(The perspective turns quickly from 3rd perspective to Astraeus's perspective then back to the 3rd perspective.. OW1 tried making this as cliche and usual wattpad missing mafia princess story-coded as he could. OW4 will take over when the time is right.)
The sun rose, its light dismantled the blues of the moon's darkness, letting the orange hues seep through the dark blues' torn holes. The orange shone brightly, as if flaunting her dominating light over the dimming blues.
As the final blue left the horizon, the sky filled with orange hues. The orange danced with the white clouds; the sky was turning a light tint of blue. The orange let it take over.
And thus, the child of the dawn and dusk covered the land of Europe in its light blue tint, acting like a blanket for the large continent.
Astraeus—daughter of Archielle and Azrael—sat in a seat. She watched as the sky went from darkness to light in a matter of seconds, silently. She wanted her mama back. She wanted to cry and embrace him. But she couldn't—not without endangering them.
She remembered Archie, how his body went limp.
Her hands clenched into fists at the memory. He didn't deserve that. He just wanted to protect her. That meant it was her fault. She caused her big brother pain.
Astraeus clenched her fists. She wanted to break down, punch something maybe? Anything. But this was a plane—how on earth would she punch something without causing her own death alongside the pilots?
A lot of ways, actually—she'd know—but she'd rather keep things simple.
The plane's trip eventually came to an end as it landed on the runway.
There was already a car waiting for her. There goes the plan of running off. Shit—she really couldn't escape this?
This was bad. She just hoped Momma, Uncle Gabby, and the others got home fast. She didn't wanna think about her baby brother's face when he had a panic attack, but it really couldn't be helped... She didn't have control over what she was thinking—well, actually, she did, but at the same time didn't... This was confusing...
Astraeus sighed. She'd get on with this later on. She didn't even notice when she got into the car, much less when she was almost nearing the house—was that really a house though? Seemed more like a mansion. Not a modern one though. It looked fancy. Not old fancy—just enough fancy.
She clutched the hem of her shirt, panic seeping in.
The voice of the driver snapped her out of her little trance.
"Miss Grimaldego, we've arrived," the driver politely called out, parking the car in front of the mansion.
A guard opened the door to her left side and helped her out of the car. He was being careful with her, as if she was nothing but a porcelain doll to be dealt with...
As she and he approached the entrance, she couldn't stop the growing worry. But she recollected all her nerves. She just had to endure this all longer. To protect them.
Facing the door, the tall men opened it, letting her in—entering the house. The first thing she noticed was the fancy and expensive interior design.
The next thing she noticed were the men standing in the center of the room, all facing her—they all, except for one, looked like her Momma. She'd recognize her Momma from anywhere. She couldn't help but wonder what she was doing by now... if she was fine or not.
The eldest of the men—a stone-shouldered figure in his mid-forties—spoke up first.
"Bambina," he said, the word falling like ice through fog. "I assume the travel was... tolerable?"
Astraeus blinked. The way he looked at her made her spine fold in on itself.
"Y-Yes, sir," she answered, breath quick, the Irish in her vowels skipping nervously over the ends of her words. "It—was fine."
The man's eyes narrowed like a hawk sharpening its vision. "I see."
He didn't smile.
"Allow me to introduce ourselves. I am Nathaniel. I trust you've been informed of who I am—who we are?"
Astraeus fiddled with her fingers again, twisting them until the knuckles flushed pale. "No, not yet, sir."
The man cursed under his breath—Italian, smooth and spiked. She'd heard Uncle Gabby use it when he was mad at kitchen cabinets.
Nathaniel sighed like he regretted ever breathing.
"Very well. I am your father. These—" he swept a gloved hand toward the row of men "—are your brothers. Boys, introduce yourselves."
The first to step forward did so with the weight of an army.
"My name is Andrew," he said, Italian accent as clean and formal as a suit-pressed line. "Your eldest brother."
He didn't blink. His voice was made of silk that had forgotten how to be warm. "It is good to meet you."
Then came another. He hesitated like he wasn't sure it was his turn, then offered a small nod.
"I'm Jacob," he said, voice quiet but colored with a kind tone—like soft piano keys pressed with trembling fingers. "Second eldest... uh, it's—it's nice to finally meet you."
He smiled awkwardly, like the smile didn't quite know where to land. His hands were still tucked behind his back, like a schoolboy punished into perfect posture.
Astraeus tilted her head. Her eyes flicked up and down. The pale skin. The white hair. The purple skirt. She had assumed he was a girl—until now.
"Maximus," the next one said, waving once. "Third eldest. You can call me Max if that's shorter for ya."
He gave a half-laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Hope you weren't expectin' anything too formal. 'Cause I left all that at the border."
His Italian accent was thick, but stretched in a way that sounded like it came from someone used to laughing through their anxiety.
The next voice was deeper. It didn't echo, but it felt like it should've.
"Damien."
Just that. Just his name. His voice was deadpan, like it had lived through too many late nights with nothing to say. He didn't smile. He didn't move. He just existed—shadow-quiet.
"I'm Jeremias," barked the next. No hesitation. No introduction fluff. Just a verbal shove straight into her ears.
He stood like a storm about to go off, arms crossed so tight they looked like restraints. His jaw clenched with every breath. "Don't expect me to repeat it."
"Zoelle," the next one said, his voice warm honey and melted chocolate, but there was something hidden under it—something that coiled like a serpent around each word. "It's truly a pleasure, sorellina. I've heard... so very much."
His eyes flicked to Nathaniel like every syllable needed permission. And then back to her, smooth as silk over thorns.
Then came the smallest voice.
"Miles."
He barely poked his head from behind Jacob's arm. The way he held onto the sleeve made Astraeus think of a rabbit curled under a hawk's shadow.
She gave a faint, shaky smile, half as greeting, half as self-defense.
"My name is... Astraeus. You can call me Arty."
Her words were wrapped in a subtle Irish melody—soft, polite, with the tiniest hint of an Italian twist at the end of Arty. A habit from years spent surviving two tongues at once.
The men stared. Not judging—just watching. Like she was a new painting hung in the wrong museum.
"Astraeus... Arty?" Andrew tried, stiffly.
His voice was calm, but the word 'Arty' sounded like a tool misused. None of them seemed to get it.
"It's... from my second name," she said, trying to explain. "Artemis."
Nathaniel's eyes narrowed.
"Your second name is Samantha."
Astraeus froze. Panic skittered across her skin.
"Uhm... A-actually, it's Artemis," she corrected, voice shrinking with each syllable.
Her hands fidgeted violently, drenched in sweat. Her gaze didn't leave his face—his sharp, unreadable, unmoving face.
He stared at her like she was lying about something sacred.
Then, he turned.
"Take her to her room, Andrew. Jacob—follow. Bring Miles if you must, but follow them."
No room for negotiation. No further glance.
Andrew simply nodded. "Understood."
Jacob offered a gentler, "Come on, Arty. This way," and began walking beside her, Miles still holding his sleeve.
The hallway stretched forever. Marble under her boots. Paintings she didn't recognize. Too many locked doors.
Her room was on the far corner of the second floor. The house had four floors up and two down—six in total. A fortress disguised as a home.
Her room had a king-sized bed, soft pillows, a weighted blanket, a lamp on a side table, and a wall-mounted nightlight. Not much else.
Jacob smiled gently as she walked in. "D–Father didn't let anyone decorate it. Said you could do that yourself. So, uh... make it yours."
Astraeus gave a tired but polite nod. "Thank you, brother. Would you mind... telling Father I'm grateful?"
Jacob blinked. The look on his face was surprise wrapped in sadness—like he didn't expect to be called 'brother.' Or thanked.
"I will," he said softly.
He left with Miles. Andrew paused for a moment at the door before silently stepping out.
Astraeus entered the room alone, quietly closing the door behind her.
Click.
One lock. Two.
Silence.
All she had on her were the flashlight, some spare batteries tucked into her pocket, and the notebook and pen she had managed to slip into her coat.
She didn't move. Not yet. She just stood, listening to the hallway. Listening to the quiet settle.
Then finally—
She exhaled.
Then she opened the notebook again.
Her hand trembled faintly, but not with fear.
With calculation.
She flipped past the emotional scribbles, past the fake diary fluff she wrote in case someone read it. Then, on a fresh page, she began.
[OBSERVATION LOG — ENTRY 001]
Subject: Andrew
Status: Eldest brother. Age estimated: Mid-20s to early 30s.
Notes: Cold, formal, emotionless. Carries himself like a soldier or a well-trained servant—never misses a beat, never shows a flicker of anything raw. Rare eye movement. High likelihood of being the favored or most relied-upon child. Possibly groomed into leadership. Shows no outward signs of rebellion. Dangerous if provoked. Avoid unnecessary confrontation; gain favor only if needed.
Conclusion: Use sparingly. Might listen to Father more than reason.
(next page)
Subject: Jacob
Status: Second eldest. Visual misread: initially mistaken for female.
Notes: Appears fragile. Voice soft. Movements restrained. Hands behind back when standing—classic suppression behavior. Albino traits, feminine fashion sense. Striking contrast to others. No signs of immediate aggression. Protective of the younger one (Miles). Responds well to kindness. Looked surprised when treated gently.
Personal Note: There is something cracked but not shattered here.
He... might be useful. Or he might break.
(He reminds me of home. That might be a problem.)
Conclusion: Highest potential for alliance. Handle gently. Monitor for emotional collapse or loyalty shifts.
(next page)
Subject: Maximus
Status: Third born.
Notes: Nervous energy. Compensates with humor. Smiled like he didn't know what expression was expected. Classic middle-child imbalance. Wants to be liked but afraid to try. No threat in current state. Possible deflection expert—watch for misdirection during interrogation or casual talk. Probably easy to manipulate through praise.
Conclusion: Low threat. Easily turned if offered belonging.
(next page)
Subject: Damien
Status: Fourth.
Notes: Gothic aesthetic. Quiet. Speaks rarely. Dark circles. Keeps distance. Watches everyone. Feels predatory, but not active. Doesn't seem to care unless personally involved. Detached. Could be depressed or masking something deeper.
Conclusion: Unknown loyalty. Avoid provoking. Possibly dangerous if engaged on emotional level.
(next page)
Subject: Jeremias
Status: Fifth.
Notes: Brash. Short temper. Arms crossed—defensive stance. Voice was loudest, most forceful. Felt like a punch in verbal form. Will likely be the first to act in physical conflict. Susceptible to emotional triggers. Could be manipulated through pride or competition.
Conclusion: High risk, high reward. Potential weapon if aimed correctly.
(next page)
Subject: Zoelle
Status: Sixth.
Notes: Obedient, but calculating. Watched Father before speaking. Manipulative streak likely. Tongue dipped in sugar. Most like me. Mirror effect uncomfortable. Possible rival in subtlety and social manipulation. May try to eliminate me politically if threatened.
Conclusion: Potential future problem. Avoid direct opposition. Monitor closely. Never speak freely around him.
(next page)
Subject: Miles
Status: Youngest.
Notes: Quiet. Emotionally attached to Jacob—uses him like an anchor. Fidgety. Barely spoke. Easily overwhelmed. Extremely perceptive in his silence. Too soft for this environment. Not a threat, but not to be underestimated.
Conclusion: Jacob's weak point. Protect him if I want Jacob to stay compliant.
(next page)
Subject: Nathaniel (Father)
Status: Guardian figure. Presumed biological father.
Notes: Cold. Commanding. No patience. Immediate authority. Controls the room through silence. Uses his sons as pieces. Doesn't love, only expects. Eyes sharp enough to slice. Will not be easy to fool long-term. Speaks in absolutes. Prioritizes image, obedience, legacy.
Conclusion: Avoid eye contact when lying. Stay unreadable. Don't reveal true self until absolutely necessary.
And then once again, She flipped the page. Her handwriting became sharper, smaller, neater. Like someone writing a spell.
"Operation: Get Back Home."
Phase 1: Observe. Obey. Disarm.
She underlined Obey twice. Then circled Disarm.
Astraeus leaned back on the bed, letting her body relax, letting her face slip back into the frightened, doll-like expression they expected. Her hands began trembling again—on purpose this time.
Her mind, though? Crystal. Sharp.
She would smile. She would play nice.
She would give them what they wanted—until she could take what she needed.
The next time they saw her, she would be the little sister. The obedient one. The grateful child who looked like her mother and asked no questions.
Because the best place to hide a dagger...
was in the hands of a girl too soft to be dangerous.
And no one—not her new 'family,'
not even the ones reading this—
had noticed until it was far, far too late.
(I, OW1, am far too egoistic so I'm just gonna pretend you were all shocked by the reveal of Astraeus's learned manipulative behaviour, she learned from Gabriel:3)
(I,OW4, personally adore Jacob.. it'll be a perfect puppet to dump trauma on.)
(I, OW2, am angry the other 2 added their own notes but am more angry at myself for fixing their introduction. I don't plan to remove their notes though, I think it's endearing how they both made a point of what they wanted to say. And OW4. I know you'll be reading this in incognito mode after it's published and I just wanted to inform you that Jacob and all the other characters aren't meant to be called puppets, they are living beings. I would appreciate it if you treated them as such. And yes, I'm quite sensitive to my characters being called puppets because I attach more to fictional characters than I do to real people.)
(Started: 01/07/2025 - Finished: 09/07/0000 - Published: 14/07/2025)
(Written By OW1, OW4 - reviewed by OW2 - Proofread by OW3)