{GIOVANNI'S POV}
**I watch her walk in, and for a moment, it’s like time stalls.I didn't expect to feel this unsettled.I’ve been away for so long, over five months. Yet the moment that girl… Ingrid? Ingrid… the moment she steps into the room, something inside me shifts.She’s bigger, fuller than before. Makes me wonder, has she put on weight? I swallow the thought, I push it down. But a nagging feeling tugs at me. I can’t help it. My first instinct? Fuck, I hope she’s not pregnant.I push the thoughts aside and force myself to focus, to keep my cool. The girl’s always been good at making me second guess myself, but I can’t let her have that power anymore.Then Cara, damn it, Cara, the brave lady, gets up like it’s nothing. She practically throws herself at Ingrid, hugging her. The little girl follows suit, wrapping her arms around Cara as they hug.“This is my younger sister,” Cara says, trying{INGRID’S POV}**I fold the clothes out of my bag and into the wardrobe, pressing them down neatly, making sure each crease is perfect. It’s not really about organization; it’s about keeping my hands busy, and keeping my mind from straying away. The room is quiet except for the rustle of fabric and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath me. My sister, Cara, chose this room for me in the D’Avi Family House.I believe she had no choice and that's why. It's not her house nor her husband's after all.A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. Cara steps in. Even without looking, I could tell her familiar presence but it's heavier than I remember. It's like she’s carrying a burden she doesn’t want to talk about. “I hope everything’s been fine since you moved in,” she says, her voice softer than usual.I nod, forcing a small smile. “No problems.” But even as I say it, I wonder if she sees through me. I wonder if she knows how different I feel, and how much I’ve changed.
{INGRID’S POV}**I push open the door to Cara's office, the soft click of the handle ushers me into the room.She’s sitting at her desk, facing the computer screen and with a thick stack of papers beside her. The room smells faintly of ink and fresh coffee, and I’m hit with that familiar, almost oppressive sense of being in a place I think is quite rich for me.She doesn’t notice me at first, and for a moment, I just stand there. There’s a heaviness in the air between us, something unspoken that I can’t quite pin down. But then she looks up, her sharp eyes meeting mine, and I feel like I’ve been caught in some kind of quiet trap.In the dim light, her gaze is assessing and flicking over me before it softens. “You look dizzy,” she says, her voice softer than usual. She's concerned and it is evident, but not overwhelming. “Are you okay?”I don’t answer immediately. I’m dizzy, yes, but it’s not from the room spinning or from some feverish illness. It's the weight of it all; everything
{CARA'S POV}**The study is quiet, but not the comforting kind of quiet. It’s the type that feels too heavy and too expectant, as if the walls themselves are waiting for something to be said. The lamp on my desk casts a dull glow over the papers I’ve been going through for the past hour, but my eyes keep drifting away from them. I rub my temples. I need a break.The door opens softly. I don’t need to look up to know it’s Ingrid. Her presence is careful, measured, like she’s unsure of how very much welcome she is.I glance at her. She’s pretty and she's smiling slightly at me. It’s such a small, simple gesture, but it takes me off guard. I should’ve gone to look for her earlier. I’ve been meaning to, but with everything going on, it kept slipping away. No, that’s a lie; I let it slip away.I offer a tired smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your room after work.”She steps forward, taking a seat by the table near me. “You’ve been busy.”That’s not an excuse.“If you need anything,
{CARA'S POV} * * I don’t sleep. The CD’s contents burn in my mind, every word twisting into something heavier. Lavanda. The car. Edmondo. Seven years of silence, shattered by a shadow in a hood. And yet, the most dangerous part of it all; the part that refuses to leave me, is the way he spoke. She wasn’t alone. Lavanda had help. Someone else wanted Edmondo gone. Someone I might know. I step out of my study, my heels clicking against the marble. The house is quiet. Ingrid has gone to her room, leaving me alone with this; alone with the weight of what comes next. I can’t sit here and wait for answers to come to me. If I want the truth, I have to drag it out myself. And I know exactly where to start. --- The first stop is the docks. The wind off the water is thick with salt and rot, the scent of old wood and damp ropes curling in the air. The docks reek of fish guts and fuel, the scent thick under the dim glow of scattered floodlights. Men move like ghosts in the mist, unlo
{CARA'S POV}**I don’t go to the hospital right away. Not easily just because I feel hopeless.At first, I try to ignore the urge to go to the hospital, running to Edmondo Edmondo's dead arms. I push it down like I always do. I bury myself in work, in meetings, in dead end conversations with men who think they can challenge me now that Edmondo is gone. I visit the underworld, ask the right questions, twist the right arms, but I come up empty. Still feeling hopeless. It's just that… the pieces don’t fit. No one wants to talk so easily, and the ones who do want to talk, even so openly, they don’t know anything useful.And now that I’ve exhausted every lead, when I’ve walked through the filth of the city and come up with nothing, when there’s no one left to interrogate…. I go to him.Edmondo.The hospital smells sterile, like bleach and something artificial. The air is too cold. The walls are too white. I hate it. This place doesn’t suit him. He hates it here. Edmondo was never meant
{INGRID’S POV}**Lavanda is evil and if everyone here should know the evil she's done, there's no way she'd be belonging here.She moves through the estate like a ghost that sticks to the house without an intention of leaving. Except ghosts don’t walk with their chins high, with their steps measured, and definitely not with their presence looming like a silent threat. No, she walks like she owns the place. Like she’s just waiting for the right moment to sink her claws into the heart of it all.And I don’t trust her.Ever since that CD played, ever since Cara's face changed: tight with shock, then anger, then something worse…, I’ve known that Lavanda is the mastermind to all of this. Cara has been running herself into the ground, moving place to place, digging for something, or someone. Anything that would give her clues and maybe evidence against Lavanda. But I see what she won’t say.She’s breaking.And it’s not just about Edmondo anymore.It’s about the past. It’s about what that
{INGRID'S POV}**It's been just a week, a week of Cara drowning herself in an abyss of sorrow, brokenness and co fusion, and the estate already feels heavier now. The walls are carrying secrets I hadn’t noticed before. Really. It’s strange; how a place can shift without changing. The bricks are the same, the chandeliers cast the same golden glow, but the weight in the air has thickened. It lingers in the way people move, in the pauses before they speak.Everything in this house has always belonged to the D'Avi family from decades ago, bearing the name of the current Don, Don Edmondo. And that name should be stamped into every crevice, but it isn’t. Now, it feels like it belongs to Lavanda.Her voice lingers in conversations she's not even supposed to be a part of. Her shadow stretches down the halls and everywhere.I see it in the way people look at her. They measure their words, adjust their postures. All in fear of her, no more Cara. They move differently when she’s in the room.
~ County Cork~ Ireland{INGRID’S POV}**The countryside of Britain stretches endlessly, the rolling hills under a gray sky, dotted with sheep and stone walls that look like they’ve been there for centuries. The air is damp, and thick with the scent of the sea just like Northern Italy. It's not as cold here as the North but it’s colder than I expected. Even wrapped in my coat, the chill seeps into my skin.Well, it's still better than Trento.The two men who came with me; Callum, the British one, and a Western Italian man whose name I never caught, stand nearby with their hands in their coat pockets. They’re waiting for instructions. It feels nice to have people wait for your instructions. Really.“This is the place,” Callum says, nodding toward a house set back from the road. It’s old, sturdy, built to withstand the wind and rain. A single lantern flickers by the door.I don’t hesitate. “I’ll go in alone.”The Italian man frowns. “Are you sure, Miss? We could….”“I don't need you
{INGRID'S POV}**Done sniffing, he throws my underwear aside and his fingers find my slit amidst the hairs. He slides in possessively over my clit and my pussy and back up again. His fingers are coated in my slipperiness.“After I took your virginity, no one has gone in there right?” He asks.I nod.“Fuck. I’ll be careful with finger fucking you then.” He brushes his lips over mine and reaches down to drag two fingers up my pussy and rub slow, firm circles on my clit. Heat blooms in my cheeks, and my head tips back with a cry. Mr. Giovanni makes a deep, decadent sound in his chest. His groaning makes me want to be his niece for real. So he can spoil me, adore me, love me, and unholistically fuck me. At the time I think I’m going to come from the way he’s massaging my clit, he slides his fingers down and pushes them inside me. Not very far, but a little deeper each time, making me burn around him.I keep my mouth shut tightly together. I'm scared and so much embarrassed that someo
{INGRID'S POV}**“It was wrong of me to treat you like that. I like that you’re the horny girl I fucked months ago. Just… you were my first ever little girl that I fucked. Ever. It’s difficult for me to accept as well that I'm attracted still to that little girl. I didn't want to run away then too. I just had in mind that it was a one time thing.” He strokes my hair back and presses soft kisses to the back of my neck. “You forgive me, don’t you? You want your uncle Giovanni to kiss you and make it better, don't you, bambina?” He runs his tongue up the column of my throat.I'm consumed. We both are, and by passion. But…“I think….” I begin, trying to bring up the matter of my father. I and Cara's father. Because, what if after whatever we do now he acts all cold and snobbish again? Then I wouldn't get any answers and end up being used again. “Wait. Don't.”“You still don't believe me or trust me. Right? This is my fucking manor, bambina, I can't run away from my own house.” He squee
{INGRID'S POV}**This is exactly how it turns out to be. Cry myself into a mess and get comfort from him, all in his arms, despite the fact that it's all in broad daylight in an open room he said is mine.The heat of his palm rests at the back of my head, his fingers threading into my hair as my face presses against his chest. His breathing is slow, deep, steady; like he’s forcing himself to stay still, to not react. But I feel it. The tightness in his muscles, and the way his fingers twitch slightly against my scalp.It should be humiliating. Letting myself fall apart like this, soaking his shirt with my tears while my body trembles against him. But I can’t stop.I should pull away. I don’t.Instead, I stay there, breathing him in, feeling the warmth of his body like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. His fingers tighten in my hair for just a second before he exhales, slowly and heavily.“You need to stop crying, bambina.” His voice is quieter now, but a little rough around t
{INGRID'S POV}**The air inside the guest house in the clubhouse feels as stale as a musty basement, it's like it’s pressing in hard on me. The walls are too close. The furniture, too still.I’m curled into a ball, crying myself into nothingness in the same room. I felt bad, but everything feels different now. And it's because of him. Because of his words to me.‘I’m giving you five minutes,’ is all he says in the end. That was all he said before leaving me here, alone with the weight of it.Five minutes for what? To breathe? To collect myself? Or to decide what to do next? That time was never enough and couldn't be.I press my fingers against my temples. My mind is a mess. My pulse is erratic. I need to move. I need to get out of here.I grab a dress from the cupboard. It's good there's one there, even if it's bigger and longer. And so out of shape.I leave the room quietly and the place entirely.The moment my feet hit the ground outside, the cold air rushes against my skin, clear
{GIOVANNI’S POV}**I shut the door behind me seeing to it that the slam echoes in both my ears and hers. My hands flex at my sides, my fingers tingling from where they had just been wrapped around her throat.She wanted me to hurt her. She fucking wanted me to hurt her. Punishment, hard sex... anything that would hurt her she wanted it.And for a second…. for one fucked up second, I almost did. I saw it in her eyes, that plea for something more than just words, something deeper, something that would cut through whatever storm was brewing inside her. And I could have given it to her.But I didn’t.I don't break little girls. Or maybe I do, but I don't want to break her. Also, I don’t indulge their self destruction. Not like that. Okay, maybe I do too but if and only if I should find interest in a little girl, which has never happened aside from Ingrid La Rosa. My jaw tightens, and I push the thought away. I move down the dimly lighted hallway. The weight in my chest is a familiar
{INGRID'S POV}**“Maybe it’s because nobody will ever love me because of my past. Nobody will ever really touch me, no, not after someone else did. Nobody will ever let me know what it’s like to have a man fall in love with me for all time when my heart beats for someone else who doesn't even care. They wouldn’t, now would they? There's nothing good or lovely about me or my life.”His eyes widen on mine, and I see more than those emotions. Worse than hate or disgust. It's Pity. I see damn pity. It's directed towards me. And I hate that. “You need to get some fucking therapy and work on your self and mind,” he says, his hands still gripping tight on my wrists.“....” God I'm speechless. Really? Therapy?! What does he think of me? A lunatic? I have not lost my mind!He stares at my thighs, and I feel ashamed of them, so fierce in my pain. I have a low waistband on, which I made by myself because I feel bold wearing them, but he barely even notices. His attention is so fixed on my fla
{INGRID'S POV}**I feel him nudge me from behind so I move away from the space close to the door. He steps forward and keys into the lock, opening the door and stepping in ahead of me. I enter. I don't even attempt to shut the door behind me after I enter, only fold my arms like a spoilt kid who is being grounded.He finds the light switch as soon as I'm in after him. He peeks out the door, his eyes checking out the neat little hallway before shutting the door. This is definitely a hotel room. No, more like a condo. But it's... unusual. There's a handmade tapestry of a dolphin breaching beside a boat hangs above the bed, and a photo of pirate colleagues on the deck sits on the kitchen counter. It isn't exactly the kind of decor I'd expect to find in a… sort of hotel condo room. But then again, life is full of surprises, and sometimes the most unexpected places can become the most memorable. So, the lady always in a yellow scarf who fed me on the street for a month before she die
{INGRID'S POV}**I really am done with it. I am done with caring. Done with feeling. Done with living like some goddamn pushover. Maybe that punishment will really help in liberating me from this crappy stubbornness of mine and make me a better person that everyone will be satisfied with. Right?I mean, it isn't my fault I grew up to be like this, now is it?To the outside world I am a kid who should listen and be good, but my inside world is a pit of pain and memories of my lonely past. A pit of pain I’ve been breathing through in agonizing little gasps since I was a little girl trying to be good for people around to spear me some food, alms and some money. But now, I feel so fucked up, and used, and twisted with all these looks and words Mr. Giovanni especially throws at me. I've been hurt and is still being hurt by so much of the life I'm still holding dear.Yeah, I am done.And what is with all these? All these family shit, and more secrets. More secrets. The underworld, alcoho
{GIOVANNI'S POV}**I move. Silent. The door clicks shut behind me.In the mirror, I watch her freeze.Her shoulders tense first. Then her grip on the sink tightens, like she’s bracing for a hit.Slowly, so fucking slowly, she lifts her head. Our eyes meet in the mirror. Her pupils go wide, her throat tightens. What does she fucking know? What is she afraid of? Me? And yet, she doesn’t move.I step closer, watching the shift in her body. It's small movements, but still there. The way her breathing changes, the way her lips part like she wants to say something but the words won’t come.She still doesn't back away. So I move closer still.Her breath catches. She still doesn’t speak.She’s holding herself together, but I can see the tension in her arms, the weight of a thousand unspoken things pressing down on her. And I wonder, just for a second, how far she’s willing to push before I fucking break her to total obedience surrender to me.“Well, well, well,” I say. “I never expected to