"John, I have a bad feeling about this," Mom said, her fingers twisting into the fabric of Dad's suit jacket as if she could anchor him in place. He had been pacing for minutes now. "Maybe we should stay home. Just this once. Please."
Dad exhaled sharply and pulled away just enough to fix his bow tie in the mirror. His movements were precise, irritated. "You know how it works," he said, not looking at her. "If my father says it matters, then it matters."
Even though she was upset, Mom stepped closer and straightened the knot for him anyway. Her hands were steadier than her voice. She always fixed it better than he did.
I sat cross-legged on their bed, already dressed in my pajamas, ready for bed. I hugged my knees, watching the way they avoided each other's eyes, fascinated.
"I don't like that man," Mom murmured, so quietly I almost thought I imagined it.
Dad's jaw tightened.
"Don't," he said under his breath. "Not in front of our daughter."
They both looked at me then.
Mom smiled too quickly. Dad's expression softened, but only around the edges.
"It's just dinner," he said, forcing something lighter into his voice. "We'll be back before you know it, Sofia."
I remember the way Mom knelt in front of me, just as they were about to leave. I had followed them all the way to the foyer. I hadn't planned to sleep that night. I wanted to wait until they came back to tuck me in.
She smoothed my hair back from my face. Her perfume smelled like jasmine and something sweet I couldn't name yet. She was dressed in her black dress, white pearls around her neck and her red hair, cascading down her back in curls. She was an elegant woman, my mother.
"If we're late, you'd be good for Nonno, okay?" she said, brushing her thumb across my cheek.
I nodded, even though my stomach felt tight and small.
Dad bent down next and kissed the top of my head. His stubble scratching my skin. "We'll try to make it back before you're asleep, okay?" he promised, already turning toward the door.
I nodded and moved to follow them out the door, but a hand closed gently around mine before I could take more than two steps. I turned back to find my grandfather standing beside me.
"Let them leave, Isolda," he said softly, his fingers wrapping fully around my small hand. "You're a big girl now. They'll be back before you know it."
Dad straightened at his voice.
Mom didn't respond.
So I stopped fidgeting, not wanting to create more problems for them.
The foyer felt bigger that night. The chandeliers were dimmed, throwing long shadows across the marble floor. I could still remember my mother's heels echoing in the silence of it all. The way my father's hand rested at the small of her back, as if guiding her forward.
Mom hesitated at the threshold.
She turned around.
For a second, my heart filled with hope, thinking she was staying.
Instead, she only looked at me like she was trying to memorize my face.
"Be good," she told me.
Then she smiled.
And they left.
That was the last time I had seen them.
A sharp, stinging crack split across my cheek, snapping my head violently to the side.
Pain bloomed hot and immediate.
I dragged in a breath and forced my eyes to open, the world swimming in fractured shapes and muffled sound. For a second, I didn't know where I was. Marble floors. Dim chandeliers. My mother's voice.
Then the alley rushed back in.
The stone beneath me. The metallic taste in my mouth. The ache radiating through my skull.
My chest tightened as everything slammed into place.
"Great. You're awake."
Camilla's voice cut cleanly through the ringing in my ears, sharp and satisfied. Her face came into focus above me, close enough that I could see the thin sheen of sweat along her hairline.
"Now the real fun can finally begin."
"The fuck are you on about?" I muttered, my tongue thick, words slurring at the edges.
Her hand struck me again, the impact snapping my head to the opposite direction. The second blow splitting my lip open against my teeth.
Fine.
At least the pain was evenly distributed now.
"Enough, Camilla."
My grandfather's voice entered the space like a blade sliding into its sheath.
"I asked you to wake her," he said evenly, "not damage her."
I forced myself upright, ignoring the way the movement made my vision blur at the edges.
And then I saw him.
My grandfather sat across from me as if this were nothing more than a private meeting arranged in one of his offices. A chair had been brought in for him. He lowered himself into it with slow precision, both hands settling atop the carved handle of his cane.
He looked...older.
Thinner than I remembered. His suit hung looser against his frame, the sharp lines softened by time. The skin along his jaw had hollowed, and faint bruises shadowed beneath his eyes.
But he was alive.
Men like him didn't die easily. Death itself probably had taken one look at him and decided that he hadn't suffered enough in this world.
His gaze lifted to meet mine, steady and assessing.
I swallowed the metallic taste in my mouth and leaned back against whatever was behind me. I was tied up to a chair, my hands behind my back, forcing my spine straight despite the ache radiating through my skull. At least this time, I still had my memories.
"I should've known," I said, my voice raw but steady. "Arturo's betrayal wouldn't rattle you. I should've anticipated that."
"Oh, he will be dealt with accordingly, I assure you," my grandfather replied, smoothing a nonexistent crease from his sleeve. Somewhere behind me, Camilla shifted in the shadows, attentive. "But that is a separate matter. I would prefer to address you first."
"I'm not coming back."
He chuckled softly, the sound dry and humorless. "What makes you think I want you back, granddaughter?" he asked, as if indulging a child's misunderstanding. "Blood alone is meaningless when loyalty is absent. You went behind my back. You attempted to dismantle what I built. After all I invested in you."
"And all you destroyed," I shot back. "You murdered your own son. Did you think I wouldn't eventually understand that? Or did you assume I'd be obedient enough not to care?"
One of his brows lifted slightly, almost impressed.
"I am a merciful man, Isolda," he said evenly. "Your father forced my hand. He soiled our name by marrying beneath us, contaminating our bloodline. Painful as it was, I corrected that mistake."
My pulse thundered in my ears.
"You call that mercy?"
"I call it preservation."
His fingers tightened subtly around the head of his cane.
"And his death," he continued, "proved...advantageous. It secured our alliance with the Bianchis in the end."
The words clicked into place with sickening precision.
Arturo hadn't been siphoning the funds out of our businesses alone. They had done it together. It was just that my grandfather had kept his hands clean, just in case.
"But why?" I demanded, my voice cracking despite myself. "We had everything. The empire was stable. Untouchable."
My grandfather smiled then. Slow, thin, reptilian.
"You only see the wealth," he said. "I saw the vulnerability."
His gaze sharpened.
"I did what was necessary to safeguard our families, your legacy," he said. "After the damage that Russian scum had done."
He leaned forward slightly, the overhead light carving hollow into his face.
"Now that you've betrayed me, I no longer have anything left to lose, Isolda," he said softly. "That is what makes me dangerous."
And in that moment, I realized my grandfather wasn't protecting the empire anymore.
He was preparing to burn it down with himself still standing in the ashes.