“The master suite and west suite are this way,” she says, gesturing to the right, “but your room is to the left, in the east suite.”
“Was the master suite my mother’s?” I ask hesitantly, looking down the right hallway towards the master suite.
“Yes, it was. We haven’t touched anything in there since she left.” Her eyes glaze over slightly, but she shakes her head and pushes the feeling back down.
I wonder why not, but don’t dare to ask out of insincerity. When she pushes open the double doors to my room, I hesitate at the threshold of the east suite, taken aback by the sheer luxury that unfolds before me—it’s nearly bigger than my entire apartment. Velvet drapeshang heavy around the windows, a fireplace in the corner, and an adjoining balcony offers a view over the sprawling estate. As I step into the walk-in closet, my breath catches at the layout—but the shelves are glaringly empty, a stark reminder of where I come from.
The bathroom is a sanctuary of indulgence. A freestanding spa bath overlooks the estate, with a large shower with twin heads that transforms into a sauna, and a makeup desk bathed in perfect lighting.
“Thank you, Rosa. This is… too much,” I sigh, turning towards her. This suite is every girl’s dream.
She smiles softly. “Just call if you need anything, dear.” She turns to leave, but curiosity pricks at me again, halting her at the door.
“Whose room is that?” I point across the hall to a slightly ajar door, although I can’t quite see through the gap.
Warmth flickers in her eyes. “That’s Luciano’s.”
“I thought I’d be alone in the mansion,” I exclaim, surprise sharpening my voice.
“No, my dear. Luciano’s lived in that room for twenty-three years.”
“How old was he when he moved in?” I ask.
“Thirteen. Your mother took him in shortly after she returned to the family estate.”
A storm of emotions crashes inside me: hurt, confusion. She had left me, yet raised someone else. Why didn’t she want me? Was it because I was a girl and not a boy she clearly wanted?
“How old is he now?” I ask.
“Thirty-six, my dear.” Ten years older than me. I can’t believe he’s lived here and with her for twenty-three years.
I feel myself becoming more desperate for answers. “What happened to his family?”
Rosa’s face darkens ever so slightly. “That’s not my story to tell.” She turns away and retreats down the hall before I can ask anything else.
Alone and unsure what to do, I wander through the mansion’s vast hallways, taking in every feature from the intricate moldings, family portraits, to cutting-edge technology found in nearly every room. Laughter drifts from down the hall. Drawn to the sound, I find myself outside the billiard room.
“Come in, Red!” calls a familiar voice.
Cautiously, I push the door open and slip inside. “How did you know I was there?” I ask, slightly startled when I notice Mattia isn’t alone.
“Because he’s an assassin. He heard you coming from halfway down the hall,” a man I haven’t met says without looking up from his tablet, his fingers flying across the screen.
His words are met with a glare from the other two in the room before they say, “Stai zitto.”Shut up.
Mattia’s voice cuts through the room, and my eyes land on him over near the pool table. “Red, meet my brothers: Gabriele, Stefano, and Carlo. You already met Luciano,” he says, pointing at each man with his pool cue.
I nod at the familiar names, but these men are vastly different from each other, like pieces from a different puzzle that just don’t mesh.
Stefano is a fraction smaller than Carlo, but only just. His black hair streaked with silver hints at years of hard-earned experience. His beard is meticulously trimmed, each hair in place, like he’s got a personal barber on call. There’s a quiet discipline about him. I’ve met the type before; a man who thrives on order and control.
I glance back at Mattia, curiosity bubbling up. “Why are you calling me ‘Red’?” I ask, crossing my arms in front of me.
Hechuckles, the sound like a blade twisting in the dark. “You’ve got my older brother seeing red like I’ve never seen before,” he says, eyes razor-sharp as he tilts his head to the side. “Hell, you might just rock the redhead look too.” He winks, now pouring himself a drink.
I head towards the massive bar at the back. Scanning the shelves, everything seems to be old or expensive—I guess wealth and power can buy you anything you want. I grab a bottle of vodka, my usual go-to drink because it’s cheap and used to be the only thing I could afford, and pour myself a shot. I down it without hesitation, letting it burn down my throat.
“So, how are you brothers? You look nothing alike,” I ask, pouring another shot.
