Ardito's Point of View
The silence of the villa is almost sacred. Something that I am accustomed to.
It greets me like an obedient servant when I step through the door as the faint scent of
cedarwood and lemon lingers in the air. The staff knows better than to hover. My world runs on
quiet efficiency, no mistakes, no emotions.
I shrug off my coat, hang it on the brass rack, and loosen my tie. The drive from Dumas's house
had been short, but my head throbs with the echo of meaningless conversation. Academics talk
too much and in circles and it gives me non stop headaches hanging out with those fools.
My butler stands by the doorway, his posture straight, as he greets me.
"Welcome back, sir.
"
I bob my head in acknowledgment and speak.
"Has she left?"
"Yes, sir. The woman was escorted out an hour ago. Paid twice the usual fee.
"
I remove my cufflinks and set them down.
"Delightful.
"
He clears his throat softly.
"Although she left her panties behind.
"
I glance up, expression flat.
"Burn it.
"
He nods once and disappears briefly, returning with a glass of whisky already poured. The man
anticipates me like a shadow.
I swirl the drink lazily.
"So tell me this, how long before the city begins its chattering?"
He tilts his head.
"You mean the rumors, sir?"
"Yes.
" I smirk faintly.
"They'll say I brought another woman home, won't they?"
Matteo hesitates.
"It does keep them entertained, sir.
"
"Exactly.
" I take a slow sip. The whisky bites down my mouth pleasantly.
"Better they believe I'm
a goddamned fucker than the alternative.
"
He lowers his head.
"There are still those who say otherwise.
"
"They always will.
" My voice turns sharp.
"They need their stories. I provide juicer ones.
"
I set the glass down on the piano nearby. The moonlight catches the veins of gold in the liquor.
"Besides, I can't have them thinking I'm… incapable.
"
Matteo says nothing, though the pause between us carries everything unsaid. He is the only
one that knows the truth. I can't stand a woman's touch in any form. It cripples my skin like acid.
Every encounter I've ever had, turned to disaster so I had to adapt to extreme measures.
"Shall I prepare the study, sir?"
"No,
" the cellar please.
"
He blinks once.
"Ah.
"
I walk through the main hallway and as we reach the end. Matteo presses a panel on the wall
which causes the bookshelf slides aside with a hiss, revealing the steel door. The smell of
antiseptic and rust hits before we even descend.
The light flickers once, humming low and orange signaling our added presence.
The man tied to the chair lifts his head when he hears us approach. His eyes are swollen, one
nearly shut, his lip split. He's breathing through his mouth, shallow and uneven.
"You said— you said I'd go free—
" He spits out.
I crouch in front of him, studying his face.
"You will. But I need you to remember something first.
"
"I told you, I don't—
"
"You worked under Dumas, didn't you?" I cut him off, standing again.
At the mention of that name, something flashes in his eyes. Fear. Recognition. Or maybe both?
"Ah,
" I murmur.
"I see.
"
Matteo flips a switch on the machine beside him. Electricity hums through the air like the growl
of an impatient beast.
I pace slowly behind the man.
"You see, I'm a man of logic. I don't enjoy this part of the job. It's
barbaric, really. But I've learned that pain is the only language the cowardly understands.
"
He shakes his head rapidly.
"Please… I can't tell you anything. They'll kill me.
"
"They won't,
" I say calmly,
"because I'll turn you to ashes first.
"
Matteo presses a button. A loud, wet crack of sound fills the room. The man convulses violently.
The smell of ozone and sweat burns the air. I wait until the spasms stop before speaking again.
"Now,
" I whisper, crouching once more.
"You said you didn't know anything. Let's test that
again.
"
"I—
" he cries, shaking.
"There was… a file. After it happened.
"
I tilt my head.
"What file?"
"Project… Serine? Selomn? I.. I'm not really sure!"he says between coughs.
Every muscle in my body goes still.
Project Seraphine.
The word hangs in the air like dark cloud. Clara's handwriting flashes behind my eyelids. Her
smile. Her voice saying my name the last night I saw her alive.
"Where?" My voice comes out quieter than I expect.
"Where is the goddamn file?"
"They— they moved it. Someone else has it. Someone from the faculty.
"
"Who?"
"I swear I don't know. I heard them say it was hidden after the investigation. That's all I know.
"
His voice cracks on the last syllable.
I straighten and signal to Matteo to stop. The machine slowly goes silent. Only the drip of water
and the man's ragged breathing fill the space.
I take off my gloves slowly and glance at my reflection in the metal panel across the room.
I look composed. Too composed for the storm gawning inside me.
"Project Seraphine,
" I repeat under my breath.
"She really did it.
"
Matteo's voice pierces through the sudden silence.
"Sir?"
I turn sharply.
"Clean him up.
"
"Yes, sir.
"
I ascend the staircase alone and briskly, leaving behind the smell of blood and burned metal.
The moment I reach the main floor, I pour another drink. This one I don't finish.
My reflection stares back at me from the glass door beside me and I see a version of myself that
is a high end tormentor.
But my mind isn't on the man in the cellar anymore.
It's on the girl I saw today.
Ellen Dumas.
I remember seeing her on my first day in that school, but seeing her again today something
flickered. I don't know what was on her mind but I saw Clara in her.
The same steadiness, the same sharpness behind fear. And the top of the cherry was stumbling
on that letter from Clara to her.
She doesn't know me. But her father does. And Dumas's name has always been carved into the
same dirt that buried my family.
I let out a long breath, setting the glass down.
"Matteo,
" I call.
He appears almost immediately.
"Sir?"
"Do me a favor.
"
"Anything.
"
"Find everything you can about Professor Dumas's daughter. Her academic records, her
schedule, the people she speaks to.
"
I give him a stern look and add,
"Quietly.
"
"Yes, sir.
"
He doesn't ask why. He doesn't have to.
When he leaves, I walk to my study. The desk is cluttered with files, articles, maps of
connections that run deep with names of those responsible for my family's collapse.
Clara Veyron's file lies open among them. I trace a finger along the edge of her photo.
She was the last person I trusted. And she died protecting something.
If that something is hidden inside the university circle, I'll find it till my last breath.
I close the folder and lean back. Outside, thunder rolls faintly across the hills.
I adjust my cufflinks, rebutton my shirt. The armor fits back on.
Matteo returns a moment later, cautious.
"Sir, should I dispose of the man downstairs?"
"Not yet,
" I say, my tone colder now.
"I might need him again.
"
I pause, glancing back at the window. The rain has stopped.
"She looked like her,
" I murmur to no one in particular.
"Sir?"
"Nothing.
"
Matteo leaves.
The villa is silent again.
But my thoughts aren't.
They circle back to her. The sharp, startled girl in Dumas's hallway, the way she froze, the way
her eyes widened like she'd felt something she couldn't explain.
For the first time in a long time, I feel something dangerously close to curiosity.
And curiosity is what gets men killed and forgotten.
I pick my phone and shoot a text to a number I haven't contacted in a long while and smile
wickedly.
I'm about to play a dangerous game and I fucking love it.