Lucia’s POV
The sun climbed higher.
The heat became unbearable.
My vision blurred. The world spun violently around me.
And then—Everything went black.
When consciousness returned, it came slowly, like wading up from dark water.
I was lying in my own room.
A soft quilt covered me, its familiar scent failing to bring any comfort. My shoulder throbbed faintly beneath fresh bandages, the gauze clean and carefully wrapped. Someone had tended to my wounds with the practiced hand of a man who worked off the books, the kind the Family called when a hospital would ask too many questions. Almost reverently.
Footsteps sounded near the door.
“Miss…you’re awake?” the maid whispered in relief when she noticed my eyes open. “Don Ferraro was very distressed yesterday after he had you cut down from the cellar. He told us to take special care of you.”
Her words washed over me without leaving a ripple.
She gestured toward a large box placed beside the bed. It was sealed with silver clasps, engraved with the Ferraro crest.
“Don Ferraro had this delivered before dawn,” she continued cautiously. “It’s a bridal gown. It’s already been fitted to you. He said…he wants you to try it on. The union is sealed before the Commission the day after tomorrow.”
I turned my head.
The gown lay there quietly, pure white fabric folded with care, as sacred as an offering laid at a saint’s feet. Once, I had imagined wearing it into the church, binding my name to Bruno’s before God and the whole famiglia.
Now, my heart felt like a dead plain.
Without answering, I pushed the quilt aside and swung my legs over the bed. The sudden movement made my vision sway, but I steadied myself and stood. I didn’t spare the gown another glance as I walked straight for the door.
The hallway was quiet.
Halfway down the corridor, Adriana appeared.
She stopped when she saw me, her eyes flickering with surprise before settling into contempt. The air around her turned sharp, invasive, the way a room turns when someone dangerous decides to be cruel.
“Well, well,” she said, lips curving. “You’re impressive, Lucia. Strung up in the cellar yesterday, and now you’ve somehow made Bruno feel sorry for you again?”
She took a step closer, voice lowering.
“What’s your plan this time? Wear the gown and crawl back into his bed? Ruin my union before it’s even sealed?”
I didn’t slow.
“I don’t care about the dress,” I said calmly. “I’ll give it to you. I’m not fighting you for Bruno.”
She froze.
“You’ll be the one marrying him,” I continued, my tone flat and final. “Not me.”
For the first time, Adriana looked genuinely shaken. Her smile held a beat too long, and her hand drifted up to smooth a strand of hair that wasn’t out of place.
I brushed past her without another word. Each step down the stairs sent a dull ache through my body, but I forced myself onward and pushed open the front doors of the estate.
Cool air rushed over my face.
The wind carried the faint scent of pine and cold stone, clearing my head far better than any medicine off Dottore Alberti’s tray. Bruno’s guilt, his hollow gestures of concern, meant nothing now.
I didn’t need his pity.
I needed time.
Two days.
Two days to leave.
Two days to prepare.
And two days to ensure that everyone who had torn me apart paid in full.
I pulled out my phone with steady fingers and sent a message to the few people I still trusted. In that stillness I touched the thin scar on my wrist once, the only inheritance my family ever gave me.
[In two days, release every recording, every ledger, to all the major outlets.
Immediately choke off all laundering pipelines and hidden accounts feeding the Barsanti and the Ferraro operations.]
I stared at the screen as the message sent.
To the Barsantis. To the Ferraros.
I will make you pay.
I had barely lowered my phone when a hand suddenly clamped over my mouth and nose from behind. A sharp, chemical scent flooded my senses. Instinct surged, my body straining to fight, but the wounds and the sleepless night betrayed me.
The world tilted.
Darkness swallowed everything.
When I woke again, cold iron pressed against my spine.
My wrists were bound. My ankles chained. I was tied to a heavy iron chair in a damp, lightless room. The air reeked of rust and stagnant water.
In the corner, Adriana was there too.
She was tied up, her head bowed as she sobbed softly, shoulders shaking. The sight didn’t bring relief. It made my stomach twist.
Footsteps approached.
A tall man emerged from the shadows, a jagged scar cutting down his cheek. He moved like a man who had done this many times and had never once lost sleep over it, loyal to nothing but the number at the end of a job.
He picked up a phone, dialed, and turned on the speaker.
“Don Ferraro,” he said lazily. “Come quickly if you want to save your woman.”
Ten minutes later, the door burst open.
Bruno rushed in, and for a moment the whole room seemed to tilt toward him the way it does when a made man walks in wearing his rage on the outside. His gaze snapped to Adriana, and then to me. Panic flickered across his face before Salvatore Greco stepped forward, twirling a dagger between his fingers, dragging his thumb slow along the scar on his cheek.
“I hear one of them is your promised bride,” Salvatore said. “Let’s play a game. Choose one.”
Bruno froze.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Somewhere water dripped, and the sound of it was impossibly loud.
“I…” his voice faltered. His jaw worked, and his fingers found the signet ring on his hand, twisting it round and round.
“Stop wasting my time!” Salvatore barked.
He grabbed both of us by the neck, cutting off our air. My chest burned as my breath came in frantic gasps.
“Bruno!” Adriana screamed, her voice shrill with terror. “I’m scared! It hurts! Please—save me!”
Bruno’s fists clenched until his knuckles whitened. His eyes darted between us, his jaw trembling, the ring turning faster.
Finally, he spoke.
“I choose Adriana.”
The words struck deeper than any blade.
Salvatore laughed.
He yanked me forward by my hair and shoved me toward a dark pool beside the room. The icy water swallowed me whole. My lungs screamed, my body convulsing as I fought desperately for air.
Once.
Twice.
I was dragged up only to be forced back under again.
When they finally pulled me out and dumped me onto the cold floor, I coughed violently, gasping like a dying animal.
“Decisive choice, Don Ferraro,” the man mocked.
Before I could recover, rough hands seized us both.
They dragged Adriana and me toward two massive iron cages.
The doors slammed shut.
And the darkness closed in once more.
