The First Morning

Erin’s pov

When I finally sat up, my back ached from sleeping too stiffly. The shirt I’d worn yesterday was wrinkled and smelled faintly of sweat and soap that wasn’t mine. I rubbed my eyes, trying to remember where I was and why. Then it came back, the gate, the boy, the man behind the desk, the quiet threat that had hung between every word he’d said.

We’ll see if you’re worth keeping.

I pressed my palms over my face.

Right. I was still here. Still alive. For now.

A soft knock rattled the door.

I froze.

“Mr. Cole?” a woman’s voice called. “Breakfast will be ready soon. You’re expected in the dining room in fifteen minutes.”

“I—yeah, okay,” I said, though my voice cracked halfway through.

She didn’t answer. Footsteps faded down the hall.

I let out a shaky breath. Fifteen minutes. Enough time to pull myself together and try not to look like I’d been dragged out of a storm.

I showered quickly, the water too hot but clean. A fresh set of clothes waited folded on the dresser—plain slacks, a simple white shirt. The kind of thing that said, You work here now. I dressed and caught my reflection in the small mirror by the door. I looked less like a runaway and more like a ghost pretending to belong.

Downstairs, the house felt awake but still cautious. Voices murmured behind closed doors. Somewhere deeper inside, dishes clattered faintly. I followed the sound until the hall opened into a wide room filled with morning light. Long table, white cloth, silver cutlery that gleamed too much.

Luca sat near the middle, swinging his legs. His head was bent over a plate of toast, but he looked up when I entered. The same quiet eyes as last night—curious, but hiding something older than they should.

“Good morning,” I said, awkwardly. My voice sounded too loud in the stillness.

He gave a small nod. “You’re late.”

“I’m still learning the rules,” I said. “Guess I should start with time.”

He studied me like he wasn’t sure if I was joking, then broke a small smile. It surprised me; it changed his face completely. A child again, not the shadow he’d been yesterday.

Across the table, a housekeeper poured coffee into a mug and pushed it toward me without a word. I murmured thanks and sat down. The chair felt too expensive to touch.

The coffee burned my tongue, but it kept me from shaking.

“You’ll take Luca to the gardens after breakfast,” the woman said. “He needs to be outside for a while. Mr. Galetto has meetings.”

I nodded quickly. “Sure.”

Luca’s fork paused mid-air. “You don’t have to call him Mister when he’s not here,” he said. “Everyone else does, but it sounds weird.”

I tried not to smile. “What do you call him?”

“Papa.”

“Right. I think I’ll stick with Mister.”

He shrugged, grinning like he’d just won something. For the first time since I arrived, I felt the tightness in my chest ease a little.

The gardens stretched wide behind the house, more like a small park than a yard. The air smelled of cut grass and wet soil. A fountain murmured in the middle, water catching the light like glass.

Luca ran ahead, his small shoes crunching on the gravel. I followed at a slower pace, hands tucked in my pockets. Two guards stood near the gate, pretending not to watch us. Their presence sat heavy on the edge of my vision.

Luca was already kneeling by a bush, poking at something with a stick.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Ants,” he said simply. “They’re stealing crumbs.”

I crouched beside him. The ground was alive with tiny movement, a thin line of ants dragging a piece of bread toward their nest. “They work together,” I said without thinking.

He glanced at me. “You know about ants?”

“I know they don’t give up,” I said. “Even when they’re stepped on.”

He looked at me the way only a child can—like he was trying to decide if I was telling the truth. “Papa says people who don’t give up are dangerous.”

“He might be right,” I said softly.

Luca grinned again, the kind that made his eyes crinkle. Then he suddenly jumped up and ran toward the fountain. “Bet you can’t catch me!”

“Hey—” I started, but he was already halfway there.

I chased him, the gravel slipping under my shoes. The guards glanced over but didn’t move. Luca laughed, darting around the fountain, his arms wide. He was fast for someone so small. When I finally caught up, I grabbed him around the waist, and he squealed, wriggling free.

“You cheated,” he said, breathless.

“I didn’t even know we were racing.”

“That’s why you lost.”

I couldn’t help it; I laughed. It felt strange and rusty in my throat, like something I hadn’t used in years.

For a while, we just walked, Luca pointing out flowers, bugs, clouds shaped like animals. Every now and then, I caught sight of a window high above the courtyard, tinted glass reflecting the garden. I couldn’t see inside, but I felt watched anyway. A weight behind the glass, calm and patient.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was him.

By midday, the sun grew stronger. We sat under a tree near the edge of the property. I shared a bottle of water with Luca, who’d managed to cover half his shirt in dirt. He looked proud of it.

“Papa doesn’t like when I get messy,” he said between gulps.

“Then we won’t tell him.”

His grin widened, but then he grew thoughtful. “You talk different than everyone here,” he said. “Not like them.”

“Different good or different bad?”

He thought about it. “Just different.”

I nodded. “I’ll take that.”

He leaned back against the tree trunk, eyes half-closed. “Papa says different people are harder to read. That’s why he keeps them close until he understands them.”

I turned to him, startled. “He said that?”

Luca nodded, already half-lost in whatever dream world kids carry around.

I looked back at the mansion, the long white walls, the polished windows, the guards. Somewhere inside, Michele Galetto was probably still in his meetings, or maybe behind that glass, studying the world like a chessboard.

And me? I was a piece on it now.

Maybe not important yet, but a piece all the same.

The afternoon dragged slow. Luca had the energy of five kids packed into one body. He made me chase butterflies, count koi fish, and build a castle out of sticks that fell apart twice. Each time it collapsed, he declared we’d “start a better one,” and I followed along because I didn’t know what else to do.

At some point, a maid brought sandwiches and fruit. Luca devoured his in minutes. I forced myself to eat, though my stomach was a knot. The quiet, the safety—it all felt borrowed, fragile.

When the sun dipped lower, I brushed dirt off my pants. “Come on, soldier. Time to head inside before they send a search party.”

“I’m not done!” he said, scooping another handful of pebbles.

“Five more minutes.”

He grinned and threw a pebble that bounced off my shoe. “Now you have to stay.”

“You’re impossible.”

He laughed again, the sound bright enough to echo off the stone walls. It was contagious. For a second, I forgot where I was, forgot everything. Just a kid and a man sitting under a tree, pretending the world outside didn’t exist.

Then the air changed.

It started with a low hum—so soft I thought I imagined it. Then another sound layered over it, sharp and mechanical. The fountain lights flickered. A second later, a high-pitched alarm tore through the stillness.

Luca jumped. “What’s that?”

I stood fast. “I don’t know.”

The alarm grew louder, pulsing through the garden. The guards at the gate moved instantly, shouting into their radios. A flash of red light spilled from the house, reflecting off the glass doors. My heart slammed against my ribs.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing Luca’s hand. “We have to go.”

He didn’t fight me, just clung tighter. The path back to the house felt longer than it had earlier. Doors opened and slammed inside. Voices shouted orders I couldn’t make out.

The moment we reached the steps, two guards appeared, motioning us inside. “Get him to the safe room,” one barked. “Move!”

Safe room. The words didn’t make sense until the hallway lights began to flicker. Somewhere above, something heavy crashed—metal against marble. The house seemed to hold its breath again, then exhale in chaos.

I crouched to meet Luca’s eyes. “Stay with me, okay? Don’t let go.”

He nodded, eyes wide but dry. “Papa?”

“We’ll find him,” I said, though I didn’t know if it was true.

The guards led us fast through a side corridor I hadn’t seen before, past portraits and locked doors. My pulse pounded in my ears. Every sound seemed too big, every second stretched thin.

We stopped at a steel door built into the wall, half hidden behind a curtain. One guard pressed a code; the door hissed open to reveal a narrow room lit by emergency lights. It looked like a bunker—plain walls, supplies stacked neatly on shelves, a single monitor glowing faint blue.

“Stay here,” one guard ordered. “Don’t open the door for anyone until we get word.”

He slammed the door behind us. The hiss of the lock clicked back into place.

Silence again.

Luca clung to my arm, trembling now. I pulled him close, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s okay. It’s just a drill.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what the alarm means.”

The words sent a chill through me. “Then what does it mean?”

Before he could answer, the monitor on the wall flickered. A live feed appeared—security cameras showing different parts of the house. Corridors, staircases, the courtyard. On one screen, I caught sight of Michele, walking fast with two men behind him. His face was calm but hard, his movements controlled. He didn’t look surprised. He looked ready.

Luca pressed closer to the screen. “Papa,” he whispered.

I didn’t know what to say. I watched him move through the halls like a storm wrapped in a suit. He barked an order to someone off-screen; the cameras shook slightly, then cut to static.

For a second, the room plunged into quiet again. The only sound left was Luca’s breathing and my heartbeat racing too loud in my ears.

The power blinked. Lights dimmed, flared, and steadied again.

Somewhere deep in the mansion, a door slammed so hard it rattled through the walls.

I swallowed, pulling Luca tighter. “We’re okay,” I said again, though it felt like lying.

He nodded against my chest, his voice muffled. “Papa always wins.”

I hoped he was right.

The monitor flickered once more. Static. Then a line of text scrolled across the bottom of the screen—security override activated. All feeds temporarily offline.

The lights snapped off.

Darkness swallowed the room.

Luca gasped. I held him tighter, heart pounding. “It’s fine,” I whispered, groping for the wall. “Just the power. It’ll come back.”