Ch. 9 THE NEWS

Author’s POV

The first light of dawn painted the sky and shone on the city houses. Dolores stepped out of a taxi, hurriedly paying the driver before rushing towards the messy mansion. Her heart skipped a beat as she approached the mansion, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of the crime tape surrounding the burned-out mansion.

A voice calling out to her cut through the air, and she looked up to see her boyfriend, Bruno, waving from the other side of the tape. He was part of the forensics team, standing among the uniformed officers guarding the perimeter.

Dolores rushed forward, but the cops held her back, refusing to let her pass. Bruno quickly intervened, informing the officers that she was with him. Relieved, Dolores ducked under the tape and ran to her boyfriend, who spread his arms to hug her.

But she did not return the gesture, tears welling in her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" She cried, her voice hoarse. "Is Rosie, okay?"

The guilt of forgetting her best friend's birthday and failing to reach out in the past two days weighed deeply on her. "I'm such a terrible friend," she lamented.

Bruno's expression turned somber. "Calm down," he soothed, his voice steady. "It's not your fault. You have just been so busy at work and haven’t had time to check up on her."

Dolores shook her head hotly. "No, it's your fault!" she accused, glaring at her boyfriend. "You blackmailed me into going to your place on Rosie's birthday! Have you been able to reach her father?"

A panicked expression crossed his face. "No, we haven't heard from Rosita or her father," he admitted. "But they found three bodies in the house on the day it happened, two women and a man."

Dolores' knees buckled beneath her, and she stumbled, but Bruno caught her in his arms before she could hit the ground, holding her tight as she wept.

"No, no, she can't be dead," Dolores gasped between sobs. "But I can’t stop thinking that she might be, because of that ridiculous security system in her room. How could this have happened?"

Gently, Bruno guided Dolores into the well-cooked ruins of the mansion. She made her way through the ashes, stepping on something that crunched beneath her feet. Squatting down, she brushed away the dirt, revealing the journal she had given Rosita on her 16th birthday.

Blinking back tears, she rose, only to be met by the approaching figure of Stefano, Rosita's father. A smile split her face, and she ran to him, enveloping him in a tight hug.

"Stefano!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. "Oh my God, it’s so good to see you."

But her smile faded as she noticed the sad expression on the man's face. Pulling back, she searched his eyes, seeking some sign of Rosita's presence.

"W-Where is Rosie?" she inquired.

Stefano's gaze shifted, and Dolores' heart was galloping so fast, that she thought she might faint. "No," she breathed, taking a step back. "Don't tell me..."

Stefano's voice was thick with grief. "I'm so sorry, darling. My daughter... she didn't survive the fire, if I had known, I wouldn’t have..." he trailed off, like it hurt him to speak.

Dolores staggered, her world spinning as the words registered. "No, you are wrong!" she cried, her voice rising with each word until she was yelling. "Rosita can't be dead! She has to be alive, I can feel it!"

But Stefano's expression remained firm. "Um, it’s all my fault," he lamented. "I kept her locked in her room, even when I wasn't home. I was a terrible father, and the heavens are punishing me for my mistakes."

Dolores let out a high-pitched scream, the sound piercing the dark silence. Bruno was at her side in an instant, wrapping his arms around her trembling body as she cried uncontrollably.

Through her tears, she glared at Stefano. "How can you be so calm?!?" she yelled, her voice all sharp edges. "Rosita was your only daughter, the one you loved so dearly. How can you just accept that she is gone?"

Stefano shook his head. "I... I don't deserve to have a daughter like Rosita," he murmured. "She was too pure hearted for this world, maybe it’s all for the best."

Bruno stepped forward, placing a hand on Stefano's shoulder. "Please, just leave," he said gently. "Dolores needs time to grieve."

Stefano nodded, turning and walking out of the mansion. Dolores clung to Bruno, her heart breaking as the reality of Rosita's fate hit her. Memories of their precious friendship flooded her mind—the laughter, the arguments, the unbreakable bond they had shared.

Now, that bond had been severed, and Dolores felt utterly lost, consumed by the depth of her grief. Rosita, her energetic, spirited friend, was gone. And she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

As night fell, Bruno gently guided the distressed Dolores into the backseat of a taxi. Leaning in, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

"Get home safely," he whispered, his tone soft. "I will come check on you later."

Dolores sighed heavily. "That's not necessary," she replied. "I need some time alone."

Bruno's brow creased with concern. "Are you sure? After everything that's happened..."

Dolores shook her head. "I feel so guilty," she confessed, her voice cracking ever so slightly. "I should have helped Rosita when she asked me to break out of her father's mansion. I was an awful friend." Her eyes filled with pain. "I'm just... so messed up right now. Maybe we should take a break."

Bruno's expression shifted, but he nodded in understanding. "If that's what you need," he agreed.

Dolores offered him a pale smile. "It will be fine," she assured him, before turning to the driver. "Take me to the nearest bar, please."

As the taxi drove away, Dolores stubbornly refused to look back, unwilling to see the worry engraved across Bruno's face. Deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that Rosita was still alive. Her friend's vibrant spirit couldn't have been extinguished so easily.

***

Back at the mansion, Deangelo stood outside Rosita's door, knocking sharply. "Come out for dinner," he commanded. "It's an order, not a request."

"I don't want to have dinner!" Rosita shouted from inside the room. "And I don't want to see your stupid face again!"

Deangelo's brows furrowed. "That sounds a bit harsh," he remarked, his voice steady. "If you are not coming out, I will have to break the door down."

"Go ahead," Rosita snapped, her voice loud enough for him to hear. "I don't care what you do, because you don’t know a thing about private space."

He paused, then tried a different approach. "Come out now," he said, his tone softening. "I'm asking nicely."

"Apologize first," Rosita shot back. "For the way you treated me at dinner yesterday."

Deangelo opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He couldn't remember the last time he had uttered the word "sorry." Clearing his throat, he said, "It wasn't my fault. You should have eaten when I told you to. I was just looking out for you, it's my duty to keep my prisoner fed."

Rosita's voice dripped with disgust. "If that's your idea of an apology, you must be joking."

Deangelo suddenly realized the stupidity of his actions. This girl was his prisoner, not his equal. Why was he even attempting to apologize?

Turning to Hugo, who had approached with a master key, Deangelo barked, "Open the door and drag her out. She is not spending the whole day in her room as long as I'm home."

Hugo nodded, inserting the key and twisting the lock. But before he could enter, the door swung open, and he stumbled into the room, caught off guard.

Deangelo's gaze swept over Rosita's body, dressed only in a pair of white shorts and a sports bra. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, and he found himself momentarily engrossed.

"Go take a shower," he commanded, his voice gruff. "We are having dinner elsewhere."

Rosita opened her mouth to ask where, but Deangelo had already turned and strode away, leaving her to ponder his sudden change in demeanor.