The silence after Grandmother Valentine's words was suffocating.
Her heels clicked slowly against the floor as she stepped inside, each sound like the countdown of a noose tightening. Everyone bowed their heads slightly, except Luiz. He couldn't. His body was too stiff, his jaw locked too tight.
Her sharp eyes scanned the chaos—the cane on the ground, Mateo's bruised arm, Cyrus red-faced and sputtering, Livia clutching her pearls like the victim in some play. Finally, her gaze fell on Luiz, his fist still hovering mid-air.
"Well?" she said. Quiet, but venomous. "Which one of you mongrels thought you could disgrace my family name this time?"
Nobody spoke.
Livia was the first to break the silence. Her voice dripped fake tears. "Mother, it was Luiz. He came back here, shouting like a wild dog, threatening us. He nearly attacked Cyrus—your own son."
"That's a fucking lie!" Mateo barked. "They started it! They—"
"Shut your mouth." Grandmother's voice cut through the boy like a whip. Mateo froze, chest heaving, but his defiance still glowed in his eyes.
Grandmother turned back to Luiz, her eyes narrowing to slits. "Is it true?"
Luiz's throat worked, but the words wouldn't come. Every fiber of his being wanted to scream no—that they had provoked him, insulted his dead mother, hurt Mateo. But when he looked at his younger brother's wide, terrified eyes, something inside him snapped into place.
He swallowed hard.
"Yes." His voice was low, raw. "It was me."
The air shifted. Cyrus straightened, smug creeping back into his face. Livia smirked as though she'd won a long-planned game.
Grandmother Valentine didn't flinch. She simply turned her back and snapped her fingers.
Two large men—bodyguards Luiz hadn't even noticed lurking outside—stepped into the room. Their shadows swallowed the sunlight.
"Take him," she said coldly. "Lock him up. I'll deal with him myself."
Mateo exploded. "No! You can't—he didn't do anything wrong!"
One of the guards grabbed Luiz by the arms, twisting them behind his back with brutal efficiency. He hissed in pain but didn't fight.
"Stop!" Mateo shouted, throwing himself forward. Cyrus caught him by the collar, yanking him back like a ragdoll. "You'll stay quiet, boy, unless you want worse."
"Luiz!" Mateo's voice cracked, desperate.
But Luiz forced himself to meet his brother's eyes. He gave the slightest shake of his head. Don't.
The guards dragged him toward the back of the house. Every step was heavy, every breath a struggle. His shoulder screamed where the guard's grip dug in.
Grandmother Valentine's voice followed, calm and merciless:
"You wanted to play the man of the house, Luiz? Then you'll learn what it means to carry the weight of this family's sins. All of them."
The last thing Luiz saw before the cellar door slammed shut was Mateo thrashing against Cyrus's grip, shouting his name like it could shatter walls.
And then—darkness.
The lock clicked, iron grinding against wood.
Luiz slumped against the cold floor, his chest heaving. His knuckles were raw, his pride torn to shreds, and his heart heavy with one truth that burned deeper than any wound:
He had taken the fall. Again.
And this time, he wasn't sure he'd survive the punishment that was coming.