2

When I wake up, my head is pounding violently.

I am tied to a heavy wooden chair in a room I recognize all too well. It’s my father’s private study at the Rossi estate.

The large mahogany desk, the leather books, the smell of his expensive cigars. Everything is here.

But my father is on the floor.

He is bound to a chair just like me, his face bloodied and bruised. Julian is standing over him, holding a gun, while Elena sits on the edge of the desk, swinging her legs lazily.

"Ah, she's awake," Julian says, turning to look at me when I move.

"Dad!" I try to rush forward, but the ropes cut deep into my wrists, trapping me. "Dad, look at me!"

My father raises his head weakly. His left eye is swollen shut.

"Bianca..." he croaks, his voice thick. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

"Shut up," Julian barks, striking my father across the face with the barrel of the gun.

"Stop it! Please, stop it!" I scream, tears blinding me. "Take the money! Take the company! Just let him go!"

"Oh, we're taking it all, Bianca," Elena says, hopping off the desk. She walks over to me, holding a sleek black pistol.

She presses the cold metal into my bound hands, forcing my trembling fingers around the grip before wrapping her own hands over mine to keep them there.

"I trusted you. Elena…" My voice cracks as I search her eyes. "We can talk this through. How can you do this to me after everything I told you? You know how hard it was for me to let people in again—to make new friends. And this is what you do?"

A cold, mocking smile curls on Elena's lips.

"Oh, right. I almost forgot." Her voice drips with contempt. "You're a murderer, just like your father. You killed your best friend out of jealousy." She leans in, her eyes hard as stone. "Guess it runs in the blood."

Julian walks behind my father, grabbing his hair and forcing his head back. He looks at me, his eyes gleaming with a sick, twisted joy.

"The police are going to find a tragic murder-suicide. The stress of the upcoming wedding got to the great Rossi family. A fight broke out. You shot your father, and then, in your grief, you shot yourself."

"No," I whisper, shaking my head violently. "No, please, Julian, don't do this."

Julian aligns the barrel of the gun Elena is forcing me to hold, pointing it straight at my father’s chest.

"Julian, look at me!" my father cries out, his voice cracking. "Let her go! She has nothing to do with this!"

"She has everything to do with it. She’s your blood," Julian says coldly. He looks at Elena. "Do it."

Elena squeezes my finger.

I fight back with everything I have, pulling against her strength, crying out in agony as the bones in my hands protest. But she is stronger, and Julian helps her press down.

BANG.

The sound is deafening in the room. The recoil violently jerks my arms up.

I watch in horrific slow motion as a crimson circle blooms on my father’s white shirt. His eyes go wide, staring directly into mine.

Then, the light leaves them.

His head slumps forward.

"DAD!" I shriek, a sound so raw it tears my throat. "DAD! NO! PLEASE!"

"Beautiful," Julian murmurs, stepping away from the body. He turns to me, raising his own gun to point at my forehead. "And now, the tragic finale."

The grief inside me burns away, replaced by a sudden, sharp spike of pure adrenaline.

I can't die here.

I can't let them win.

As Julian steps closer to deliver the final shot, I don't pull against the ropes. I use the last bit of my strength to rock the heavy wooden chair violently to the side. The chair topples over.

Julian’s gun fires, the bullet shattering a glass vase right where my head had been a second ago.

The impact of the floor shatters the wooden armrest of the chair. It splinters. My right hand slips free from the loosened rope.

I don't hesitate. I scramble to my feet, ignoring the pain in my wrists, and throw the heavy desk lamp straight at Julian's face.

It hits him squarely in the eye.

He stumbles back, cursing loudly, blood spurting from his nose.

"Catch her!" Elena screams, reaching for me.

I dodge her, running through the open balcony doors into the pouring rain.

The cold water hits my face as I sprint blindly into the dark gardens of the estate. Behind me, I hear the shouts of Julian’s men and the sound of gunshots cutting through the night.

I run until my lungs burn, my bare feet bleeding on the gravel, refusing to slow down.

Every breath slices through my chest; every step sends fresh agony through my battered feet, but fear is stronger than pain.

"Spread out!" someone shouts behind me. "She couldn't have gone far!"

Flashlights pierce the darkness, sweeping over hedges and marble statues. I duck behind a thick row of cypress trees, pressing myself against the rain-soaked trunk as two armed men race past, their boots splashing through puddles barely a few feet away.

"Check the front gate!"

"I'll search the east side!"

The moment their voices fade, I move again.

I climb the iron fence surrounding the estate, the sharp tips tearing into my palms and ripping my dress. My body screams in protest as I throw myself over the other side.

I hit the pavement hard.

For a second, I lie there, stunned, rain pelting my face. Then I force myself up and run.

The street blurs together beneath the relentless storm. Luxury mansions give way to apartment blocks, then convenience stores, empty bus stops, and graffiti-covered alleyways.

The city swallows me whole. Sirens wail somewhere in the distance.

Every pair of headlights makes me flinch. Every passing stranger feels like one of Julian's men.

I keep walking.

Then running. Then walking again when my legs refuse to obey.

Hours seem to pass.

The rain finally eases into a drizzle as I stumble toward the entrance of an old subway station.

The stale smell of damp concrete and rust greets me. A handful of homeless people have already claimed corners beneath the overhang, wrapped in threadbare blankets and cardboard.

No one looks at me twice.

To them, I'm just another broken soul trying to survive the night.

I sink down against the cold wall, pulling my knees to my chest. My soaked clothes cling to my skin, my body trembling violently.

Only then do I let myself break. A strangled sob escapes before I can stop it.

Dad is gone.

The man who raised me... who loved me... who gave me everything... is dead.

And I couldn't save him.

Hot tears spill down my cheeks.

I bury my face in my knees and cry until there are no tears left, until grief leaves nothing but a hollow ache inside my chest.

I have no money.

I have no family. My life is a lie, and my father is dead.

I will kill them both. I will make them feel every pain I've endured.

Eventually, exhaustion proves stronger than heartbreak. My eyelids grow heavy, and despite the cold concrete beneath me and the constant ache in every bone, sleep drags me under.

Curled against the station wall among forgotten strangers, I fall into a restless, haunted sleep, aware that when morning comes, my life will become the same again.

Where can I go?