The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, but the unfamiliar geometry of the room still pierced through the haze of Melissa's consciousness.
It wasn't her room. The air smelled of expensive cedar and clinical stillness.
She sat up, a sharp spike of pain lancing through her temples.
"My head," she groaned, the words feeling like sandpaper in her throat.
"You're finally awake." Antonio's voice came from the doorway, cool and rhythmic.
He leaned against the frame, watching her with an unreadable expression.
"I thought you were dead."
"Good morning," Melissa croaked, squinting against the soft light.
"Morning?" Antonio stepped further into the room.
"You slept the entire day."
The fog in her mind began to clear, replaced by a cold, sudden dread. "How's..."
"Sofia's fine," he interrupted, anticipating the panic. "She woke up this morning. Abuela called to check on you."
Melissa looked at him, the memory of the previous night flickering like a dying bulb.
The glass of water. The way the world had tilted and gone black.
"You drugged me, didn't you?"
Antonio didn't flinch. A small, ghost of a smile touched his lips.
"I wasn't... I was supposed to be..." She shook her head, trying to shake off the chemical lethargy.
"It was the water. Last night."
"I needed you to get a decent sleep," Antonio said, his tone shifting to something unnervingly calm.
"So you could wake up strong. Refreshed."
Melissa pressed her palms into her eyes, her breath hitching.
The weight of reality crashed back down—the near-death of a child, the looming shadow of a monster.
"What have I done? I've managed to screw everything up. Baby almost died... Vassago... I just wanted to disconnect. I just wanted to leave it all behind."
"By running away?" Antonio asked.
"By giving them the one thing they truly deserve," Melissa whispered into the darkness of her palms. "Happiness."
"You're part of their happiness, Melissa."
"No," she breathed, the word a confession. "Just part of their misery."
The mattress dipped as Antonio sat beside her.
The silence stretched for a moment before she spoke again.
"How long was I out?"
"Roughly twenty-three hours. For a moment, I actually thought I'd committed murder," he said, letting out an awkward, dry chuckle that didn't reach his eyes.
Melissa looked down at her hands; they were vibrating with a fine, uncontrollable tremor.
She looked up at him, her intuition sharpening.
"Why do I have a feeling there's something you aren't telling me?"
Antonio's eyebrows shot up. "Am I that easy to read?"
"Spending a lot of time with someone has that effect," she said.
"The guy who put Sofia in the freezer... he's been dealt with."
A cold spike of fear hit her. "Vassago?"
"No. One of his minions," Antonio clarified.
"Let's just say Abuela handled it the only way she knows how."
"Oh." The word was hollow.
"As for Vassago... earlier today, he was—"
The sharp trill of Antonio's phone cut him off. He frowned at the screen.
"I have to take this. I'll be right back."
As he stepped out, the silence of the room was broken by a soft ping from the nightstand.
Melissa reached for her phone, her thumb hovering over a link sent from an unknown number. "What the hell?"
She clicked it. A news broadcast flickered to life.
"It has been confirmed that the human remains found inside a pigsty were indeed those of Mr. Vito Genovese," the reporter's voice was clinical, despite the grisly subject.
"One of Cuba's most influential men..."
"Vito Genovese?" Melissa muttered, the name a ghost in the back of her mind.
Then the footage shifted. It was grainy, infrared—masked men flowing through a palatial estate like smoke.
They didn't just kill; they dismantled. She watched, paralyzed, as the video showed the systematic torture of the man she knew as Vassago.
The end was a blurred nightmare of a wood chipper and the frantic feeding of swine.
The scream tore from her throat before she could stop it.
She hurled the phone against the wall, the screen shattering as she lunged over the side of the bed, her stomach heaving.
Antonio burst back into the room to find her collapsing, violently vomiting.
He was at her side in an instant, shouting for the staff.
A maid appeared with a bucket; another handed Antonio a glass of water.
"Melissa, breathe," he commanded, rubbing her back. "Just breathe."
She looked up at him, her face ashen and tear-streaked.
"He's dead... they killed him."
"I take it you've seen the news," Antonio said grimly.
"Who would send me that?" she trembled, her voice small and broken.
He pulled her into a firm embrace. "Relax. I'll make the person who sent that pay."
"No!" she sobbed into his shoulder. "No more blood. I can't stand any more of it."
Antonio pulled her into an embrace, she buried her face on his neck.
The heavy doors downstairs banged open.
The sound of heels clicking sharply on the marble echoed up the stairs.
Chloe waltzed into the house, her voice ringing out with forced cheer. "Where's my baby?"
She marched into the bedroom and stopped dead. Her face contorted into a mask of pure vitriol.
"What the actual fuck is going on?!"
Melissa scrambled back, pushing Antonio away.
"You're here," Antonio said, his voice instantly becoming as cool as a cucumber.
"What the hell is she doing on your bed?" Chloe screamed.
"She's resting—"
"Get your ass off my fiancé's bed, you homewrecker!"
Antonio's eyes darkened. "Watch your tongue, Chloe, or I'll throw you out myself."
"Get out!" Chloe shrieked at Melissa. "I'm the one who's supposed to be there!"
Melissa began to slide off the mattress, her legs weak.
"Where do you think you're going?" Antonio snapped, his fury finally visible.
"I don't want to cause problems," Melissa whispered.
"You need to rest," Antonio said, his voice softening only for her. He turned back to Chloe with a look of pure ice.
"I'm going to call your friends to come visit. Until then, no one disturbs you. Chloe, you're coming downstairs with me. Now."
He tucked Melissa back in, lingering for a second too long as Chloe let out a gasp of indignation.
Then, he dragged the fuming woman from the room.
Melissa lay there, staring at the ceiling as the shadows lengthened.
Her phone, miraculously still functioning despite the cracked screen, vibrated from across the floor.
She crawled toward it, her fingers trembling as she answered.
"How are you feeling?" Audrey's voice was bright, sickeningly cheerful.
"You ordered them to kill him didn't you? How did you do it?" Melissa's voice was small.
"I have people in Cuba who wants Vassago dead. It only took a couple of money here and there, before you know it he's dead before twenty-four hours" Audrey said slightly cheerful.
"He didn't deserve to die like that," Melissa said, the words heavy.
"Cut the bullcrap," Audrey snapped, the cheer vanishing instantly.
"You act as if you've never done worse. The 'Great Lavender' who set men ablaze and watch them burn in front of their families? The mysterious Lavender who could clear a building in twenty minute? Now you want to be a saint? The woman who slept with a dead man for three days?"
"Enough!" Melissa gasped, clutching her chest.
"Do you think acting holy justifies anything? The blood of innocents are on your hands, Melissa. How many wives did you turned widows? How many children did you turned orphans? You're a killing machine. You are a tool, and right now, you are mine. You belong to me. If I tell you to move, you move, or the people you love vanish."
Melissa sank to her knees, hot tears blurring her vision.
"I left that life. I am not a puppet. I've been faithful... loyal... I am not a machine. I quit along time ago! I am free!"
"Are you?" Audrey's laugh was like breaking glass.
"The Organization is hunting you and your partner. Your parents are lurking in the shadows. You aren't free, Melissa. You're caged. And I am your only hope."
"Please, Audrey..." Melissa's voice broke into a sob. "Don't hurt my friends. I beg you."
"Know your place, Melissa. Don't ever tell me what to do. Am I clear?"
"Yes," Melissa whispered.
The line went dead. Melissa curled into a ball on the floor, clutching the shattered phone to her chest like a lifeline, and wept into the silence of someone else's room.
Melissa remained buried beneath the heavy duvet.
She was a small, motionless knot of shadow against the sheets when Sunny stepped inside.
"Hey," Sunny said, her voice barely a thread in the quiet air.
Melissa didn't move. The silence stretched until Sunny crossed the floor, her footsteps muffled by the rug.
"How're you feeling?"
Slowly, as if her limbs were made of lead, Melissa turned to face her.
Her eyes were rimmed with red, her face pale.
"Terrible."
"Don't beat yourself up," Sunny urged, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
She reached out, offering a small, grounding presence.
"Everything's going to be just fine."
Melissa didn't look convinced. Her gaze drifted toward the window, fixed on something far beyond the glass.
"How's Ariana?" she asked, her voice cracking.
"She's with baby," Sunny said, hesitation flickering across her face.
"She's… she's still mad, though."
A heavy, exhausted sigh escaped Melissa's lungs. She let her eyes close again.
"Who could blame her? Honestly, I feel like you all deserve better than me."
"Shh," Sunny pleaded, leaning closer. "Don't say that."
"How long before you realize that, too?" Melissa's voice rose, edged with a sudden, sharp desperation.
"How long until you notice that I'm just hurting you?"
"You're not," Sunny insisted, her tone firm. "You've kept us safe."
"Yet I still endanger your lives," Melissa whispered.
The guilt seemed to physically weigh her down, pinning her to the bed.
Sunny pulled her into a tight, fierce embrace, trying to anchor her friend against the rising tide of self-loathing.
Melissa's head sank into Sunny's shoulder. "Audrey was right," she choked out. "I'm just a—"
The click of the door handle cut her off.
Antonio stepped into the room, pausing as he took in the somber scene.
"Am I interrupting something?"
Sunny pulled back slightly, smoothing her hair, though she didn't move from Melissa's side.
"Not at all."
Antonio walked toward them, his expression unreadable but his eyes focused on Melissa.
"How're you feeling?"
Melissa tightened her grip on the blanket, a mask of composure slipping back into place.
"I'm okay," she lied.
Antonio didn't challenge the falsehood. Instead, he turned to Sunny.
"Could you help me with a glass of milk?"
"Sure," Sunny replied, offering Melissa a lingering, supportive smile.
"I'll be back," she promised, before following him toward the exit.
As Sunny stepped out, Antonio lingered.
He shut the door with a soft, deliberate click, sealing the room into a sudden, heavy intimacy.
He leaned against the frame, watching her.
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" he asked.
Melissa nodded once, her eyes fixed on the door Sunny had just disappeared through.
"I do."
"Don't hesitate to tell me if anything goes wrong," Antonio said, his voice low and steady.
Melissa didn't answer; she only watched the shadows shift on the ceiling, the weight of his gaze feeling like one more secret she wasn't ready to break.