Revenge

Amelie’s POV

I still had that day carved into the back of my mind, constantly reminding me of what I had done.

The heat from the fire was intense, like it wanted to reach out and swallow me whole. My chest tightened with the thick smoke in the air, but I couldn’t move. I just stood there, frozen, staring at the house that was now completely engulfed in flames.

Something I had none. Not that it was a mistake, not that I had slept of with the fire place on, causing a fire.

But because I had poured a trail of fuel round the house and set it ablaze.

I was that girl.

Beside me, my father stood tall, his face cold and expressionless. The orange glow from the fire flickered across his features, but nothing softened that hard look in his eyes.

He stared on intently like he was waiting for some sort of movement in the fire, but I knew it was practically impossible.

There’s no way they would have gotten out of the fire on time, I knew that much.

Father made me make sure of it. After a few minutes of staring, he finally turned to me, patting my head.

“You did good, Amelie,” he said, his voice calm, as if we were talking about something ordinary.

Good? What was good about this?

I could still hear faint screams coming from inside. My heart raced, pounding so loud it drowned out the crackling of the flames.

How could he praise me for setting the house on fire with my brothers in it?

They had done nothing but love me, and yet I took advantage of that love, stabbing them in the back.

My father’s hand rested on my shoulder, it was meant to be reassuring but it instead I found it suffocating.

I wanted nothing but to push away his hand at that point, but I didn’t. it would be me in that fire if I do.

“They trusted you, and you did what had to be done.” His grip tightened. “Remember that. Trust is a weapon. You either use it or get killed by it.”

Kill or be killed. That wasn’t the right thing to say to your eleven-year-old who had just killed her twenty-year-old brothers, but he didn’t care.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat almost choking me. The memory of their smiles flashed through my mind—Luca, Matteo, and Nico. They had trusted me.

Trusted me with their lives and I had taken that away from them.

I had smiled back, pretending everything was fine. I had offered them drinks, my hands steady even though my stomach churned with guilt. I watched as they drank, oblivious to the drugs I had mixed in.

They never saw it coming.

The look of betrayal in their eyes when they realized what had happened was enough to haunt me for life.

When they collapsed, I had wanted to scream, to stop what was coming next. But my father’s voice had been clear: “Do it now.”

So I did.

I lit the match with shaking fingers and dropped it onto the trail of gasoline. The fire roared to life, devouring everything in its path.

And that included my siblings.

 I stumbled back, my legs weak, but my father had caught me, holding me steady.

He grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look at the house burning, not caring about the heat from the flames.

“Look at it,” he commanded. “This is what power looks like.”

Power? All I saw was death.

The memory faded, but the weight of it clung to me like a heavy cloak. I blinked, my vision clearing to the dim room where I was tied up.

I tried to blink back the tears, my face falling.

 My wrists ached from the rough ropes, and my head throbbed from the pounding ache that wouldn’t go away.

Luca’s voice cut through the silence. “Thinking about your masterpiece?” he sneered as though he could really tell what I had been thinking about.

I lifted my head, my gaze meeting his cold grey eyes. His face was hard, unreadable, but the bitterness in his tone was clear.

Matteo leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed. “She probably remembers every detail. Don’t you, Amelie?” he sneered.

Nico stood to the side, silent but watching me with a look that made my skin crawl. I wasn’t certain if he had said a single word since he had walked in here.

“I was following orders,” I said quietly, my voice hoarse. “It wasn’t my choice.”

It really wasn’t. I was just eleven.

Luca’s jaw tightened. “You had a choice.”

Matteo scoffed. “Yeah, she chose to burn us alive.”

I flinched at his words but forced myself to sit up straighter. “If I didn’t do it, my father would have killed me.”

Silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating.

It was me or them, father had made that much clear.

Luca took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “We trusted you,” he said, his voice low but dangerous. “And you killed us.”

Guilt twisted in my chest, but I refused to show weakness. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it,” I said, lifting my chin defiantly.

There was no point having this conversation, it had happened fourteen years ago.

Matteo chuckled darkly. “Always so brave, huh?”

Luca’s eyes never left mine. “We said we weren’t here to kill you, Amelie.”

That’s right. How could I have forgotten. They needed me to help them take revenge on the man who had birthed me.

 “We want to destroy him,” Luca said, his voice cold and unwavering. “Your father.”

My breath caught. Destroy my father? The man who controlled everything and everyone around him? The man who had shaped me into this broken version of myself?

“And you’re going to help us,” Matteo added, a smug grin on his face.

I shook my head. “Why would I do that?”

Why would I help them destroy that man? I wasn’t going to attempt to stop them, but to help?

“Because you hate him just as much as we do,” Luca said simply.

His words hit me harder than any blow. Hate? I didn’t want to admit it, but deep down, I knew he was right.

I hated my father.

And maybe—just maybe—this was my chance to finally be free.