(Diana's POV)
The room feels smaller after her words.
Your father played a part in Victor's death.
The sentence keeps replaying in my head, like something cracked the air and I am the only one who heard it. My chest feels tight and my eyes sting, but I blink quickly, trying to focus. The woman's voice is soft, steady. Too steady for what she just said.
I swallow hard and it hurts.
"Who… who are you?" I finally whisper.
Her expression shifts from sorrow to a kind, almost motherly warmth. She straightens a little, smoothing the skirt of her dress before answering.
"My name is Lucinda Bianchi."
She pauses, giving me space to react.
"I'm Alessio's mother."
My breath catches.
I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that.
The softness makes sense now. She's the opposite of the man in that cold room. The opposite of Giovanni. The opposite of Alessio's sharp, unreadable quiet.
Lucinda looks like someone who should be handing out cookies in a sunlit kitchen, not sitting in a mansion built on fear.
I look down at my hands. They're shaking. I hide them under the table.
Alessio mentioned her name earlier.
"Do not bother Lucinda. She's the only sane one here."
It was quick, muttered under his breath when a maid approached us. At the time I thought he was being sarcastic. Now I'm not so sure.
Lucinda watches me carefully. Like she's waiting for me to break.
And I might.
"I don't understand," I say, my voice small. "Why are you telling me this? "
"Because you deserve the truth," she says gently. "Or at least… the part I know."
The part she knows.
Not everything.
I latch onto that.
"You said my father—" My voice cracks. I start again. "You said he was involved in Victor's death but… my father would never…"
Heat rises in my face.
"He would never kill someone."
Lucinda nods slowly. "I didn't say he killed Victor."
I stop breathing.
"But you said he—"
"I said he had a part in what happened." Her expression softens. "There's a difference."
My chest feels tight, like my ribs are squeezing my lungs.
"My father works at a garage. He barely has enough time to come home. He takes care of us. He…" I shake my head because speaking hurts. "He is not a criminal."
Lucinda doesn't argue.
That's somehow worse.
"Sometimes parents hide things to protect their children," she says gently. "And sometimes… they hide things to protect themselves."
I flinch.
She notices.
"Diana," she says softly, "this house is full of secrets. Some of them will touch you whether you want them to or not. But you must know this: not everything your father told you was true."
My pulse thunders.
My throat closes.
I look down because I can't look at her anymore.
She reaches out and rests her hand on mine.
The contact breaks me.
Tears spill before I can stop them. They fall silent and fast, hitting my lap, making dark spots on the fabric. I try to cover my face, embarrassed, but she gently pulls my hands away.
"Cry if you need to," she says quietly. "This is too much for anyone your age. You should never have been dragged into this."
Her voice comforts me the way warm hands soothe a cold night.
It makes everything inside me hurt harder.
"Why…" I choke out. "Why are you being nice to me?"
Lucinda's eyes soften.
"Because my son brought you here," she says. "Which means whether he likes it or not, you are now under my care."
A shaky breath escapes me.
"And," she adds quietly, "because you look terrified. No child should look that way."
Child.
It doesn't offend me.
It makes me feel seen.
Tears won't stop.
My chest feels squeezed tight, and everything inside me hurts in a way I cannot swallow down. I try to breathe, but each breath trembles. My hands shake so hard I press them against my face just to hide it.
The door opens.
I jerk upright instantly.
Giovanni stands in the doorway, broad shoulders filling the frame, eyes sharp and unreadable. Even in my blurred vision he looks like a man carved from something unforgiving.
Lucinda freezes beside me, her expression changing fast. Concern. Tension. Quiet warning.
Giovanni steps inside.
His voice stays calm, but it cuts. "Why is she crying?"
I shrink a little even though I try not to.
Lucinda rises. "She is overwhelmed. She is terrified. You expected anything else?"
Giovanni ignores her. His focus stays on me.
I wipe my face quickly, but it does nothing. My cheeks are still wet.
He walks closer.
Too close.
"Stand," he says.
My knees almost fail when I try, but I force them to lock in place. My breath comes out uneven.
Giovanni studies my face the way someone studies an object they're deciding whether to keep or throw away.
"You were told something." His voice is low. "Something about your father."
My pulse jumps painfully.
He watches every reaction.
Lucinda steps in. "Giovanni."
He raises one hand. She stops talking.
Then he looks back at me.
"I will ask you one question," he says quietly. "I expect the truth."
My throat feels tight again.
"Do you believe your father is innocent?"
The room goes silent.
Lucinda's breath catches. Alessio, who has been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, straightens slightly.
My heart pounds so loudly I hear it in my ears.
I whisper, "I… I don't know."
Giovanni nods once. Slow. Calculating.
"That," he says, "is not an answer."
I blink, confused.
He steps closer, his voice dropping.
"In this house, loyalty must be earned. I need to know you are capable of honesty. Blind devotion is as dangerous as treason."
My hands shake again. He notices everything.
"If you lie to me," Giovanni says, "even once, your life here will become very difficult. You will work, and you will serve this estate until your father crawls out of whatever hole he is hiding in."
My stomach flips hard.
I barely manage to whisper, "I'm not lying."
Giovanni studies me for a long, silent moment. His eyes feel like they can see through my skin.
Then—
"Father," Alessio finally says, his tone dry and sharp, "she's crying, not plotting a coup."
Giovanni's jaw tightens.
Alessio pushes off the wall. "Maybe test her loyalty after she stops shaking like a kicked puppy."
Heat rushes to my face.
Alessio says bluntly. "It's fine. Everyone cries their first week here."
"Alessio," Giovanni warns.
"What? Should she fill out a form first? Permission to be human?"
For a second, Giovanni almost looks like he might snap.
Instead he exhales slowly, long enough for the room to feel colder.
He turns away to Lucinda. "Clean her up. Keep her in the guest wing until I call for her."
Lucinda slips an arm around my shoulders gently. "Come, sweetheart."
As she leads me out, Alessio mutters just loud enough for me to hear:
"For your first interrogation, not bad. You only cried… a lot."
I glare at him through blurry vision.
Giovanni's voice echoes behind us:
"This is her first warning. I expect obedience."
Lucinda squeezes my shoulder tighter, guiding me through the hall.
"You should lie down for a bit. You look pale."
I nod because my body isn't working well enough to speak.
She guides me down the hallway with a steady hand on my back. The mansion feels colder now, like every corner hides a pair of watching eyes.
We reach a quiet room—smaller, warmer.
A guest room, maybe.
Not a prison cell.
"Rest here," she says softly. "I'll bring you tea."
She hesitates like she wants to say more but decides against it. She gives me one last squeeze of the shoulder before stepping out.
The moment the door closes, I crumble onto the bed and bury my face in the covers. Tears soak the pillow. My breath comes out in small, sharp bursts. I curl inward, trying to stop shaking.
My father.
Victor.
This house.
Everything feels too big all at once.
I don't know how long I stay like that. Minutes. Maybe an hour. Long enough for shadows to shift across the floor.
When I finally pull myself up, my eyes are swollen. My head aches. The room feels too quiet. Too still. The kind of stillness that makes you feel watched even when you're alone.
I need air.
I leave the room quietly. The hallway is empty now, faint afternoon light stretching across the wooden floor. I walk slowly, my body heavy, unsure where I'm going.
Every painting stares down at me with cold, old eyes.
Every corner feels sharper.
I pass a staircase and pause at the top, looking down into the lower floors. The place is like a maze. Too many rooms. Too many secrets.
A faint murmur echoes from the right. Voices. Low and muffled.
Curiosity nudges me forward.
I know I shouldn't listen.
I know this house is the kind of place where listening gets you hurt.
But something inside me moves anyway.
I step quietly toward the sound.
A doorway stands slightly open halfway down the hall. I press closer. The voices sharpen.
Male.
Firm.
Frustrated.
"…Giovanni is losing patience," someone says. "The girl is already here. What else do we need?"
Another voice answers, tired and worn down. "We need Antonio. Not her."
My breath catches.
I move even closer.
A third voice speaks. One I know.
Alessio.
"We're not touching the girl. That was never part of the plan."
My heart leaps and freezes at the same time.
"She's leverage," someone else snaps. "Or she should be. Instead she's wandering the halls like she owns the place."
My face burns in humiliation.
Alessio replies, tone cold. "She's nineteen. Not a threat."
Someone scoffs. "She's Antonio's daughter. That alone makes her a threat."
My stomach twists.
The men shift. The floor creaks.
I hold my breath.
Then a sentence slices through the air.
"…And what about the brother?"
My heart drops.
Brother.
Daniel.
I lean closer before I can think. The wood of the doorframe digs into my shoulder.
Another voice answers, low and serious.
"He's gone."
Gone?
My chest tightens so sharply I almost make a sound.
"We lost track of him two days ago," the man continues. "Someone grabbed him before we could."
My vision blurs.
No.
No no no.
Alessio swears under his breath. "Who took him?"
"We don't know."
A silence follows. Heavy. Frustrated.
"We can't let Diana find out," someone says. "Not yet."
A shiver shoots down my spine.
I take a step back too fast. My shoe scuffs the floor.
The voices stop.
All of them.
My heart slams against my ribs hard enough to hurt.
Crap.
I turn to run—
but a shadow fills the doorway.
I freeze.
Lucinda steps out first, her eyes sharp and unreadable, but she isn't the one who speaks.
Behind her, Giovanni appears.
His gaze locks onto mine.
Cold.
Flat.
Certain.
He takes one step forward.
"Diana," he says, voice like a blade sliding free. "What exactly are you doing roaming about in the hallway?."
My throat tightens.
Alessio moves quickly, pushing past them both. He steps between me and Giovanni before the older man can reach me.
He puts a hand out in front of him, blocking Giovanni's path.
"That's enough."
Giovanni's eyes narrow. "She was listening."
Alessio doesn't deny it.
He turns to me. His eyes meet mine.
And for the first time since I met him, there's no mask.
Just real tension.
Real worry.
His voice drops.
"Diana."
A pause.
His jaw clenches.
"There's something you need to know."
The hallway is silent.
Everyone is watching.
I grip the railing behind me to stay upright.
Alessio's throat works, like he's forcing the words out even though he knows they will crush me.
He looks straight into my eyes.
"Your brother, Daniel…"
He hesitates.
Then finishes quietly.
"He's missing."
The world tilts.
My legs buckle.
And everything goes black.