LOGIN‘Your grandmother was just like you when she was pregnant with your aunty Catalina.” My mother commented after I screamed at Rose from Titanic for throwing the heart of the diamond into the ocean. How infuriating!Eight months into my pregnancy, my appetite grew and so did my temper. My cheeks were fuller , I remember crying and stuffing my face with pizza dinner that I was going to have a double chin.“You weren’t even born then!!” Catalina shot back as she walked out from the kitchen where she was holding a very pink.My stomach rumbled as I looked hungrily at her, forgetting the movie.She chuckled at my expression but still handed me a large piece of cake.She continued arguing playfully with my mother until late evening when they both retire for bed.The sun sets in a bleeding crown of violet and gold over the Amalfi cliffs, and for a moment, the world is breathtaking. But then the shadows stretch, long and thin like skeletal fingers, and the silence of the villa begins to hum. I
The world is a roar of orange and a suffocating blanket of gray. The floorboards beneath us groan, a long, terminal sound of wood surrendering to heat. Santino’s body collapses in front of me. It’s a heavy weight against mine, his blood warm and sticky where it seeps through my tank top and onto my skin. I look up at his father, the man who just fired the shot, expecting to see a face of triumph. Instead, I see a mask of cold, clinical indifference. He looks at his own son as if he is just another piece of trash to be swept away.The old man begins to squeeze the trigger again, the barrel leveled at my face. He wants to finish the job. But he forgot one thing. He isn't the only ghost in this house.From the thick, swirling smoke behind him, a figure emerges like a wraith. It is Lorenzo. His face is blackened with soot, his eyes wide and bloodshot, leaking tears from the sting of the fumes. He lunges, his arms wrapping around his father’s waist, driving the old man backward toward
The fire above us groans, a hungry beast devouring the rafters, but down here in the foyer, the air is thick with a different kind of heat. Santino stands there, the bat resting casually against his shoulder. He looks at the dead man at my feet, the guard he just executed to get to me and then his eyes drift back to mine. They are dancing with a sick, twisted kind of pride."You burned it all, Love," he says. His voice is conversational, almost tender, as if we are discussing the weather and not the destruction of our lives. "Our beautiful memories. Even the nursery I had them start painting this morning. Why so much rage?""It was all rotted anyway," I say. My voice doesn't shake. I keep my body still, the kitchen knife held tightly in my grip, hidden slightly by the curve of my leg. My heart is a steady, rhythmic drum against my ribs. "A house built on my brother’s blood was never going to stand, Santino. I’m just giving it the burial it deserves."Santino’s lazy grin falters for a
I stand in the center of the room that used to be a sanctuary. This place where Santino and I shared breaths, whispers, and a passion that I now realize was laced with poison. I am dressed simply in a black tank top that clings to my skin and a pair of worn jeans. I feel light, almost weightless, as if the person who lived in this room before has already evaporated into the air.I take a slow, deliberate breath. The room is perfect. It is hauntingly clean. The beds are made with sharp, hospital-like precision. The mahogany floors are polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the dim light from the hallway. There isn't a single speck of dust. It is a museum dedicated to a lie.My eyes drift to the right bedside table. There, sitting exactly where I left it, is a rose. But it is no longer the flower I remember. The petals have wilted so completely they have turned to a fine, gray dust. Even the stem is a brittle, blackened stick. Yet, miraculously, it has kept the exact shape it had the da
I cried until the darkness is no longer just a color; it is a weight. It presses against my chest, filling my lungs with the scent of wet limestone and my own unwashed skin. I don't know how long I cried. My throat is a desert, and my eyes are swollen, burning with the salt of a thousand regrets. Eventually, the exhaustion won. I slipped into a sleep that felt more like a coma, a heavy, dreamless void.Then, something shifts.It is a sensation so light it could be a stray draft or a ghost. A feathery touch brushes my cheek. It is soft, almost tender, tracing the line of my jaw where Santino’s slap left a lingering ache. My heart, which had been sluggish in sleep, kicks against my ribs like a trapped bird. Every nerve ending in my body screams alert.I do not move. I keep my breathing shallow, my limbs heavy and limp. I am a master of faking it. I have spent years pretending to be the girl they wanted me to be; I can pretend to be a corpse now. The touch stops abruptly. The air in the
The first thing I feel is the cold. It is a deep, biting cold that seeps through the floor and into my bones. My head throbbed with a rhythm that matched the heavy beating of my heart. Every pulse felt like a hammer striking the inside of my skull. I try to open my eyes, but the lids feel like they are glued shut with dried blood and grit. I groan, the sound raspy and weak in the silent room.The last thing I remember is Santino’s office. Blurry images of the way the light caught the gold rings on his fingers. I remember the wooden baseball bat swinging through the air. His curled up lips before I slipped into the painful unconsciousness.Now, the world is gray. I finally force my eyes open. I am lying on a thin, stained mattress on a concrete floor. The walls are made of rough stone that looks damp. There are no windows. The only light comes from a small, flickering bulb high up on the ceiling. It casts long, shaky shadows that dance like ghosts. My wrists felt heavy as if something
The house feels different today.The air is heavier, quieter, like someone pulled a thick curtain over everything. Even the maids walk on their toes, their eyes darting toward the stairs every few seconds as if they expect someone to appear and shout at them. I know who they’re afraid of. I am too,
(HAILEY POV) The door closes behind Santino with a soft click, and the silence that follows feels too heavy for such a small room. I let out a long sigh and sink deeper into the bed, the white sheets rustling under me. The faint smell of antiseptic and detergent clings to the air, mixing with the
(SANTINO’S POV)For the past few days, my life has been falling apart piece by piece.The message that Marcus forwarded to my phone was the beginning. Then the strange texts followed. They were short, harmless messages that carried a tone too personal to be random. Then came the videos. None of t
(Santino’s Pov)The morning light spills through the window like melted gold, touching the edge of the white hospital sheets. I blink against it and stretch my neck. My back screams in protest after spending the night in that damned chair. Hailey’s still asleep, curled up under the blanket, her fa







