Chapter 25
And next was Elizabeth. She was easy to find.
Elizabeth, in all her arrogance, still thought she could fly first class and vanish like smoke. She wasn’t smart enough to leave the red Louis Vuitton behind–the one she used to wheel around the estate like she was born royalty. Dumb woman thought changing her name and her nose would erase everything she did.
I watched from the balcony as they dragged her in–handcuffed, barefoot, trembling. The suitcase was still with her. Couldn’t even let it go when she got caught. That’s what weakness looks like. Sentimentality wrapped in leather and steel.
They dumped her at my feet in the Rossini receiving hall. Same spot she once smirked at me from, wearing diamonds and velvet, sipping prosecco like her place was earned.
I stood above her in all black. No makeup. No jewelry. Just presence.
“Tryin‘ to run?” I asked, kneeling so our faces were level.
She didn’t answer. Her mascara had melted into her cheekbones. The red of her lipstick was smudged like a bad memory.
I opened the suitcase. Cash. Bonds. A fake passport under the name “Clara DeSanti.” My fingers hovered over the photograph clipped to the ID–her with a bleached wig and dead eyes.
“You really thought you’d land in Hawaii, find some rich old bastard to keep you, and live out the rest of your life like nothing ever happened?”
Elizabeth blinked fast. Swallowed slow.
“Doris,” she finally whispered. “You don’t have to do this. I was just–just trying to get away. It’s over now. You’ve won. Haven’t you?”
I stared at her for a long moment. The silence made her shift. Made her squirm.
“Oh, honey,” I murmured, “This isn’t about winning. This is about balance.”
I didn’t kill her.
Death’s too clean. Too quiet.
I walked her down the same marble halls she used to glide through in Louboutins. I showed her to the servants‘ quarters–the basement corridor where the ceilings dipped and the air smelled like bleach and cold metal. Matteo personally locked the cuffs around her ankles. Enzo stood behind, arms crossed, no smile.
I handed her the maid uniform myself. Grey cotton. Stained apron. Long sleeves to hide the pride as it rotted away.
She hesitated. I didn’t.
“You wear it, or you sleep naked in the dog cages. Choice is yours, Elizabeth.”
She put it on. Her hair was a mess. Her hands shook. But she wore it.
By the end of the day, she was scrubbing blood off the tiles–blood she helped spill. Irony’s delicious like that.
Chapter 25
313 01.4%
5:25 am DDDD
Two nights later, I found her in the kitchen, scrubbing silverware with red eyes and raw fingers. The other maids gave her space. Fear’s a great motivator. So is shame.
She looked up when I walked in, face flushed and broken.
“I made mistakes,” she said suddenly, voice hoarse. “But you don’t have to keep me like this. I’m not a criminal. I–I was just doing what Edmund told me. I never meant to hurt you.”
I leaned on the marble counter, crossed my arms. No rush. Just stillness.
“You didn’t mean to hurt me?”
“I didn’t-”
“You stood by while I was starved. Beaten. Left for dead. You watched it. You helped cover it up. You wore diamonds bought with my pain. You drank wine while I screamed. And now you think all that disappears because you’re wearing chains instead of heels?”
She started crying. Again. Always the tears when the power flips. Classic. I stepped closer. Bent slightly, reached out–and wiped one tear from her cheek with my thumb.
“This is what your mercy looks like,” I whispered, letting the words slice slow. “Polish it.”
Then I dropped the dirty silver knife onto the floor in front of her. She bent to pick it up.
And that’s when I knew she was exactly where she belonged.
And Loisa?
Loisa’s losing her mind.
Not screaming or flailing–ho. That would’ve been easier to ignore. But she’s quiet now. Broken in a way that creeps under your skin. She stares at the stone walls of the underground tunnel like they talk back. Some days she cries to herself. Some days she just rocks.
But always, always–it’s the twins.
“Please… just tell me they’re alive,” she whispers one night when I check on her. Her voice is barely there. “Please, Doris. Just let me know they’re okay. I don’t care what happens to me. I just need to know they’re safe.”
I watch her for a moment. I can see the madness behind her eyes. But it’s not the cruel kind. It’s the kind that comes from love buried under fear.
So, for once, I do something unexpected.
I hand her a tablet. Play the footage.
Lyle and Nash, both sitting in clean white shirts. Sunlight pouring through the Rossini private tutor room. A bowl of grapes on the table. Nash is flicking through flashcards. Lyle’s trying to read out loud–in Italian.
“He’s saying it wrong,” Nash mutters in the video.
“You’re annoying” Lyle bites back.
“Bambini,” the tutor cuts in with a sigh. “Again, from the top.”
Loisa gasps. She presses the screen to her chest like she could hold them through glass. “They’re learning to be men,” I say softly, stepping back. “Something their father never did.”
Chapter 25
5:25 am
She sobs for a long time. Then looks at me, desperate.
“Let me speak to them. Just once. Just let me say goodbye. Please. You don’t even have to let them see it. I’ll be quick. I’ll behave.”
I hesitate.
Then I nod.
She records it. Voice shaking, tears falling. Tells them she loves them. Tells them to be strong Tells them they came from her but they’re safer with me. I never send it.
Some truths just stay in the dark.
***
Weeks pass. Then one rainy dusk, Enzo bursts into my office.
‘He’s here.”
‘Who?”
‘Lester. Alone.”
My body doesn’t flinch. But inside?
Everything freezes.
The garden is where I wait.
t’s where my mother was buried. The lavender still grows wild around her headstone. The storm nade the grass soft, the marble shine wet under the clouds. And then I hear him.
Shuffling steps. Dragging boots. The sound of a man who’s lost every war.
turn–and there he is.
_ester.
My boy.
Face sunken. Clothes torn. Hair overgrown. Eyes… god, his eyes. Gone. Whatever was left in him had snapped clean. He stares at me, mouth trembling.
don’t speak. I just toss the gun at his feet.
