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Chapter 3
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2026-08-26 23:49:23I don’t know why I got up.
Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the fact that "don’t go in there" is the fastest way to make someone want to.
2:14am. The hall was dark. Cold. The house was too quiet, like it was holding its breath.
The footsteps were gone.
I followed them. Bare feet on marble. Past my room, past the stairs, down a long corridor I hadn’t seen during the day.
The east wing was light and clean. This part wasn’t.
The lights were dimmer here. The walls had old paintings, faces I didn’t recognize. And at the end, a door. Black. No handle on the outside.
It was open a crack.
I should’ve turned back.
I didn’t.
Inside smelled like dust and something metallic. Like old blood.
There were boxes. Furniture covered in sheets. And in the middle of the room, a table. On it, photos.
I stepped closer.
They were all of the five brothers. Younger. Maybe 10, 12, 15. And with them, a woman. She had Luca’s eyes.
Their mother?
One photo slipped from the pile. Behind it, another. This one was newer. All five of them, standing over something on the floor. I couldn’t see what. Their faces weren’t smiling.
The door creaked.
I froze.
"Don’t move."
Marco.
He wasn’t angry. He was... tired.
"Turn around slowly," he said.
I did. He was in the doorway, no shirt, jeans, gun in his hand but pointed down.
"You weren’t supposed to come in here," he said.
"I know."
"Then why did you?"
"Because you told me not to."
He exhaled, hard. Put the gun on a table behind him. "Come here."
I didn’t. "What’s in these photos?"
"Nothing you need to see."
"Then why hide it?"
"Because some things don’t get explained to staff."
The word staff cut.
"Is that all I am to you?" I asked. "Staff?"
Marco stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell soap on him. "Right now, yes. Because if Luca finds you in here, he won’t care that you’re 21 and broke. He’ll throw you out. Or worse."
"Worse what?"
"He won’t."
We stared at each other.
Behind me, a floorboard shifted.
Dante.
He was leaning against the wall, watching. When did he get here?
"She saw," Dante said. Quiet.
"I know," Marco said.
"What did she see?" Dante asked me.
I held up the photo. The one with all five of them. "This."
Dante’s jaw ticked. He looked at Marco. "You should’ve locked it."
"I thought we agreed no one comes in at night."
Footsteps. More of them.
Luca appeared in the doorway, and the temperature in the room dropped 10 degrees. Nico and Enzo behind him.
No one spoke for 10 seconds.
Then Luca looked at the photo in my hand. At me. At Marco.
"Explain," he said.
Marco stepped in front of me. "It was my fault. I left the door open."
"Did you?" Luca asked me.
I could lie. I should lie.
"No," I said. "I came in. On my own."
Luca’s eyes went cold. "Rule number two. Don’t go into the west wing."
"I know."
"Do you know what happens when people break our rules?"
"No."
He walked to me, took the photo from my hand. Didn’t look at it. Just held it.
"You have two choices," he said. "Pack your bag. Leave tonight. Or stay, and forget what you saw. Forever."
I looked past him. At Marco. He wasn’t smiling. He was watching me like this mattered.
At Nico, who looked sad. At Enzo, unreadable. At Dante, who gave me the smallest shake of his head.
"Forget," I said. "I’ll forget."
Luca studied me. Then nodded once. "Good girl."
He turned to Marco. "Walk her back to her room. And lock this door. Properly this time."
Marco didn’t say anything. He just took my arm, gentle, and led me out.
The hall was silent on the way back.
At my door, he stopped.
"You could’ve lied," he said.
"I don’t lie."
"That’s going to get you killed."
"Maybe."
He looked at me for a long time. "You’re not like the other girls who work here."
"What are the other girls like?"
"They bow."
He almost smiled. Then he didn’t.
"Go to sleep, Aria. And stay out of the west wing."
"Or what?"
"Or I won’t be able to protect you next time."
He closed my door.
I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling.
My hands were shaking. Not from fear.
From the way Marco looked at me in that room. Like I was a problem he wanted.
At 4am I heard it again.
Footsteps.
This time, going the other way. Away from the west wing.
I didn’t get up.
But I didn’t sleep either.
God help me.
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