Lucia’s POV
Bruno had barely stepped out when my parents arrived.
The narrow cellar corridor seemed to shrink the moment they came into view, the weight of a Don and his Matriarch filling the space like suffocating fog. They didn’t rush to me. They didn’t ask how I was. They stood a few steps away, looking at me the way you look at a stain that had finally refused to scrub out.
My mother spoke first, her tone clipped and cold, stripped of any warmth a mother should have.
“Lucia, admit your mistakes. Confess properly, and Bruno will let you go.”
My father nodded beside her, eyes sharp, voice edged like a blade forged by the old code.
“You’ve shamed the Barsanti name enough. Stop resisting.”
I couldn’t help it. A bitter smile tugged at my lips.
Ever since the day they brought me back under the family roof, I had been trained to lower my head. If I read the ledgers cleaner than Adriana, that was my fault. If I closed a deal she fumbled, if I saw the angle she missed, that was my fault too. If I didn’t smile sweetly, didn’t act the doting, obedient sister she wanted at her heel, every difference became another sin.
I had admitted fault for years. Until the words themselves had lost all meaning.
This time, I didn’t bow.
Swallowing the bitterness clawing at my throat, I asked calmly, “What’s the point of admitting anything now?”
I lifted my eyes to meet theirs, my voice steady despite the ache spreading through my chest.
“Should I admit I didn’t push Adriana hard enough?”
The slap came before the echo of my words faded.
My father’s hand struck my face with a sharp crack, the force snapping my head to the side. Pain flared hot across my cheek, bright enough to blur my vision for a second. I tasted blood.
But I didn’t cry.
I straightened slowly, lifted my chin in stubborn defiance, and let out a cold, humorless snort.
“I was taken,” I said hoarsely. “Locked up. Beaten. Nearly broken. And all you cared about was whether Adriana caught a cold.”
Something in my chest growled low, furious and wounded.
“Now she stages a fake fall,” I continued, voice shaking but unbroken, “and you drag me down here to confess again. Tell me, am I just some stray you pulled off the street? Something disposable you can blame whenever she cries?”
Neither of them flinched.
They looked at me the way you look at an enemy, not a daughter. A threat to the fragile balance they’d built around Adriana.
My mother pressed her lips into a thin line. She lifted a folded handkerchief and dabbed once at the dry corner of her eye.
“Ungrateful,” she snapped. “If you refuse to admit fault, then stay here.”
My father turned away first.
They left without another glance, their footsteps echoing down the corridor like a verdict already passed.
Before I could protest, the men seized me. Their hands were rough, impatient, hauling me forward until I stumbled. They shoved me down into a narrow holding cell deep beneath the family’s station.
The door slammed shut.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
Only a thin blade of light slipped through a slit near the ceiling, barely enough to remind me the world still existed outside these walls. The air was stale, heavy, pressing against my lungs.
My body began to tremble.
The walls felt too close. The ceiling too low. My chest tightened as if invisible hands were squeezing my ribs inward. Claustrophobia surged, violent and merciless, dragging memories of that other dark room back to the surface.
“Bruno,” I whispered instinctively, my voice cracking. “Bruno.”
No answer came.
Only silence. Only darkness.
Time lost all meaning.
When the cell door finally creaked open, I flinched so hard my back slammed against the wall. Shapes filled the doorway. Broad, hard-faced women with the flat, indifferent eyes of enforcers who had long since stopped caring about anything but orders and cash.
One of them smirked.
“That her? Miss Barsanti said to teach her a lesson.”
My heart dropped.
A short-haired one stepped forward, cracking her knuckles with deliberate slowness. Panic surged through me. I backed away, but another fist twisted into my hair and yanked me down.
The floor rushed up to meet me.
Fists and boots followed.
Each blow exploded through my body, sharp and unforgiving. Pain radiated through my ribs, my back, my legs. Old injuries screamed as they tore open again. I tried to fight back, but my strength was gone, my body still healing from the last beating.
I was no match for them.
I curled in on myself, arms shielding my head, biting down on my screams as they vented their cruelty without restraint. The world narrowed to pain and breath and the metallic taste of blood.
“Enough!” a man barked from beyond the bars. “Stop it!”
Reluctantly, they stepped back.
I lay sprawled on the cold floor, barely conscious, blood soaking into the stone beneath me. My vision dimmed. My back burned where old wounds split anew, each movement sending agony through my bones.
Laughter echoed faintly as the door opened again.
Hands grabbed me. I was dragged out, my body scraping against the ground. Their mocking voices followed me like ghosts, but I didn’t have the strength to answer.
A full day and night passed.
Then, without ceremony, I was thrown out of the station.
Sunlight hit my eyes like a blade. I raised a trembling hand to shield my face, swaying as I forced myself upright. Step by step, limping and dizzy, I made my way to a clinic that asked no questions.
After my wounds were cleaned and hastily bandaged, I turned to leave.
That was when I saw them.
Bruno froze the moment his eyes landed on me. Shock flickered across his face, genuine this time. He stared as if seeing me for the first time.
“How,” his brow furrowed. “How did you end up like this?”
For a heartbeat, something like heartache crossed his eyes. His hand lifted, as if he meant to help me.
I stepped back.
Before I could speak, Adriana rushed to his side, clinging to his arm like she belonged there. She looked at me with wide, worried eyes, perfectly rehearsed.
“Lucia,” she said softly, “Bruno released you yesterday. Why didn’t you come home last night? And how did you hurt yourself so badly?”
She turned to him, voice gentle as venom, reaching up to smooth a strand of hair that hadn’t moved out of place.
“Don’t blame her. She probably just wants attention. Look at her, she’s really hurt. Let’s treat her first, all right?”
Her words worked instantly.
The concern vanished from Bruno’s eyes, replaced by cold fury. He looked at me as if I were something repulsive. His thumb found the signet ring on his finger and turned it, once.
“You’re doing this again,” he snapped. “Lucia, your lies are obvious now. Nobody believes you anymore.”
This time, I didn’t argue.
I simply looked at him, memorizing the face I had once loved with everything I had. His eyes were still beautiful. But empty of me.
He turned to Adriana, gently taking her hand. Without looking back, he said, “If she has the strength to hurt herself, she has the strength to walk home.”
Then, colder still, “Watch her. Don’t let her take a single shortcut.”
They walked away together.
I stood there alone for a long moment before forcing my legs to move. Each step burned. Each breath hurt.
And with every painful stride, one thought carved itself deeper into my mind, sharper than any blade.
I will make them pay.
All of them.
