“After she sold me off—” I start, but my voice catches in my throat. I look away, staring out the window at the dark city below. “I was drugged out of my mind and made to do things no living thing should be subjected to,” I say finally, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. “Let alone a thirteen-year-old child.”
Nicolo’s face remains expressionless, but his eyes darken, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them. “Made you do things,” he repeats, his voice flat. “What things?”
I shake my head, trying to push the memories back, but they keep flooding in—dirty rooms, the smell of sweat and fear, hands grabbing, pulling, tearing. “Fuck Nico…. I was trafficked, forced to have sex with grown men and women,” I say, my throat closing up. “With… whoever would pay. They… used me. Hurt me. And she just… let it happen. I was thirteen, man.”
Nicolo’s hand tightens around his glass, his knuckles turning white. “Bastardos,” he mutters under his breath in Italian, but I barely register the word. My mind is miles away, back in those dark places I swore I’d never go again.
“She didn’t care,” I continue, my voice hollow, my hands trembling. “She didn’t… she didn’t care about me. I was just… something to sell, something to use. I was nothing to her.”
Nicolo leans back, his expression still cold, but there’s something else there now—something almost like pain. “Helen never cared about anyone but herself. She was a junkie that didn’t want kids. Our sperm donor raped her. We were born out of rape,” he tells me. My brother was and has always been the only person who cares about me; I might not hear it from him but his actions are enough for me to know. After all, he’s the one who rescued me. “Why do you think she’s back? To build that organization again?” Helen wasn’t just some junkie; she ran with a crowd known for human trafficking.
I shake my head, not wanting to think about it. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t know what she wants. But I’m not a kid anymore. She can’t do this to me again. And I won’t allow her to do this to other kids.”
Nicolo nods, but he’s still watching me, still studying me like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “You’re not a kid, and you have me,” he says. “But she’s not just any enemy, Romiro. She knows you. Knows us. Knows our weaknesses.”
I feel a sharp stab of anger at his words, but it’s drowned out by a wave of shame. “I don’t have any weaknesses,” I snap, my voice harsher than I intend.
Nicolo’s eyes harden. “Don’t lie to yourself, little brother,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “We all have weaknesses. You think I don’t know that?”
I glare at him, my chest tight with anger and something else, something I can’t name. “And what are yours, Nicolo?” I challenge, my voice low.
He doesn’t answer, just looks at me for a long moment. And then his eyes flicker to the side. I follow his gaze, and that’s when I see her.
Alessia.
He must’ve noticed her movement; I’ve been so tense that I’m bent out of shape. She’s standing in the doorway of my bedroom, wearing nothing but my shirt, her red hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. Her eyes are wide, a little startled, but then she smiles softly. “Hi, Nicolo,” she says, her voice light, but I can see the curiosity in her gaze.
Nicolo’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes flick back to me, and I know he’s making a thousand calculations in his head. “Ms.Visconti,” he replies smoothly, giving her a polite nod. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
She blushes slightly, tugging at the hem of my shirt. “Yeah, I—I’ll just give you two a minute,” she mumbles, quickly turning and disappearing back into the bedroom.
The door clicks shut, and the silence in the room feels deafening. Nicolo turns back to me, his expression unreadable. “So,” he says slowly, “you and her?”
I shrug, trying to play it off, but I know he sees right through me. “It’s… nothing,” I say, but even I don’t believe it.
Nicolo’s eyes narrow slightly. “Be careful, Romiro,” he warns, his voice low, almost a growl. “Helen isn’t someone who will let you be happy. Or me. Or anyone else who gets in her way.”
I stiffen, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “I know that,” I snap. “I know who she is, what she’s capable of. But I’m not going to let her control my life. Or the fear of her control my life. Not anymore.”
Nicolo leans forward, his gaze intense, his voice soft but dangerous. “If she’s back, like you said, then she wants to destroy everything, Romiro,” he says. “She wants to burn everything to the ground. Our past… it’s a weapon she can use against us. Againstyou.”
I feel a flash of anger, hot and sharp. “I know what I’m doing,” I insist, my voice tight. “I don’t need you to tell me how to handle my own life.”
Nicolo holds my gaze for a long moment, his eyes cold, and calculating. “I hope you’re right,” he says quietly. “For both our sakes.”
The tension between us is thick, almost suffocating, but I refuse to back down. I won’t let him see my fear, my uncertainty. Not now. Not ever.
“I can handle this,” I say again, my voice firm, unyielding. “I’m not a kid anymore, Nicolo. I’m not weak. I’m thirty years old, not thirteen.”
Nicolo nods slowly, but I see the doubt in his eyes and the worry he’s trying to hide. “Just… be careful,” he says finally, his voice softer. “She’s not done with us. Not by a long shot.”
I swallow, my throat tight, but I nod. “I will be,” I promise, though I’m not sure if I’m saying it to him or to myself.
He stands up, finishing his drink in one quick swallow. “I need to go,” he says, turning toward the door. “But I’ll be in touch. And Romiro… keep your eyes open. She’ll come at you when you least expect it.”
I nod again, watching as he leaves, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The silence settles around me, thick and heavy, wrapping itself around my chest like a vice.
Taking a deep breath, I try to steady myself, but my hands are still shaking. My heart is pounding, my mind spinning with everything Nicolo said, everything he didn't say. He’s right—I know he’s right—but I can’t let him see how much it rattles me. How much it scares me.
