Chapter 6: A House Without A Home

Elena/Ileana Pov

“Home?”

The word slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Dr. Vane nodded, looking as though he would rather deliver the news of his own execution than stand in front of me for another second.

“Your family is here to take you home.”

Interesting.

For three months, I had been plotting my escape from this glorified prison. I had spent the last few days calculating my next move, gathering information, and figuring out how to leave without attracting unnecessary attention.

And now, the Belluccis had graciously decided to come and collect me.

How considerate of them.

I almost laughed.

“Then we shouldn’t waste time, should we?” I said, stepping away from the man still groaning on the floor. “I’ll pack.”

Dr. Vane blinked.

Perhaps he had expected me to refuse. Perhaps he thought I would demand to know why my family had suddenly remembered my existence after leaving me here for years.

Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t interested in asking questions I didn’t need answers to.

I wanted out of Saint Aurelia.

If the Belluccis were offering me a convenient ride out, who was I to decline?

Besides, living with them would give me an opportunity to observe the family I had already researched from a distance.

And I had a feeling the Belluccis would be particularly entertaining.

“Wait here,” I told Dr. Vane.

He nodded immediately.

Good man, I thought as I walked away.

Packing took less than ten minutes.

I didn’t own much, and I had no intention of leaving Saint Aurelia with anything that would remind me of my time here.

A few basic necessities and the little money I had managed to keep aside went into a small bag. That was all.

I changed out of my gym clothes and slipped into a simple, long white dress. It was the kind of thing Ileana would have worn before her time here, plain enough not to draw attention.

I studied myself in the mirror.

Raven-black hair. Emerald-green eyes. A face that looked innocent enough to fool anyone who didn’t know better.

The dress helped.

The expression on my face did not.

I relaxed my features until my reflection looked less like a woman deciding where to bury a body and more like a girl returning home after a difficult time.

There.

Perfectly harmless.

If anyone believed it, they deserved whatever happened to them.

I picked up my bag and left the room.

Dr. Vane was waiting in the corridor. The moment he saw me, his eyes flickered over my face before dropping to the bag in my hand.

“You’re ready?”

“Unless you’ve decided to keep me.”

His face paled.

I smiled.

“Relax, Doc. I was joking.”

He looked unconvinced.

We walked toward the entrance together, passing the corridors I had spent the last three months turning into my personal kingdom.

A few staff members stood near the doors. Others lingered farther down the hallway, pretending to be occupied with their duties.

They were terrible actors.

One woman was holding a clipboard upside down.

A man who had been wiping the same section of wall for five minutes suddenly became fascinated by a stain that wasn’t there.

And when I approached, every single one of them straightened.

I had to bite back a smile.

How touching.

They looked like people attending a funeral, except the deceased was still alive and they were all secretly hoping the coffin would be nailed shut.

I stopped in front of them.

Their expressions became even more rigid.

“What’s wrong?” I asked innocently. “You all look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Nobody answered.

I tilted my head.

“I’m going to miss you all.”

A few pairs of eyes widened.

“I really will.” I pressed a hand to my chest. “You’ve made my stay here so memorable. I’ll try to visit whenever I can.”

The silence that followed was beautiful.

Somewhere behind me, Dr. Vane made a strangled sound.

I turned to look at him.

“Don’t you think that’s a lovely idea, Doctor?”

He swallowed.

“Of course.”

“Wonderful.”

I gave the staff one last bright smile before turning toward the exit.

The moment I stepped outside, the cool air brushed against my face.

Freedom.

Well, a temporary version of it.

A black car waited near the entrance. The driver stood beside the rear door, dressed neatly in a dark suit.

He opened it when he saw me.

“Miss Bellucci.”

At least someone had remembered my surname.

I paused before getting in and glanced back at Dr. Vane.

“Oh, Doctor?”

He stiffened.

“Yes?”

I stepped closer and tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“Don’t miss me too much, okay?”

His mouth opened, but no words came out.

“And make sure that when I call, you answer.”

He nodded so quickly I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“Of course.”

“Good boy.”

I patted his shoulder once more, then slid into the car.

The door shut.

Finally.

As the driver pulled away, I leaned toward the rear window.

And there they were.

The staff had gathered near the entrance, their carefully arranged expressions of professionalism completely abandoned.

One of the orderlies was practically bouncing on his heels. Another had both hands raised in the air, cheering as though we had just won a war.

Then I spotted Dr. Vane.

The good doctor was standing in the middle of the crowd with both arms lifted, his face transformed by what appeared to be the happiest smile of his miserable life.

And beside him was Jonas, celebrating as though he had personally helped drive me out.

I stared.

Then I laughed.

Actually laughed.

Those ungrateful bastards.

After everything I had done for that place, all the excitement I had brought into their otherwise painfully dull lives, this was how they repaid me?

I shook my head and settled back into my seat.

“Don’t worry,” I murmured. “I’ll visit.”

The thought of their faces when I eventually returned nearly made me laugh again.

The car turned onto the main road, and Saint Aurelia disappeared from view.

Good riddance.

The drive to the Bellucci mansion was uneventful.

When we arrived, I stepped out and looked up at the impressive building. Cream-colored walls, tall windows, perfectly trimmed hedges, and a fountain in the driveway.

The Belluccis certainly knew how to spend money.

I followed the driver inside.

The first thing I noticed was the smell of food.

The second was the sound of cutlery against porcelain.

Vittorio Bellucci sat at the dining table with a glass of wine beside his plate. Lucia was seated to his right, while Bianca occupied the chair opposite them.

They were eating.

Talking.

Laughing occasionally.

Not one of them looked up when I entered.

I stood near the doorway, waiting.

Nothing.

Apparently, their daughter could return after spending years in a psychiatric institution, and dinner would still take priority.

“Well,” Lucia said at last, finally noticing me. She looked me over with mild disinterest before returning her attention to the table. “You’re back.”

No hug. No questions. Not even a half-hearted inquiry about how I was doing.

“You can go upstairs and rest,” she continued. “You’ll need to get ready. We’re attending the D’Angelos’ marriage alliance dinner in two days. Try to look presentable, and please don’t embarrass this family.”

How touching.

Years in an asylum, and her first concern was whether I would embarrass her at dinner.

Before I could respond, Bianca turned toward me.

“Oh, Mother. I told you she wouldn’t be the same after spending so long in that place.”

She examined my face and laughed softly.

“Look at her eyes. She looks completely crazy.”

“Bianca,” Lucia said, though there was no real disapproval in her voice.

“What? I’m only saying what everyone is thinking.”

Vittorio didn’t even glance up from his plate.

I said nothing. I simply adjusted the strap of my bag and turned away.

Behind me, the sound of cutlery resumed almost immediately.

Not one of them asked whether I had eaten.

And then the memory came.

A younger Ileana stood beside the dining table, waiting while her family finished their meal. Her stomach ached, but she kept her eyes lowered, afraid to ask for food.

When everyone had finally left, she approached the table.

All that remained were their leftovers.

Cold food scraped from their plates.

She ate quietly, swallowing each mouthful while trying not to cry.

The memory vanished.

My fingers tightened around my bag.

Cruelty was one thing. Making a child believe she deserved it was another.

I left the dining room without another word and climbed the stairs.

My body seemed to know the way, guiding me down a narrow corridor and toward a small door at the end.

I opened it.

The room was painfully small.

A narrow bed stood against one wall, beside a worn wooden wardrobe. A little desk sat beneath the window, with a few books, a hairbrush, and some hair ties arranged on top. A pair of old slippers rested beneath the bed.

That was almost everything.

No expensive furniture. No decorations. Nothing that suggested the girl who slept here belonged to one of Verona’s wealthiest families.

I set my bag on the bed and looked around.

A memory flickered.

Ileana sitting alone, listening to laughter from another room. Waiting for someone to come and check on her.

Nobody came.

I looked at the little desk, the worn wardrobe, and the narrow bed.

She had lived in this house surrounded by wealth, yet she had been given so little. Years in an asylum had only been another chapter of a life in which nobody seemed to care what happened to her.

A strange heaviness settled in my chest.

It wasn’t mine.

Not entirely.

I let out a slow breath and looked around the room once more.

Then, quietly, I asked the question that had been forming in my mind since I stepped through the mansion doors.

“Just what exactly did you go through here, Ileana?”