Find me

Aurora’s POV

Consciousness returns in fragments, my mind struggling against the thick haze of whatever sedative Riccardo used to knock me out. The darkness around me is suffocating, the air heavy with dampness and something more insidious—fear. My limbs feel sluggish, but the sharp bite of rope digging into my wrists and ankles tells me enough. I’m tied to a chair.

A low chuckle slithers from the shadows, sending a shiver down my spine. The sound is familiar, a cruel rasp I’ve heard before.

Riccardo Agosti.

"You finally came back to us, Aurora. I was starting to get bored of waiting." His voice is all mockery, smooth with the confidence of a man who believes he has already won.

I force my eyes open, blinking against the fog clouding my vision. The dim light in the bunker flickers, casting eerie shadows along the steel walls. My captor steps forward, emerging from the gloom with a smirk carved into his gaunt face.

I yank at the ropes, testing their hold. The chair creaks under my weight, but the bindings hold firm. I don’t let my panic show. Instead, I glare up at him, forcing steel into my voice.

"Lucian will find me," I say, each word deliberate. "And when he does, he'll burn everything you own to the ground."

Riccardo's smirk twitches, but he recovers quickly. "Ah, yes. Your husband. The infamous Lucian Boncini. He’s been searching, hasn’t he? Yet here you are, still in my possession." He tuts, shaking his head as if he's disappointed. "Not much of a rescuer, is he?"

I don't take the bait. Lucian will come. I know it as surely as I know my own name.

Riccardo watches me carefully before tilting his head. "You look so much like her, you know. Vittoria. Your dear grandmother." His voice dips into something almost nostalgic, but the glint in his eyes is pure malice. "I always regretted not being the one to carve her up myself."

A cold knot forms in my stomach. I brace myself, but nothing could prepare me for the sting of a blade skimming over my ribs. Just light enough to burn, not deep enough to scar.

"But this," he murmurs, watching my reaction, "this is almost better. Two decades later, and I finally get my second chance."

I grit my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my fear. Instead, I force a smirk onto my lips. "You have too many enemies, Riccardo. They’re all going to crown Lucian king and turn you into maggot food."

He chuckles darkly, twirling the knife between his fingers. "Oh, I highly doubt that, Mrs. Boncini. But it’s cute that you still have hope."

I do. Because even as Riccardo circles me like a vulture, I know one thing for certain.

Lucian is coming.

And when he does, Riccardo Agosti will regret ever laying a hand on me.

The air rushes out of me from the brutal punch, my vision blurring as I double over as far as my bonds will allow. A low groan escapes my lips, though I barely recognize my own voice.

“This is a language you’re more familiar with, isn’t it, Aurora?” Riccardo taunts, his voice thick with amusement.

It doesn’t occur to me to be grateful that it wasn’t his knife plunging into my flesh. Instead, my thoughts spiral elsewhere—to the deep ache blooming in my ribs, the sharp sting of my split lip, and the suffocating dread curling around my heart. A fear not for myself, but for the tiny life I suspect I carry.

“Word on the street was your papà enjoyed hitting his women more than he liked fucking them,” Riccardo muses, tilting his head as if he's merely discussing the weather. “Is that how your mother died? Not some mystery illness like that Fabrizzi leech claimed when he resurfaced years later and begged me to let him live?”

A sickening laugh leaves him. “I’m sure that stronzo beat her to death with his bare hands.”

I grit my teeth, refusing to give him the reaction he’s looking for. But the truth of his words crawls under my skin. My father was certainly evil enough to do something like that. If I hadn’t been a useful bargaining chip, I might have suffered the same fate.

Riccardo sheaths his knife, content to use his fists for now. The blows come fast, each one knocking the air from my lungs. One lands harshly against my jaw. Another slams into my stomach, making me retch. The pain is unbearable, but I will not give him the satisfaction of my screams.

“Come now, Aurora. I want to hear you squeal a little more than that.”

I cough, a trickle of blood sliding down my chin. “Do your worst. I can take it,” I rasp, then spit crimson at his feet.

His face darkens. He grips my throat, squeezing so hard that for a moment, I wonder if he’ll strangle me right here and now. My pulse thrums wildly, my body weak and battered, but I force myself to hold his gaze.

“He’ll never get close enough to me to manage that, you pathetic little girl,” he sneers.

“Are you sure about that?” I whisper, my voice shaking but not from fear. “You talk a big game about what you’re capable of… but you never did manage to crown yourself king after Patrizio, did you?”

Riccardo’s lips press into a thin line. For a moment, he doesn’t answer. But I see it—the flicker of doubt in his eyes, the tension creeping into his rigid stance.

“Enough.” He backhands me again, and my head snaps to the side, the sharp sting ringing through my skull. “I’ve already won. I’ve taken your precious husband’s wife. I saw the way Lucian looked at you at that altar. Dario will never recover from this.”

A small, bitter laugh leaves me. “You underestimate him. That will be the death of you, Agosti scum.”

Riccardo’s grip loosens, and I gulp in a ragged breath. His gaze darts toward the other end of the steel room, his brows drawn tight.

Slowly, he stands, towering over me. “The only reason you’re still alive, Luciano whore, is because I want to take my time killing you,” he sneers. “Perhaps I’ll let your bulldog of a husband find me, just so he can watch me peel your skin from your bones.”

“You’d best keep an eye on your doorstep, Riccardo,” I whisper, my bloody lips curling into a smirk. “It’s only a matter of time.”

His jaw clenches. He doesn’t respond, but I see it—the fear creeping into his expression.

Without another word, he turns on his heel, yanking the heavy metal door open. The rusted hinges screech, the sound slicing through the suffocating silence. Before stepping out, he reaches for the lantern that had been casting dim light into this hellish cell.

The room is plunged into darkness.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Aurora,” his voice echoes from beyond the door. “I’ll be back soon enough. Maybe I’ll send in a few friends to keep you company.”

The door slams shut, and the lock clicks into place.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my body trembling from pain, exhaustion, and the unbearable weight of despair.

Please, Lucian. Find me.

The image of the first man to love me—the only man who ever truly saw me—is all I have left to cling to in this black abyss.