as quietly as I came, the stolen treasures burning a hole in my pocket like contraband. Back in my room, my phone’s still charging, buzzing faintly on the nightstand with unanswered texts, but I can’t sit still.
I need air. Space. Something that isn’t just sitting around surrounded by four walls or feeling the suffocating presence of the man my brother entrusted with my safety. Making my way downstairs, I head out the double doors and into the garden.
The garden’s empty when I step outside, the dawn mist still clinging to the lime trees. I drop to my haunches in the dirt, flick the lighter, and inhale deep. Smoke fills my lungs, sharp and satisfying. The citrus tang in the air mixes with the burn, and for a second, I almost feel normal.
Almost.
I exhale toward the branches, muttering to the trees like they’re my audience.
“Your boss is a tyrant, you know that? I ask for one thing—one tiny thing—and he acts like I’ve demanded his soul.
The man needs to be dethroned.” Another drag.
“And I’d do it too, if I wasn’t trapped in this medieval torture castle. ”
The trees don’t argue. Obviously. If anyone spots me talking to the trees, they’ll think I’m crazy.
Maybe I am.
Footsteps crunch over the gravel, and I jolt like I’ve been caught red-handed. But it’s only one of the maids balancing a tray. She kneels gracefully, setting down a tall glass of water and a cluster of green grapes.
“Grazie,” I mumble, awkwardly tucking the cigarette behind my back, hoping she doesn’t notice the smell or the smoke curling upward from behind my back.
She hesitates, then asks softly, “Do you need anything else, signorina?”
“Yeah.” The word slips out before I can stop it, and instead of backtracking, I push forward. “Do people ever get used to him?”
Her head tilts. “Him?”
“Nicolo.” I roll my eyes. “Tall, dark hair, robotic overlord of this castle.”
Something flickers across her face. Wariness. Fear.
She folds her hands in front of her, smoothing the apron like it’ll buy her time. “Signor Esposito is…precise.”
That’s all she gives me. Precise. Like he’s a machine and not a man.
I huff under my breath. “Precise, my ass.”
Her eyes dart away. She doesn’t ask, doesn’t stay, just dips her head and retreats like the shadows are safer than standing talking about him. As if we’re talking about the devil himself.
Maybe we are.
Fine. Be scared. One of us has to be.
I stub the cigarette out against the dirt and push to my feet…then freeze. Rustling comes from the bushes. Low. Frantic.
Awareness prickles at the back of my neck, and I have to fight my instincts to bolt.
It’s safe. No one can get in here without permission, I try to calm myself.
I know I’m being irrational, guards are all over this place. Not even a bird passes over the Castello without the motion being reported and noted down.
I probably shouldn’t, but I edge closer, crouch, peel back the branches…and find a pair of wide, terrified eyes staring back at me.
A kitten. Tiny, scruffy, so small…and by the way she’s trembling, I’d say she’s cold.
My chest tightens in a way I don’t like.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I whisper.
She mews, a broken little sound that hits me harder than I expect.
I scoop her up before I can think better of it, tucking her against me. She’s all bones and softness, clinging to the fabric of my robe like I’m the first safe thing she’s seen in days.
The kitchen’s empty when I slip inside. I set her on the counter, grab a warm, damp cloth, and start wiping the dirt from her fur. She squirms and lets out a pitiful mewl, and I shush her, soft and steady.
“I know, I know. It sucks. But it’s better than dirt and bugs, trust me. You’re okay now.”
She blinks up at me, tiny paws curling around my wrist. My throat goes tight.
And that’s when the air shifts. Heavy. Charged. I don’t even need to turn to know who it is. I can feel him.
“What the hell is that?”