Chapter 9: Nightmares and Memories

"I'll handle Luca," Dominic says. "You handle cleanup. Get Tommy to Dr. Rossini, tell him it was a training accident. And keep your mouths shut about the details."

They nod, moving to lift Tommy's unconscious form. He's heavier than he looks….it takes both guards to manage him.

"Mrs. Valenti," Giuseppe says as they pass. His voice holds new respect. "You should get that lip looked at."

After they're gone, silence settles over the hallway like dust. The bloodstain remains, dark against white marble.

"You okay?" Dominic asks.

I touch my split lip gingerly. "I think so."

"Good." He starts to turn away, then pauses. "Elena? What you did today…defending yourself? That's not something you should be ashamed of. It's something you should remember."

"Why are you so nice to me?"

The question stops him cold. For a moment, his carefully controlled mask slips, revealing something almost vulnerable underneath.

"Because someone should," he says finally. "And because I think you might be the best thing that's happened in this for a long time."

Before I can ask what he means, he's gone, leaving me alone with the bloodstain and the echo of violence in the air.

I look down at my hands. My knuckles are scraped raw, my wrist already showing purple bruises from Tommy's grip. But I'm alive. I'm standing.

For the first time since I walked into this house, I feel something other than fear.

I feel powerful.

—-

The bloodstain is gone by evening.

I kneel where it used to be, running my fingers across marble so clean it gleams. No trace remains of this morning's violence…not the blood, not the broken crystal, not even a scuff mark on the wall where Tommy slammed me.

It's like it never happened. Except for the bruises flowering purple across my wrist and the way my ribs ache when I breathe too deep.

"Impressive cleaning crew," I murmur to the empty hallway.

The house settles around me with its usual evening sounds, staff moving through distant rooms, the soft hum of expensive appliances, the whisper of silk curtains against window frames. Normal sounds. Peaceful sounds.

They don't match the violence still thrumming under my skin.

I pull myself to my feet, wincing as muscles protest. The adrenaline wore off hours ago, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that makes every movement feel like swimming through honey.

My reflection in the hallway mirror stops me cold. The woman staring back looks nothing like the frightened bride who arrived two weeks ago. This woman has sharp eyes and a split lip. This woman has blood under her fingernails not her own.

This woman looks dangerous.

The grandfather clock in the foyer chimes eight times. Luca's been in meetings all day, handling whatever crisis demanded his immediate attention this morning. He doesn't know about Tommy yet. Doesn't know his wife broke his lieutenant's nose with her bare hands.

Part of me wants to tell him. To see his reaction when he learns I'm not the helpless victim he married. The other part wants to keep this secret close, like a hidden blade.

Knowledge is power. And I'm learning that in this house, power is the only currency that matters.

My bare feet make no sound on the stairs as I climb to our bedroom. The marble is cold beneath my soles, but I don't care. Cold feels real. Clean. Unlike the heat that consumed me when I fought back this morning.

The bedroom door clicks shut behind me with finality. Here, surrounded by silk and shadows, I can finally let my guard down. Let my shoulders drop. Let my hands shake.

I killed someone today.

No….that's not right. Tommy's alive. Dominic confirmed it. Concussed but breathing. Still, when I brought that crystal paperweight down on his skull, I wanted him dead. For those few seconds, I wanted to keep hitting until he stopped moving forever.

The thought should horrify me. Instead, it makes me feel... nothing. Empty. Like someone scooped out my insides and left only skin behind.

I strip off my bloodstained clothes methodically. The silk blouse goes into the fireplace…some stains can never come clean. The skirt follows. Soon, there's nothing left but flames and ash.

The shower water runs pink at first, washing away the last evidence of violence. I scrub my hands until they're raw, but I can still feel Tommy's blood beneath my nails. Still smell his fear when he realized I wasn't going to break quietly.

When I finally emerge, skin red and stinging, the sun has set completely. The bedroom is dark except for the fire I built from my ruined clothes.

I should eat something. Should call for dinner. Should maintain the facade of the dutiful wife going through her evening routine.

Instead, I crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head like a child hiding from monsters.

Except the monster isn't under the bed. It's inside me. Has been all along, maybe. Waiting for the right moment to show its teeth.

Sleep comes despite everything or maybe because of it. My body shuts down like a machine finally allowed to rest.

But rest doesn't bring peace.

~ Few hours later ~

I woke up gasping, sheets soaked with sweat. The fire has died to embers, casting dancing shadows across unfamiliar walls. For a moment, I don't know where I am. The Valenti mansion feels like another dream, another nightmare I haven't woken from yet.

My heart hammers against my ribs. The dream felt so real more real than this silk-wrapped prison I call home now. Alessandro's warning echoes in my ears: *You have to remember.*

Remember what?

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, feet searching for slippers that aren't there. The marble floor shocks me fully awake, cold biting through confusion.

Something about Papa's funeral doesn't add up. Never has. The pieces of that week float in my memory like fragments of broken glass sharp, dangerous, impossible to fit together properly.

Alessandro was supposed to come home few days before papa death. I called him when Papa was going through a lot, sobbing into the phone while Uncle Nico handled the arrangements.

That should have been the first red flag. Alessandro worshipped Papa. Would have crawled through broken glass to say goodbye.

I press my palms against my temples, trying to squeeze the memories into focus. There was something else. Something about the funeral that felt wrong at the time but got buried under grief and shock.

Dreams aren't memories. Dreams are just my mind processing trauma, trying to make sense of senseless things. That's what the grief counselor said after Mama's first heart attack.

But this felt different. Like my subconscious was trying to tell me something my conscious mind refused to see.

I need air. Space to think without silk and shadows pressing against my skin.

The balcony doors open silently under my touch. Mediterranean air washes over me, carrying the scent of jasmine and distant sea salt. Palermo spreads below like a jeweled web, lights twinkling in the darkness.

Somewhere out there, Tommy is nursing his wounds and planning revenge. Somewhere else, Luca is conducting business that requires blood and silence. And somewhere in the space between them, I'm becoming something I don't recognize.

"Can't sleep?"

I don't turn around. Don't need to. Luca's voice carries the particular exhaustion that comes after a day of making people disappear.

"Bad dreams."

His footsteps cross the marble behind me. "About today?"

So he knows. Of course he knows. Secrets don't last long in this house.

"About my father's funeral."

A pause. When he speaks again, his voice has changed. Become careful.

"What about it?"

"Inconsistencies. Things that don't add up." I turn to face him finally. He's still dressed for business…dark suit, darker expression. Blood on his cufflinks that could be wine stains if you don't look too close.

"Memory is unreliable during grief."

"Maybe. Or maybe I wasn't paying attention to the right things." I study his face in the moonlight.

"Elena. Some questions are better left unasked."

"Why? What am I going to find if I keep digging?"

He moves closer, hands coming up to frame my face. His touch is surprisingly gentle for someone with blood under his nails.

"Pain," he says simply. "Truth always brings pain."

"I'm already in pain."

"This would be different. Deeper. The kind that changes you forever."

I lean into his touch despite myself. His thumbs trace the bruises on my cheekbones—not from Tommy's attack, but from tears I didn't realize I'd shed in my sleep.

"Maybe I want to change."

Something flickers in his dark eyes. Fear? Admiration? It's gone before I can identify it.

"Be careful what you wish for, wife."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a warning." He drops his hands, stepping back. "From someone who knows what it costs to chase the truth."

"And what does it cost?"

His smile is sharp as broken glass. "Everything you thought you knew about the people you love."

The words hit like ice water. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warm night air.

"Get some sleep, Elena. Real sleep. Tomorrow brings its own nightmares."

He turns to go, but my voice stops him.

"Luca."

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For not punishing me about Tommy."

He doesn't turn around. "You defended yourself. That's not a crime in my world…it's a necessity."

"Even against your own men?"

"Especially against my own men. Respect is earned, not given. Tommy forgot that."

"And if he tries again?"

Now he does turn, and the expression on his face makes my blood run cold.

"He won't."

The certainty in his voice tells me everything I need to know about Tommy's future prospects.

After he's gone, I remain on the balcony, staring out at the lights of Palermo. Somewhere in this ancient city are the answers to questions I'm afraid to ask. Truth that will change everything, if Luca is right.

The smart thing would be to let sleeping dogs lie. To play the obedient wife and accept the version of reality I've been given.

But I've never been particularly smart.

And after today, after discovering the violence I'm capable of, I'm not sure I want to be obedient anymore either.

The nightmare lingers at the edges of consciousness as I finally return to bed. Alessandro's warning, Uncle Matteo's presence where he shouldn't have been, the wrongness that permeated everything about that terrible week.

*You have to remember.*

Maybe I do. Even if it destroys me.

Especially if it destroys me.