Chapter 25 Nevaeh
TWENTY-FIVE
Nevaeh
“Where are you taking me?" I ask for what must be the tenth or eleventh time since we left Caelian’s estate. I strain against the ropes binding my wrists, still trying to work them loose despite their impossibly tight knots.
I’m buckled into the front passenger seat of Matteo’s black SUV as we drive further away from Caelian’s estate and deeper into Dresden.
He’s not only taken me hostage, he made me grab the snow globe I’d hidden away. Apparently, he’s been keeping a much closer eye on me than I had ever realized.
He doesn't answer, like he’s ignored me every other time I’ve asked.
His knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel.
The city lights of Dresden blur past the tinted windows—neon signs advertising late-night dance clubs and entertainment shows, the occasional flicker of a streetlight cutting through the growing darkness.
"Matteo!” I scream. “Tell me where you’re—"
"Shut up!” he snaps. "Just shut the fuck up for five minutes, will you? Jesus H. Christ, if I knew Cael’s little ballerina was this annoying and mouthy, I would’ve brought some duct tape to slap over that mouth of yours.”
I twist in the leather seat, trying to find a position that doesn't make the ropes cut deeper. My wrists ache from the rough, frayed material digging into such delicate skin. My hands have started to go numb from how tightly he’s tied me up.
I ,fought him as hard as I could when he first took me from the estate, but he was simply stronger and bigger and I’ve been more exhausted than usual the past few days…
The familiar streets of Dresden roll past—the theater district where I used to dance, the financial quarter where wealthy men conduct their business, the subway stations thousands of people rush through every day.
"He's going to kill you for this," I say quietly. "You know that, right? When Caelian finds out what you've done—"
"Caelian ain't gonna find out shit!” Matteo cuts me a sideways glance, his teeth gritted. "By the time he figures it out, you'll be long gone and I'll be somewhere tropical with enough cash to never look back."
The SUV turns down a narrow side street I recognize—we’re in Old Italy, where many of the first Italian families in Dresden once lived and opened their small businesses. Most of the places are closed now, victims of gentrification and mob violence. Only a few remain, most notably of all Vecoli.
The restaurant known to belong to Nero himself.
"Almost there," Matteo mutters, more to himself than to me. He checks his watch again, then his phone. "Come on, come on. Don't be late now."
He swings into a space marked “no parking,” twisting off the ignition.
“Get out. You heard me!”
I’m trying to make the most of my weight, planting my feet on the ground to prevent him from moving me.
My resistance lasts for about two seconds before he’s practically lifting me off the ground and carrying me toward the restaurant.
“Don’t!” I warn, kicking my legs. “HELP!”
He cackles. “You really think anybody gives a shit some dumb girl’s calling for help? Hate to break it to you, sweetheart. But people have disappeared on this block. You won’t be the first one or the last. Nobody’s coming to your rescue.”
Matteo’s bleak prediction turns out to be true—if anybody hears my cries for help, they decide to ignore me. I’m pretty sure I catch the sound of a window slamming shut on the second story of one of the nearby buildings.
But it would make sense for anybody living on a street like this, one known for heavy mob activity.
Matteo drags me toward the Italian restaurant, the interior dark and silent like a tomb.
His nervous energy crackles like live wire.
"This better be worth it," he mutters, glancing over his shoulder. "Nero's gonna want answers, and I ain't got time for games. Not with Caelian hunting me down for taking you.”
I wince as he twists my arm and the ache from my wrists shoots through the rest of the bone.
But I don’t let him see me sweat; Caelian taught me that showing weakness invites predators, and right now I’ve been captured by one.
The restaurant dining room stretches before us, chairs stacked on tables and the lights dimmed. Our footsteps echo off the polished floors as we enter and Matteo flicks on the rest of the lights. He checks his watch, then glances at the doors.
His anxiety comes off him in waves, evident in every move he makes.
"Where is he? Nero said eight o'clock sharp."
I remain silent, testing the bonds at my wrists. The rope has rubbed my skin raw, but there might be enough space to slip free if I get the chance. My ballet training taught me how to dislocate joints when necessary—a skill I never thought I'd need.
The back door creaks open, making us both jump.
But instead of Nero's men, Ignazio steps through alone. He's dressed in an expensive sateen shirt with stripes and tailored pants that match his usual flair for the dramatics; his brown hair held perfectly in place by too many products to name.
The sight of him makes my heart lurch in my chest.
"Ignazio?" Matteo's confusion mirrors my own. "What the hell are you doing here? Where's Nero?"
Ignazio smiles, though his eyes remain cold. "Matteo Bandini, I see you decided to go through with it after all. What would your boss think if he knew you’d taken his precious bella ballerina?”
"Don't give me that shit. I delivered the girl like I was asked to do. Now where's my money? Where's Nero?"
"Nero isn't coming."
The words hang in the air between the three of us, silence following for a few seconds. Matteo's face goes pale, then reddens with anger.
"What the fuck do you mean he ain't coming? We had a deal!"
Ignazio flattens his hand down his sateen shirt as if fixing a nonexistent wrinkle. "The thing is, Matteo, you're simply not important enough to warrant Nero's personal attention. You never were."
I watch the exchange with growing dread.
Something is very off. Something so wrong I’m not even sure if Matteo had the foresight to anticipate what was happening.
"You son of a bitch!” Matteo snarls, releasing my arm to advance on Ignazio. "I risked everything for this. I betrayed Caelian! I brought you the girl with the key. Me and Nero had a fucking deal!"
“Actually, Matteo… you only thought you had a deal.” Ignazio reaches behind his back. “But you were too stupid to see you were being played like a fiddle.”
The gunshot rings out, deafening in the enclosed space. Matteo's body jerks backward, a deep crimson stain spreading across his shirt. He looks down at the wound in shock, then up at Ignazio with betrayal written across his face.
"You..." Blood bubbles from his lips. "You fucking..."
The second shot takes him in the chest. Matteo crumples to the floor, his body twitching before going still. Blood pools beneath him, spreading across the clean tiles like spilled wine.
I'm frozen in place, my mind struggling to process what just happened.
Ignazio killed Matteo!
I’d love to assume he’s done it to help me, but then I meet his eyes and realize Ignazio hasn’t flinched at the sight of me bound and tied.
The last time I saw him, he left me to save his own skin. He was using me the same way Mom and Dad seemed to be, only concerned about one thing…
"Well done, Ignazio."
The familiar voice makes my knees buckle.
Mom walks through the door that leads to the kitchens, followed closely by Dad. They look exactly the same as the night they abandoned me at the warehouse, like they’ve once again been living life on the run in sleek, basic black clothes as nondescript as possible.
It seems they’ve spent the past few weeks on the go.
"Mom?" I blurt out. "Dad?"
"Hello, sweetheart,” Mom says, a saccharine smile on her face. “How has my beautiful girl been? I’m so glad you’re still in one piece.”
“You mean after you abandoned me at the warehouse?!”
“Sweetheart, we did what we had to do to survive… as we always have. What have we told you from the time you were a small girl?”
“You told me lies!” I snap. “You told me Dad was forced to work for Nero. That I had to be sold to the dance company!”
“That was all true, sweetheart,” Dad says. “Do you think we’ve wanted to live the way we have? That we wanted to give up our little girl to Nero? That we wanted to do the things we’ve done?”
“You mean like shoot the man you just killed in cold blood!”
Mom glances at Dad. “He was in the way. You might not understand, sweetheart. Everybody is in this for their own gain—that includes Matteo.”
“Business is business, Nevaeh,” Dad adds. “You understand that now, don't you?"
“What’s most important is that you have what we gave you, Nevaeh. So our family can ensure its survival and finally earn what we’re owed.”
I take a step back even as the crimson pool around Matteo’s dead body spreads. I’m staring at them like they’re two strangers wearing the faces belonging to my parents.
In reality, I’m seeing them for the first time.
“This was all about you making money,” I say. “Another con of yours. You were never being hunted by Nero like you said you were; you were out to get one over on him and the others, and you tried to use me to do it. That’s why you gave me the key.”
“Hand it over, Nevaeh,” Ignazio says impatiently. “We know you still have it. Tell me Matteo made you bring it with you.”
I’m still processing the fact that my parents have been lying to me for so many years.
I was told I had to be sold to the dance company as a means for survival. That Dad was forced into servitude to Nero and the Vorones.
We all were.
But I hadn’t understood who my parents really were behind the lies and hidden truths—they were schemers looking for some big payday.
It was always about the key, about the code that could unlock whatever fortune from Nero and Zinc Co they'd been chasing. I was just a tool to them, a means to an end.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Ignazio wipes Matteo's blood from his gun with a handkerchief. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be, bella ballerina. We know Caelian's been keeping you comfortable, but comfort can disappear very quickly."
“Wait a second,” Dad interjects. “That’s my daughter you’re speaking to, Ignazio. You’re not about to threaten her. Nevaeh understands what she has to do to protect our family.”
“This isn’t about protecting family,” Ignazio says. “This is about the key and getting what we can out of Zinc Co so we can finally see the payday Nero’s been hoarding for himself! Nothing else matters. Not family, not loyalty, not trust. All that matters is the green! Now hand it over.”
I think of the snow globe Matteo has forced me to bring along. Inside it, hidden where no one would think to look, is the key they've killed for. The key to whatever twisted game they've been playing.
"Even if I had it," I say, backing away until I hit a table, "what makes you think I'd give it to you? After everything you've done?"
Ignazio raises the gun, pointing it at my chest. “The key, Nevaeh. Now.”
My pulse hammers in my throat, the moment feeling surreal. My parents are standing back as I’m held at gunpoint for the thing they seem to care about even more than their own daughter. It’s so jarring and disorienting I can barely bring myself to react.
"You want the key?" I lift my chin, channeling every lesson Caelian ever taught me about strength in the face of danger. "Come and take it."
Ignazio’s top lip curls. “Don’t mind if I do, you little ungrateful ballerina bitch—”
"Actually, Ignazio," Dad cuts in suddenly. “You’ve become quite the liability yourself. There’s one thing you said that was wrong—family always matters, and you’re not one of us. Which means one less share of the profits to be divided.”
Ignazio's eyes widen. "What the hell are you—"
The gunshot echoes through the restaurant, somehow even louder than the couple that did Matteo in only minutes ago.
Ignazio staggers for a few steps, then drops to the ground with his mouth agape.
“He was always too pompous for his own good," Mom says. “He had to have guessed he was next.”
“His ego was in the way,” Dad quips.
I'm frozen in place, bile rising in my throat. My parents just executed someone with the such casual indifference it tells me this probably wasn’t the first time. The people who gave me life are monsters, and I’m the only thing keeping them from getting exactly what they want.
"Well," Dad says, crouching over Ignazio to steal his handgun. “That's that problem solved."
“One less thing to worry about.” Mom turns toward me to undo the ropes. “Alright, sweetheart, the moment of truth has finally come. Time for us to collect our prize as a family.”