The boy I loved

I had loved Antonio Moretti since I was six years old. It started with a lemon ice.

 We were at some mafia garden party Father’s associates laughing over cigars, Livia twirling in a lace dress, and me, hiding behind the hedges like a feral cat. Antonio, barely eight but already princely in his little suit, had broken away from the adults. He’d found me crouched in the dirt, knees scraped from where Livia had pushed me earlier.

 “You look sad,” he’d said. Then, without another word, he’d shoved his half eaten lemon ice into my hands and run off.

 It was the first kindness I’d ever tasted.

 Ten years later, I was still starving for it.

 The day Antonio came back, I was scrubbing blood from my fingernails when I heard Father’s voice through the study door.

 “Moretti’s arriving at seven. Keep Livia ready. And for God’s sake, hide Selene.”

 My heart lurched. Antonio.

 I didn’t care about the hide Selene part. I was already running to the servants’ quarters, to the one thing I owned that wasn’t ruined the emerald green gown Nanny Clara had smuggled to me before Father fired her. “For when you need to feel like a queen,” she’d whispered.

 I’d never worn it. Until tonight.

 The fabric was slightly musty, but it fit like it was made for me. I twisted my hair up with a stolen pin, rubbed berry juice on my lips for color, and stared at my reflection.

 For once, I didn’t see a ghost.

 I slipped into the dining hall just as the first course was served.

 Father’s fork clattered onto his plate. “What the hell are you wearing?”

 Antonio turned.

 His eyes dark as espresso, fringed with stupidly long lashes flicked over me. A beat too long. Then he smiled. “Selene. You look… different.”

 My ribs caged a fluttering thing. He remembered my name.

 Livia’s wineglass “accidentally” tipped into my lap.

 “Oops,” she sighed, not sounding sorry at all. Red bloomed across the emerald silk like a wound.

 “Clumsy idiot,” Father snapped. “Pour Livia a new one. And stand where I can’t see you.”

 Antonio didn’t defend me. Just handed Livia his napkin with a sympathetic murmur.

 Then it got worse.

 I found them in the hallway.

 Livia saw me first. Her eyes gleamed. Then she pressed herself against Antonio, her fingers threading through his hair, and kissed him.

 Not a shy peck. A claim.

 Antonio stiffened but he didn’t push her away.

 And I…

 I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.

 I just stood there, wine soaked and foolish, as the last good thing in my world rotted in front of me.

 Something inside me snapped.

 It wasn’t a clean break. It was a scream of splintering bone, a crack that echoed through every hollow part of me. One second, I was standing frozen in the hallway, watching Antonio’s hands those gentle hands that had once given me a lemon ice rest passively on Livia’s waist as she kissed him. The next, my body moved without thought.

 I lunged.

 Antonio barely had time to gasp before I shoved him back hard enough that he stumbled into the wall. His eyes wide, shocked locked onto mine for half a second before I turned on her.

 Livia’s smirk hadn’t even faded before I fisted my hands in her perfect golden hair and yanked.

 Her scream was music to my ears.

 She hit the ground with a thud, her silk dress tearing under my knees as I pinned her.

 “You have everything !” My voice didn’t sound like mine. It was raw, ragged, a wounded animal’s snarl. “You could have anyone! Why did it have to be the one thing I wanted?!”

 My fist connected with her cheek. Once. Twice. A third time, harder.

 Livia screeched, her hands flailing to block me, but I was stronger than she’d ever given me credit for. Blood bloomed on her lip. Her perfect hair was a tangled mess. And still—

 She was smiling.

 Through the haze of my fury, I saw it. The curve of her lips, the triumph in her tear-filled eyes.

 Dread coiled in my stomach.

 “How dare you.”

 The voice wasn’t mine.

 It was his.

 Father’s grip on my arm was iron, yanking me off Livia so hard my shoulder screamed in protest. I barely registered the pain. All I saw was Antonio, who had watched me break and looked at me like I was a monster rushing to Livia’s side, cradling her face, murmuring words I couldn’t hear.

 He didn’t even glance at me.

 “Lock her in the dungeon,” Father snarled to the guards who had materialized behind him. “No light. No food. Let her rot until she remembers her place.”

 I didn’t fight as they dragged me away. What was the point?

 Livia’s whimpers turned to soft, hiccuping sobs the kind designed to make men kneel. Antonio brushed his thumb over her bleeding lip, his brow furrowed. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

 The last thing I saw before the dungeon door slammed shut was Livia’s smile smug, victorious peeking over Antonio’s shoulder.

 Then darkness swallowed me whole.

 The dungeon was colder than I remembered.

 Or maybe that was just me.

 I pressed my back against the damp stone wall, my knees drawn to my chest, and replayed the last few minutes in my head. The way Antonio had looked at me. The way Livia had let me hit her. The way Father hadn’t even hesitated.

 I’d played right into her hands.

 A laugh bubbled up in my throat, sharp and broken. Of course. Livia had known. She’d always known about my pathetic little crush. And she’d waited waited until the perfect moment to twist the knife.

 Because hurting me was her favorite game.

 And Antonio?

 I squeezed my eyes shut, but the image was burned into my skull. Him choosing her. Again.

 The tears came then. Hot, furious, useless. I dug my nails into my palms until blood welled, but the pain didn’t help. Nothing would.

 I was alone.

 And for the first time in my life, I didn’t care if I survived it.