LOGINNICOThe call ends.For a few seconds I stand in the middle of the corridor with my phone still pressed against my ear like the conversation is going to continue if I just hold on long enough. Then I slowly lower it.What the fuck does Dante know?That is the first question. The second is how. Dante had been away, deliberately kept away from all of this, by me specifically. As far as I had structured things, the only people who knew what was actually happening here were me, Vivian, the Alchemist, and whoever was working behind the scenes on pieces I still didn't have the full picture of. So how had information reached Dante? And more importantly — what had reached him?My grip tightens around the phone.Dante doesn't get angry without a reason. Especially not with me. We have a working relationship that has survived eleven years of impossible situations and it runs on a particular kind of trust that is not easily rattled. But the voice on that call had been too calm. Too controlled. T
The worst part about loving someone is knowing exactly what you would destroy for them.NICOVivian's expression changes. The small smile disappears, and suddenly she looks terrified — not because of what has been done to her, not because of the room or the pain or any of the physical things. Because of something she has just remembered. Something that is making her afraid in a specific, directed way."Nico." She looks at me. "There's something I have to tell you.""I know."She blinks. "What?"I take a slow breath. "The Alchemist."Her face goes completely still. "He told me."For a second she just stares at me. Then her brows pull together. "He told you?"I nod. "He says he's my father."Vivian's lips part. "You know?""Yeah, baby." I reach for her hand. "I know.""But how?""I spoke to him."Her eyes search mine. "You spoke to him?""Before I came in here.""And he told you?""He showed me pictures." I don't mention the rest — the way he spoke about leaving us behind, the way he ex
Seeing the person you love broken is a different kind of torture. One that leaves no wound on your skin, but somehow makes every part of you bleed. DAMIENBefore I left, I asked to see Vivian.The Alchemist didn't hesitate. Maybe he thought letting me see her would make me more desperate, more willing to hand over whatever he asked for. Maybe he thought seeing exactly what he had done to her would break what was left of my resolve. Either way, I didn't care about his reasoning. I just needed to see her.The moment the door opened, I stepped inside.My eyes swept the room immediately. It was a mess in the specific way of a room where someone has fought — not panicked, not thrashed around, but actually fought. The small table was knocked over. One of the chairs was broken. Pieces of glass scattered across the floor in a pattern that told me something had been thrown or smashed deliberately. Scratches along the wall near the door. The sheets half-dragged off the bed onto the floor.She
NICOThe room was getting harder to breathe in. I could see it in the way Vivian's chest moved on the screen — too fast, too shallow, her body working harder than it should have to for something as basic as air. Every cough that came through the speakers scraped against my nerves like something physical. I wanted to tear the screen off the wall. I wanted to put a bullet between the Alchemist's eyes and watch him fall and then find Vivian and get her out of this building and out of this country and somewhere that had nothing to do with any of this.Instead I stood there. Because Vivian had taught me something long before I understood who she really was. Never react when someone wants you to. Especially when they are watching and waiting for it.My eyes stayed on the screen. Vivian pushed herself upright slowly. She looked terrible — hair everywhere, clothes covered in dust, skin pale under the harsh light of that bare room. She looked like someone who had been through something and was
NICOI stare at the briefcase.At the photographs. At the man who claims to be my father. At all of it laid out on the table between us like evidence in a case I did not ask to be part of. None of it changes anything. At least that is what I tell myself, standing in a room in Russia looking at pictures of two newborn boys being held by a man in a mask."This isn't going to do shit."The Alchemist remains silent. I look at him. "You think showing me a few old photographs is going to make me suddenly accept you?" I shake my head. "You think I'm going to walk out of here and tell Luca that we have a father we've never known about?" I almost laugh at the image of it. "What do you think Luca would do if he heard all this?" I don't wait for an answer because I already know it and so does he. "He'd put a bullet through your head."The Alchemist doesn't react.I step closer. "And that's exactly why you didn't go through him first, isn't it?" His head tilts slightly. "You know how unpredictabl
NICOI turned toward the door. I had heard enough. More than enough. I didn't care what he claimed to know about me or Luca, didn't care about his inheritance speech, and I certainly wasn't about to steal a ledger for a man who had materialized out of nowhere and expected me to take his word for something this large. I took two steps."Nico."I stopped. His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be — it had the particular quality of a voice that has never needed volume to make people stop. I turned my head slowly.. "I left you and Luca in Dante's father's care."I stared at him. "What?""You heard me." He walked toward me, his footsteps measured and unhurried against the marble. "How did you think you ended up growing up with Dante?"I said nothing."By accident?" A faint trace of something moved through his voice. "No." He stopped a few feet away. "I made it happen."My brows pulled together. "You?""Me." He pointed toward me. "I made sure Dante's father—Giuseppe took you both in. I m
“PAIN MADE US STRONGER, TEARS MADE US COLDER.”DANTE.The whiskey burns going down, but I barely notice anymore, alcohol over the years became like water to me, which–-well wasn’t such a great thing. I'm sitting in the guest room of Marco's house—my cousin's house, though I haven't seen the bastar
“NOT ALL DEMONS LIVE IN HELL.”SOFIA.I must have dozed off at some point because I woke to the sound of my bedroom door opening.My eyes snap open and I sit up quickly, my heart already racing before I'm even fully awake. The room is still dark but there's a stream of light from the hallway, and M
IF I CAN STILL BREATHE, I’M FINE.SOFIA.I can't sleep.I should be sleeping. I should have taken a pill or had a glass of wine or done something to knock myself out so I wouldn't be lying here obsessing over things that aren't my business. But I can't. My mind won't stop racing, won't stop wonderi
SOFIA.IF I TOLD YOU MY SECRETS YOU WOULD NEVER LOOK AT ME THE SAME.The thing about living with a man who doesn't love you is that you become very good at reading silences.I can tell the difference between Marco's "I'm working" silence and his "I wish you weren't here" silence. Between his "I'm t







