Octavia
I look out the window as we pull up to the gates and start driving down the long driveway.
The house in front of me is massive. At least twenty bedrooms, maybe more, endless bathrooms, a ballroom, probably several. I can’t even fully process it because the territory alone stretches so far it disappears into the trees.
To the side, I catch sight of another building, likely the staff quarters, guard housing.
The number of armed men patrolling the grounds turns my stomach.
I know this place.
I have been here before.
Once.
And it altered me entirely and not for the better. I left fractured, and I have never found my way back since.
So in a way, my worst nightmare has come to life.
In a way.
I always intended to see that man again, the one who destroyed me. But I meant to face him in power. With a blade at his throat, a gun to his head.
I meant to be the one ending him.
Instead, here I am.
Again.
The helpless girl.
I still don’t understand his reasons. What does he want with me?
Was it not enough to destroy me once?
Why now?
Why did he not simply allow Yuri to kill me?
Though, in the end, I suspect I die regardless.
They didn’t even blindfold me. They let me see where we were going, whose house awaited.
They didn’t cuff me, no duct tape, or restraints of any kind.
Because they don’t need to.
Why blindfold someone you are delivering to her death?
Why bind someone who cannot escape?
I am malnourished, dehydrated. I likely have at least three broken ribs and almost certainly a concussion.
My body barely holds itself upright, and they know it.
That is why he didn’t bother tying me up. I wouldn’t manage ten steps if I tried to run.
But the joke is on them.
Every scrap of food he gave me, I saved it. I ate only the smallest portions and hid the rest. It was filth, barely fit for consumption.
Today’s beating nearly finished me.
I coughed blood afterwards and wondered if he had punctured a lung, but I have passed the point of caring.
Before we left, he brought water and clothes so I could wash and dress. While he prepared for our departure, I ate my hidden stash.
It was not much, but it helped. Better than running on nothing.
And I am glad I did.
Seeing this house confirms what I already knew.
For a moment, I feel like that helpless child again.
But I remind myself that I am not.
I am Octavia Bellanti. Next in line to the Bellanti empire.
I will rule.
I am Death to men like them. They hate me. They fear me, even if they will never admit it.
Yes, I failed with Yuri.
But never again.
I will escape.
I will kill the man who has haunted my nightmares for years.
Or I will die trying.
I am not a victim anymore.
I refuse to be.
The car slows before coming to a stop, and Yuri steps out with his men.
He opens my door and drags me out by the upper arm, his grip bruising, then barks something in Russian and shoves me toward another man. I am not prepared for the force and my knees hit the ground hard.
The man laughs, hauls me back to my feet, and steers me away from the main house toward a smaller building set slightly apart.
As we move, I feel the warmth of the night air on my skin, I think it might be late spring, perhaps even early summer. I look up at the sky. The moon is high, the stars are bright.
I can’t help but wonder why they didn’t wait until morning to take my head.
What could possibly justify the urgency?
We enter what appears to be an office, furnished with chairs and lined with computer screens.
He forces me into one of the chairs, then takes a seat opposite and opens a laptop, his fingers move across the keys.
I use the moment to study the room instead, noting doors and windows, anything that could serve as an exit.
He turns the screen toward me, the security footage from inside the main house already playing. I watch for several minutes as maids move through the rooms, cleaning and drifting in and out of view.
In the corner of the screen, I notice the red timestamp.
It isn’t live.
It’s a recording.
I am about to speak when the front door opens on the screen and a man steps inside.
Milo.
My heart tightens painfully in my chest.
He looks terrible. His hair has grown longer, his beard left untended, dark circles hollowing the space beneath his eyes.
What has happened to him?
He looks almost lifeless.
And as I continue watching, minute after minute, I begin to understand why.
“Tragic, really. I’m told she’s dead. My condolences.”
“No…”
He thinks I…
I lift my eyes abruptly to the man in front of me. He is already watching me, a faint smirk on his mouth.
He gets to his feet and folds the laptop shut.
“Get up,” he snaps. “The boss is waiting for you.”
Everything falls into place.
The realisation leaves me reeling, my pulse races so hard it makes me light headed.
He clamps a hand around my arm and drags me outside toward the main house.
I stumble beside him, trying to keep up, but my balance keeps slipping. When my legs finally give out and I hit my knees, he hauls me back up without pause.
“Fucking whore,” he mutters in Russian.
His hand slams into my face. My head jerks to the side as bright spots explode in my vision.
“Fucking walk, bitch,” he spits, shoving me forward before stepping around me. “Move,” he roars without looking back.
Every step makes my ribs scream. The dizziness rolls over me, so overwhelming that I struggle to keep my balance. The night around us only makes it worse.
And then, despite everything, I surprise him.
He doesn’t expect it. I close the distance between us in a single step, wrench the gun from his side before he can process what is happening, and fire into his stomach. I grab his phone as he collapses.
I start running toward the trees, or at least I try.
They must have heard the shot, and they will follow soon.
So be it.
I dial as I move and press the phone to my ear.
Another guard comes into view, and I lift the gun as I run, firing without hesitation. The bullet takes him squarely, and his body crumples to the ground.
Yuri said my aim required refinement. He would reconsider that opinion now…
“Come on,” I mutter into the phone as it rings.
My lungs burn, I am too weak, every movement hurts.
The line connects.
“Milo,” I whisper, and I nearly lose my footing.
A shout erupts behind me just as I step onto the narrow pavement.
I turn and see men running toward me.
“Milo—”
I push forward as fast as my body allows.
“Get her!” one of them roars behind me.
“Milo,” I gasp again, hoping he can hear me. “I’m not dead, baby… he—”
My foot catches and I go down hard. Pain shoots through my legs as the phone flies from my hand, and the sound of footsteps closes in.
A hand clamps around my wrist and hauls me upright, the same wrist that never healed properly.
I barely get air into my lungs before the grip of a gun smashes into my skull.
The impact sends me forward. My head hits the pavement, and a blinding surge of pain consumes everything.
How many blows to the head can a body withstand before it shuts down?
The world tilts violently.
Darkness presses in from every side.
But I hold on to one certainty, Milo is coming.
I miss him.