Celeste;
Black nothingness envelops me in its merciless grip. Taking me back to that night. That bad, bad, awful night.
Breaths pour out of me heavy as I watch it all replay like I've traveled ten years into the past. Like I'm nine again in a fancy dress, ready to eat Mommy's delicious Italian meal.
Heat cascades through my insides as I recall Daddy's phone echoing that shrill tone I used to wiggle to when it rang. The nothingness surrounding me swirls and thrums like it has a pulse.
I remember the weary lines that bracketed his mouth when he picked up the call and the other person's voice came through.
I remember him exchanging tense glances with Mommy from the kitchen, and how her expression sank when she asked him, "Everything all right, hun?"
Daddy had only gulped; I think it was a distress signal she recognized, now that I think about it.
Mommy had wiped her hands on her floral print apron, hurrying in her favorite worn-out slippers she loved so much.
The smell of creamy risotto, garlic butter chicken, and freshly baked focaccia wafted in the air—rich, warm, and comforting. If only I knew that from then on, the scent of my favorite meal would become a trigger to the hidden parts of my soul.
I remember Mommy settling next to Daddy on our couch, his blue, blue eyes that I'd gotten from him turning hollow as he lowered his phone. And then he broke the crackling silence with a dreadful whisper, "We need to leave."
"What? Why?" Mommy struggled to maintain calmness.
He shifted his eyes to me. And then back to Mommy. "They know. They've found out."
"Who?" Mommy had asked, unease crawling into her voice. She hadn't waited for Daddy's response. "Those…p-people you w-work for?"
Daddy's single nod was all that sent Mommy panting.
"Where are we leaving to, Daddy?" I had clung to his arm, seated on his lap as I asked him. Hoping it was somewhere fun.
Daddy had coasted a hollow gaze to Mommy before pushing a smile onto his lips when he looked at me. "Daddy doesn't know yet, but we'll figure it out."
He then murmured anxiously to Mommy. "We have no time."
And Mommy dashed to our room. Daddy followed hurriedly with me in his arms.
By the time we reached it, Mommy was already tossing our clothes haphazardly. Daddy dropped me on the bed and I crawled forward to help Mom.
The drawer groaned as Daddy pulled it open. A black pistol lay inside. He hesitated before reaching out and grabbing it.
"All done?" He rasped breathlessly to Mommy.
"Yes," she panted her response too.
Just when she reached out to carry me, a bang echoed on our door. And the look on Mommy and Daddy's faces was like air had been knocked out of their lungs.
Mommy swallowed. "Preston, what are we going to do?" Tears trickled to her chin.
Daddy said nothing, his shoulders rising and falling.
The knock tore through once more. Louder than the last. Mommy jerked at the impact.
Daddy rushed towards me just as the thumping of countless footsteps marched and surrounded our house. I heard popping and clicking.
"My men are already surrounding the area, Preston. You can spare yourselves the hassle and just come out." A loud voice had shouted from outside.
Mommy was downright shivering.
"Listen to me, love," Daddy whispered to me amidst panting breaths. "We're going to play hide and seek, okay, baby?"
I had nodded, though I knew something was wrong. I could sense it. I was nine, not three.
"You're going to get into the wardrobe, okay, and Mommy and I will go hide somewhere else. So those bad, bad men will not find us all." He had told me, knowing I liked to repeat my adjectives.
I had given him another nod, and he smiled through the sweat dripping down his hair.
Daddy lifted me and placed me in the now empty wardrobe, his palms braced on either side of the doors as he looked at me.
I had never seen my Daddy cry, and seeing it then broke something in my childish little heart.
Mommy was weeping sullenly.
"No matter what you hear, do not come out, do you hear me?!" his voice had turned grave.
I nodded again.
"Swear it." Daddy demanded.
I had cast a glance at Mommy. "But Mommy said it's bad to swear."
"Swear it, Poppy." his voice had hardened like steel.
"I swear, Daddy."
"Good." His eyes relaxed a bit, and he patted my head.
Then the door of the wardrobe slowly began to close. If only I knew it was closing a chapter of my life.
"We love you," Mommy mumbled, her face soaked with tears and snot.
And just when the doors clicked together, a loud gunshot split the air, and our doors came crashing down. Splinters of wood flying up and the smell of malice and evil intention reeking sour.
When Mommy's body thumped to the floor with a hole in her chest—I died.
...
Location; Rossi's Estate
Underground base, Right Wing.
11:48 AM.
A horrid gasp claws out of my throat as I yank myself from that nightmare. A nightmare I've lived.
Darkness and nothingness bathe me, just like in my dream. But in reality, it's so suffocating that I feel its translucent caress on my skin.
My eyes adjust to the dark, and then I spot an influx of light pouring in from a duct window on the upper left side of the back wall—which I have to twist my neck at an inhumane angle to see.
Dust particles float in the rays as they reflect solely on one part of the space. Cardboard boxes loiter around, some stacked and heaped to dangerous heights.
My chest tightens when realization dawns on me. My muscles are stiff, and my limbs throbbing.
I wriggle, but my movement is restricted. Only when I throw my head down do I feel the line of pain stinging me.
I'm tied.
A thick rope wraps around me on a chair, so tight my breathing is restricted.
Great.
I've somehow managed to find myself in the feud between the Rossis and the Giordanos. One I'm sure has been brewing for ages.
Groaning metal makes my senses pulse like static. I look up at the open door, a stream of light crawling in and male voices echoing muffledly in the background—a blend of Italian and Spanish.
The door shuts, taking all the sounds and light with it.
Footsteps fall against concrete. I bristle as stale air kisses my skin.
"You're awake," a voice says.
It's dark, and I really can't make out the face.
"Was I not supposed to?" I can't help the snarky retort from tumbling out.
A pause.
"I told him he should have gagged you." And then footsteps resume.
Whoever that 'he' is, I'm grateful he didn't listen.
Yet still, I remark, "You need more than just ropes to hold me down? How flattering."
An airy laugh filters through the dense air. It dies out fast.
"Why am I here?" I ask after the quiet grows too unsettling.
"It's not my place to tell you that." He walks further into the enclosure, and my nerves tighten beneath my skin.
Another set of footsteps follows. Heavier. Slower. Commanding.
The air shifts.
Even without seeing him, I feel it—that suffocating weight of authority pressing down on my chest.
"Lasciaci."
The first man mutters something under his breath in Italian, low and respectful. There's a brief exchange—quick, sharp words I can't fully catch—and then retreating footsteps.
The door opens. Closes. Silence.
My spine straightens despite the ropes biting into my skin.
"Celeste," his voice rolls out smooth. Controlled. Dangerous.
Fernandez. It's him.
Of course.
"What do you want?" I ask, my voice steady despite the way my pulse kicks against my ribs.
A slow exhale. "Curiosity," he says.
I let out a soft scoff. "That's a funny way to describe kidnapping."
I feel his gaze on me. Heavy and assessing.
"Why did you choose the Giordanos?" he asks. Straight to it.
Of course he would.
I tilt my head slightly, even though I can't fully see him. "Protection."
The word comes out clean and sharp. Unapologetic.
The silence stretches.
Then I feel it—his eyes narrowing. "Protection," he repeats slowly. Like he's tasting the lie.
My lips twitch. "What? Surprised I don't have a death wish?" A step closer.
The air thickens.
"I don't believe in coincidences," he says, voice dropping lower. "And you…you don't strike me as someone who makes careless decisions."
My pulse skips. Does he know...?
But I smile anyway. "Maybe you're overthinking it."
Another step. Closer now. Too close.
"And maybe," he murmurs, "you're lying."
My jaw tightens, but I don't break.
"Or maybe," I shoot back, voice edged with bite, "I just picked the strongest side in the room."
Heavy, pressing silence.
"What if I offer you my protection instead?"
The words land softly. But they hit like a bullet.
My breath stills.
And for the first time since I woke up—
I hesitate. Just for a second.
But I know he sees it.
I feel it in the way the air shifts again.
In the way he leans in just a fraction closer.
Waiting.
Watching.
Like he already knows there's more beneath my skin than I'm letting him see.
And that…
That is far more dangerous than the ropes cutting into my wrists.