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TWENTY-ONE YEARS EARLIER

Evangeline

“Wake up, Evangeline! Please, I beg you—wake up!” Chamilla’s whisper cracked like glass, her trembling fingers digging into my shoulders as if she could shake the life back into me.

A low groan tore from my throat. Pain blazed through every nerve, my body a battlefield of bruises and broken fire. Even breathing felt like punishment, as though my own ribs had turned against me.

Tears streaked Chamilla’s cheeks, falling hot onto my skin. “We must leave now. Before they come back.” Her voice was soaked in desperation, each word cutting through the haze in my head.

The world blurred before sharpening in cruel fragments—her quivering mouth, the blood on my dress, the cellar walls stained with shadows. My vision spotted white, but when it cleared, I saw her expression collapse.

“Why… why are you crying?” My own voice sounded strange, foreign, raw.

Her lips trembled. “Because you’ve been beaten, signora.”

Beaten. The word struck me harder than any fist had. My memory scattered, slippery and fractured, until the truth clawed back through the fog.

Valentina’s voice snapped me fully awake. “We can’t waste time. She has to be taken to Signor Georgino—now.” My sister’s eyes darted toward the door, full of urgency and terror.

I tried to sit up, but agony speared through my spine, ripping a gasp from me. And then it all returned—my father’s voice, thunderous with rage.

“You are nothing! A stain on this family’s honor!”

I could still hear the echo, still taste the bitterness of betrayal on my tongue. Falling in love with an enemy had condemned me, bloodline or not. Even my mother’s silence had been its own betrayal, her fear sealing my fate.

When Damian stepped out of the shadows, I almost wept. My father’s right hand—yet the only one who had not abandoned me. His dark eyes softened at the sight of my tears. “Angel,” he murmured. “We must go. I’ll carry you.”

He shoved a rag between my lips. “Bite down. This will hurt.”

The clang of steel filled the room as he uncovered the hidden trapdoor, a relic of my grandfather’s wars. Cold air rushed from below, damp and suffocating, smelling of earth and secrets.

Valentina grabbed my hand, her tears streaking down like shattered pearls. “I can’t go. If I leave, he’ll kill Mother. I have to stay.”

“No!” I cried, spitting the rag from my mouth. “You’ll die if you stay!”

Her smile was tragic, her touch feather-light against my bruised cheek. “Then let me die protecting you. Protecting your child. Protecting my princess.”

Her words pierced me deeper than any blade. My lips parted in a hollow attempt at humor. “How do you know it’s a girl?”

“Because only a daughter would carry this kind of fire.” She kissed my forehead, whispering, “I’ll see you again.”

And then she was gone, retreating into the dark. Damian’s arms locked around me, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. The secret door swallowed us whole just as footsteps thundered down the cellar stairs.

The tunnel was damp, swallowing every sound except the pounding of my heart. My sister’s kiss lingered like a brand on my skin as the trap slammed shut above us, cutting me from her forever.

Guards’ voices echoed down the stone passage. Damian pressed me tight against the wall, shielding me with his body. Their laughter about a missed soccer goal was almost obscene in its normalcy. My tears slid silently, each drop a prayer for survival.

And then—silence. They passed.

Damian didn’t wait. He kicked through the gate at the end of the tunnel, dragging me into the cover of the woods. The night swallowed us, the past collapsing behind me.

When I opened my eyes again, silk sheets cradled me, the scent of candles and spice filling the air. My body screamed with pain, but my heart knew where I was. Alonzo’s bed.

A shadow moved in the doorway. His voice rolled low and dangerous, yet laced with something tender. “Easy, bellissima.”

Alonzo Georgino crossed the room, kneeling at my side. Fury burned in his stare, sharp enough to cut steel. “You’re safe now. But tell me—why in God’s name did you go back to him? I knew your father would unleash hell the moment you did.”

His gaze lingered on every bruise, every wound. My body told the story my lips could not. My father’s punishment still lived in my flesh—and in that moment, I knew the price of loving the wrong man was far from paid.