Chapter 26 - JENNA #3
Somewhere inside me, something has gone quiet.
And something else—something sharper—has taken its place.
I step out into the corridor, and the door closes behind me with a heavy, final sound.
The heat fades immediately, replaced by cool concrete and the faint echo of machinery deeper in the building.
Only then do I realize my hands are shaking. Not badly. Just enough.
I'm drawing a breath when a weight settles on my shoulder. Enzo's hand. It's not possessive. Not restraining. Just… grounding. I look up at him.
"That," he praises, almost thoughtful, "was quite impressive."
I blink, caught off guard. There's no mockery in his tone.
No indulgence. Just acknowledgment. The kind that isn't given lightly, if at all.
I get the sense Enzo doesn't hand out compliments like that to anyone.
I nod once, accepting it for what it is.
Before I can say anything back, the door at the far end opens.
My body reacts before my mind does. A cold shudder slides down my spine. Bello Capelli steps inside.
Time does something strange. The hallway feels narrower. The air heavier. I know that face. I've seen it before, years ago, in a different life, when hope still had sharp edges, and I thought words could fix things. Bello's face blurs at the edges, and suddenly I'm not here anymore.
I'm ten years back, standing at iron gates so tall they blot out the sky, fingers wrapped around cold metal that stains my palms with rust. A mansion rises beyond them, too big, too grand, all stone and shadow and secrets.
This is where Massimo lives. The place I was never meant to see.
My chest aches with every breath. I've already swallowed my pride to come here.
I've argued with myself all the way up the drive.
Turn around, Jenna. Go home. He made his choice.
But I don't leave. I can't. I just need to know why.
Security tries to send me away. I don't go. I wait. I stand there in the sun, heart pounding, palms sweating, dignity fraying, thread by thread. Eventually, someone gets tired of me. They call him.
Bello introduces himself. He comes out like the gate itself has learned how to walk, solid, immovable, eyes flat with disinterest. He looks at me like I'm a problem already solved.
"What do you want?" he asks.
My voice shakes, but I stay upright. "I want to speak to Massimo."
He studies my face, something clicking into place. "You're Jenna."
It isn't a question. Hope flares so fast it almost knocks me over. He knows who I am. That has to mean something. Right? My heart lurches painfully against my ribs.
"Yes," I nearly yell. "Please. I just want to talk to him. I just want to understand."
Bello shakes his head. Once. Decisive. Final. "He doesn't want to see you." His voice is firm and cold. "Go home."
The words land like a slap. My throat tightens. I taste blood where I've bitten the inside of my cheek. "Did you ask him?" I whisper. "Did you tell him I was here?"
His eyes harden. "You're not welcome."
Something in me fractures then, but not all the way. I straighten. Wipe my face with the back of my hand. Force my shoulders back even as my chest caves in.
"Tell him," my voice shakes, and I take a deep breath, "that I came. Tell him I waited. Tell him—"
"Never come back," Bello cuts in, stepping closer, crowding me back toward the gate. "This is over. Whatever you thought it was—forget it."
The gates loom behind me, unforgiving. I don't cry. Not there. I won't give him that. I nod once. Then I turn away on legs that feel borrowed, on a heart that feels like it's been torn loose and left bleeding in the gravel. But even now—even at my lowest—I don't beg. I leave with my spine intact.
The memory snaps closed. The hallway rushes in around me. The present reasserts itself. Enzo's hand is still on my shoulder. Bello is still standing just inside the door. His eyes land on me, and he freezes in pure, naked shock. Like he's just seen a ghost that he buried himself.
I meet Bello's eyes—really meet them—and whatever he sees there makes him swallow hard, and all the color drains from his face.
I'm not the girl at the gates anymore.
And this time? I didn't come asking.
Before he can recover. Before he can lie, I greet him. "Long time no see."
His mouth opens. Closes. He looks afraid. But I'm too shaken to try to figure out why. Enzo's hand tightens—just a fraction—on my shoulder, his attention sharpens. He looks between us, his eyes narrow just enough to be dangerous.
"You two know each other?" he asks, frowning.
The question hangs there, heavier than it should.
I don't look at Bello. I don't need to. "We met once, a long time ago."
Bello clears his throat. "Years ago," he adds quickly, too quickly.
Like he needs to get ahead of something that's already breathing down his neck.
Enzo's gaze flicks to him. Lingers. The scars on his face seem to pull tighter as his expression shifts from curiosity to calculation.
He doesn't say anything, but I can almost hear the mental note being filed away. Interesting.
Suddenly, the day catches up with me, and I'm so tired it feels like my bones have weight.
"I want to go home." Whatever home is these days. My voice cuts through whatever Enzo was about to ask next. Not pleading. Just done.
Enzo studies me for a beat longer, then nods once. "Max will take you."
I turn away before Bello can say anything else.
Before he can try to explain or apologize or—worse—pretend none of this mattered.
I walk down the corridor and feel it again.
That familiar pressure behind my eyes. The ache that comes from holding too much inside for too long.
Behind me, voices resume. Low. Controlled.
Dangerous. But I don't look back. I've had enough ghosts for one night.