Chapter 11 #2
“He says it doesn’t matter what I want. That he’ll have me anyway... that he always gets what he wants.”
Her voice dropped lower.
“He started following me. At first it was just... showing up wherever I was. Then it got worse. Waiting outside my dorm. Walking behind me to class. Standing outside the hall like he knew exactly when I’d come out.”
She let out a shaky breath.
“He corners me whenever he can—hallways, stairwells... anywhere there aren’t many people. And today...” Her voice faltered.
“Today he brought his friend.” She gestured faintly toward the shorter one. “They started pushing me toward this corner, saying if I tried to run... it would only get worse.”
Her gaze flickered—instinctively, fearfully—to Enzo’s pocket, where his hand still rested.
“They said if I report it, no one will believe me.” Her voice dropped to almost nothing. “That they’d make sure of it.”
Enzo laughed.
“Careful, little mouse,” he said, tilting his head with a predator’s amusement. “You really think running your mouth to her will save you from me?”
His tone wasn’t just a warning.
It was a threat.
I stepped forward.
Positioning myself between them and the girl.
My voice stayed even.
“Enzo,” I said, looking directly at him, “I could break both your arms and kill you before either of you draws another breath.”
A pause.
“That’s what I was trained to do.”
The shorter one shifted slightly.
Enzo’s eyes narrowed.
“Walk away,” I continued, my tone dropping just enough to carry weight, “don’t come near her again. Don’t even look at her.”
For a moment—it looked like he might actually consider it.
He glanced over his shoulder again.
Still no one.
No witnesses. No interference.
Then back to me.
Something darker settled in his expression.
Challenge.
A slow, predatory smile spread across his face.
“I shouldn’t come near her? Not even look at her?”
His laughter was low, almost deranged, unable to hide the thrill he drew from the moment.
“How about you step fully into the corner, where the cameras can’t see what’s about to happen?”
His voice dropped, dangerous.
“You said you could break my arms... kill me—so prove it. I want to see what the discarded, unclaimed wife is really capable of.”
Behind me, the girl’s breathing hitched again.
I didn’t look back.
I reached behind me anyway.
Found her hand.
Small. Cold. Shaking.
I squeezed it once.
Reassuring.
“We’re leaving,” I said quietly.
Then I turned.
Guiding her with me.
One step.
That was all it took.
Because Enzo moved fast.
He stepped into our path in a single stride, cutting off our exit before we could even fully turn.
The hand that had lingered in his pocket moved quickly—and a folding knife appeared.
The blade snapped open with a sharp metallic click.
Four inches. Serrated.
Already angled. Already aimed.
Directly toward my ribs.
“Do not tempt me,” he hissed.
The girl behind me made a small, broken sound—barely a whimper—but I felt it.
My grip on her hand tightened slightly.
“Last chance.” His voice dropped lower. “Walk away, or bleed.”
A blade wasn’t allowed in the academy.
Every system here was designed to strip away anything that could be used as a weapon against another recruit.
But rules didn’t stop people like Enzo.
Somehow, someone always found a way.
Enzo’s hand edged closer, the knife grazing my ribs—sharp, lethal.
One wrong move, one slip, and my life could vanish before my body even knew what hit it.
“My patience has run out, Elena,” he said, voice dropping into a dark, almost amused tone. “Walk away. I won’t say it twice.”
He stepped forward half a pace.
My fingers flexed at my side, already calculating—one quick motion could disarm him.
My heart pounded, every nerve alive, muscles coiled for action.
Then a voice cut through the tension like a blade.
“Elena.”
Low. Calm.
Unmistakably authoritative.
Ciro.
Enzo’s smirk faltered.
Just slightly.
His friend stilled.
Both of them froze in place for half a second too long.
Because that voice—that presence—was not something you ignored.
Footsteps followed.
Each step echoing against the stone with deliberate precision.
By the time he rounded the corner, the knives were already gone.
Vanished back into pockets with practiced speed.
Bodies straightened. Postures shifted.
Shoulders tightened.
Their faces—once confident—drained of color.
Their eyes flicked toward the open field.
Calculating.
Measuring distance. Weighing escape routes.
Ciro came to a stop a few steps away.
Hands relaxed at his sides.
His hazel eyes swept the scene in one slow, precise arc.
The two of them.
The hidden tension.
The small woman pressed half behind me, eyes wide, heart racing.
Silence stretched.
Then I moved.
Stepping out of their shadow.
Pulling the small woman with me.
“All good here,” I said, shrugging slightly. “Just a little chat, that’s all.”
The lie was smooth.
Because in this academy—survival often meant knowing which battles to fight and which to let slide.
I’d deal with Enzo and his short friend later.
But Ciro didn’t need to know they were trying to bully her.
Ciro’s gaze flicked briefly to me.
Then back to them.
He stepped aside. Not intervening.
But not leaving either.
I didn’t look back at Enzo.
Didn’t acknowledge the tension still hanging in the air.
Instead, I kept walking.
Her small, trembling hand stayed in mine.
Her grip was tight.
But she followed.
Step by step.
We moved across the corridor. Through the open field.
Gravel crunching beneath our boots.
The structures around us shifted from confinement to exposure.
I guided her further out.
Far enough that the tension behind us faded into something distant.
Then I slowed.
And finally—stopped.
I turned slightly to face her.
Her eyes were still wide. Her breathing uneven.
But she hadn’t let go of my hand.
“My name’s Elena,” I said gently. “Yours?”
She hesitated.
Then—“Bianca.”
A brief pause.
“Thank... thank you,” she added, her voice fragile, barely holding itself together.
“It’s okay,” I said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
“You don’t look like you belong in a place like this. And I don’t mean that as an insult.”
“I know,” she whispered, shoulders collapsing.
“My father... he forced me here. Said I was weak. That I had to be strong. But all I ever wanted...” Her voice trembled. “...was to make music.”
“I saved for months,” she continued, voice shaking, “every coin I could hide... just to buy a piano. Nothing fancy. Second-hand... I didn’t care. I just wanted to play. At night, when he was asleep, I’d play.”
Her gaze dropped.
“Three weeks later... he found out. He smashed the keys with a sledgehammer. Said my dreams didn’t matter. That I was destined to be... a mafia queen. Guns are more useful than music, he said.”
Her voice broke on the last words, soft and empty.
“Music doesn’t feed the empire. Guns do.”
The words landed heavy.
I’d heard variations of that story before.
Girls forced into roles they never chose.
Dreams traded for obedience.
She hesitated, then added, almost like it hurt to say it out loud—
“I hate it here.”
A breath trembled out of her.
“Every day feels like... drowning slowly.”
There was something honest in the way she said it.
Before I could respond, a sharp metallic sound sliced across the air.
The break siren.
Loud. Mechanical.
It echoed through the entire field, signaling the end of the 11:00 to 12:00 free period.
Time was up.
I hadn’t even realized how long we’d been standing there.
Talking.
Bianca’s hand twitched in mine.
Then slowly—she pulled it away.
“I have to go,” she said quickly. “My next lecture—”
Her voice faltered. But she forced it steady.
“I don’t want to be late.”
“Okay,” I said softly.
But I didn’t let her go immediately.
Instead, I met her eyes.
Held them.
Firm.
“If you need anything—anything at all—come find me in the Crimson Chamber hall.”
A pause.
“I’m usually by the pillars.”
I hesitated, then added— “Or just ask around. People know who I am.”
She gave a small nod.
Grateful. Relieved.
But still afraid.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Then she turned and hurried off toward the Hall of Shadows.
Her braid swung behind her.
Her shoulders remained tense.
Like she expected someone to strike from behind at any moment.
I stood there until she disappeared through the arched doorway.
Only then did I turn.
And then I saw them.
Enzo and his short friend were walking toward the Hall of Shadows, the same hall Bianca was in.
Damn it.
I wouldn’t be there to help her.
To protect her. To stand up for her.
They both glanced back at the same time.
Our eyes met.
Triumph. Malice. Revenge written across their faces in cruel smirks.
I exhaled slowly as they disappeared into the hall, leaving a tight knot in my chest.
My heart ached for Bianca, and I promised myself I would check on her once the day’s lectures were done.
I barely turned before I noticed Ciro, standing a few steps away, watching me with that intensity he had lately—something close to fascination.
I ignored it, forcing myself to believe it meant nothing, and started walking toward him, each step heavy with thought.
He adjusted his stance.
And met me halfway across the gravel.
Composed.
But I didn’t care about his composure right now.
I needed answers—desperately.
“Please... just tell me,” I said, the words ripping out before I could stop them. “How on earth is Renzo?”
A beat.
“Please tell me he’s fine.”
Ciro’s jaw tightened slightly.
Just enough to show the question had landed.
But not enough to give anything away.
“I can’t give you any update on him right now.”
Always the same answer. Always like slamming into a closed door.
“Why not?”
“Vincenzo’s orders.”
The ground beneath me felt suddenly unstable.
“Is he dead?”
The question slipped out faster than I intended.
Ciro’s eyes widened slightly.
“What?”
“Is Renzo dead?” I repeated, voice cracking now. “Seven days in the dark cell—no food, no light—if he passed out—if he—”
“He’s not dead.”
His voice cut through mine.
The tension in my chest didn’t fully release—but it shifted.
Ciro’s gaze stayed firm.
“That’s all I can say. For anything else... Ask Vincenzo yourself.”
His gaze locked onto mine.
“After all... you see him every night.”
There was something in the way he said it—an edge, a hint of jealousy, maybe.
As if he wasn’t pleased with me being with Vincenzo every night.
Or maybe I was reading too much into it—maybe his tone and expression meant something else entirely.
I forced a breath through my teeth.
Steadying myself.
“What were you doing in that corner with those boys?” he asked, shifting the subject.
“I told you,” I said flatly. “It was just a discussion.”
Then, carefully, I added, “I have a request.”
Ciro raised an eyebrow.
“Switch my hall to the Hall of Shadows.”
He hesitated. “Isn’t that where those two boys—and Bianca—are?”
“Exactly,” I replied.
A pause.
Then he smirked faintly. “So... you’re making friends already?”
There was something in his tone.
Caution. Disapproval.
Maybe even concern.
“Shouldn’t I?” I asked.
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
“You can’t make friends here.”
His voice dropped, firming. “It’s too dangerous.”
He gestured slightly toward the halls.
“Half these trainees are plants. Spies for rival families. Informants for the Spanish rebels.”
A beat.
“The Spanish have a bounty on your head, and anyone here would take any chance to hand you over. Focus on your training—your one year. Make us proud. Survive. Be one of the few who makes it to the end.”
Something inside me tightened.
“Isolated in every single way. I can’t make friends anywhere. Is this how I’m supposed to keep living?”
I scoffed, sharp and bitter.
I nodded, though it pained me.
“Understood. But Ciro... I truly thought you were the only kind one among you, Renzo, and Vincenzo. Yet the way you struck me with the baton that day I went on that mission with Renzo—it wasn’t natural.
It felt... like a crusade against me. You would have hit me again if Vincenzo hadn’t stopped you. What changed? Do you hate me now too?”
He studied me for a long moment.
Something flickered in his eyes.
“I never hated you,” Ciro said evenly. “And I never will. In fact, I... I—” He paused, swallowed hard, and looked away, eyes distant for a long moment. “L
“Never mind.”
Then he shifted the subject. “I hope you understand... the child Violet is carrying is not Vincenzo’s.”
The words landed like stones, suspended in the air between us.
My brows knitted tightly.
“I refuse to believe that. Violet is carrying his child. There’s no reason to lie to me.”
His jaw flexed once.
“Exactly. No reason to lie. But it’s the truth. Vincenzo... he’s not cut out to have a family. Don’t fool yourself into thinking he could ever love you—because he won’t. Not now, not ever.”
My mouth opened, words stuck in my throat, my heart hammering.
Then the lecture siren blared again—sharper this time.
Final warning. Time was up.
I had to move.
But Ciro’s words clung to me, heavy and insistent:
Vincenzo isn’t cut out for a family...
Don’t fool yourself into thinking he could ever love you—
My chest caved in, pain tightening around my ribs.
I took a step away from Ciro.
Then another.
“Elena.”
His voice stopped me.
I paused.
For a fleeting moment, something unspoken passed between us.
Something fragile, heavy, and unsaid.
Then he exhaled, almost as if deciding against whatever he had meant to say.
“I... I have something I want to tell you,” he said quietly, his voice hesitant. “But... it’s dangerous to say. Rebellious, even.”
I held his gaze a beat longer than I should have.
“Then I hope... someday you find the courage to say it,” I murmured, letting my words hang in the air.
“Do you ever miss my old life?” He asked. “Running. Hiding. Fighting.”
“I do,” I admitted softly. “And... I think I will go back to it someday.”
I swallowed hard, the thought cutting deep.
I couldn’t keep living like this—not under Vincenzo’s shadow, not trapped in this... suffocating life.
The lecture siren blared again.
I turned and walked toward the Crimson Chamber lecture hall, feeling the weight of Ciro’s stare like a shadow pressing down on my back. I didn’t dare turn around.