Before the blame

Before the blame

Caterina’s POV

Dante stared at me for a long time, his eyes cold.I could never tell what he was thinking when he looked at me that way.
Then, with a quiet sigh, he agreed — though his tone carried something closer to regret than permission.

I gave him a faint smile. It was all I could manage. “Thank you,” I said softly.

He nodded once. “On one condition,” he murmured. “You will rest until you are fully recovered. And you will take your medication.”

“Of course,” I replied.

It wasn’t much of a victory, but it was enough.

The week moved slowly after that.
Each morning began with the same routine — pills, water, and reading of novels. The silence was unbearable. It filled every corner of my room, pressing down on me until I had to find something, anything, to focus on.

That something became Leonardo.

I had hired a private investigator three days ago, a quiet man named Louis who promised results. He was efficient, if not overly talkative. I spent each day waiting for his call, checking my phone more often than I cared to admit.

By Friday evening, the waiting ended.

I was lying on my bed, reading aimlessly, when the phone buzzed beside me. The vibration startled me enough that I dropped the book.
I glanced at the screen — Louis.

I sat up, brushed my hair from my face, and answered.

“Miss Caterina,” his voice rasped through the speaker, calm and unhurried. “I found him.”

My heart skipped. “Where?”

“He’s been hanging around an old place called The Brass Key,” Louis said. “A club downtown. Old-fashioned, cheap. He tries to get inside, but they turn him away most nights. When that fails, he goes to a nearby bar. He drinks, gets into fights. Nothing unusual for his kind.”

I pressed the phone closer to my ear. “He’s there tonight?”

“It’s Friday,” Louis replied. “He will be.”

Typical. The poor always seemed drawn to the wrong places. Always clinging to corners that smelled of smoke and wasted time. Places where no one important would ever go.
Still, I needed to see him.

“Thank you, Louis,” I said quietly. “Your payment will be sent soon. If this information is correct, you’ll find an extra deposit by tomorrow.”

There was a pause on the other end.
When he finally spoke again, his tone had changed. “Miss Caterina, forgive me, but how do you plan on getting there? That is not the kind of place for someone like you. People know who your family is.”

I smiled faintly. “I know,” I said. “That is why I’m going.”

“May I at least arrange someone to escort you?”

“No,” I said simply. “I can handle myself.”

Before he could argue, I ended the call.

The room went quiet again, except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. I hated the idea of stepping foot in a place like that, but something in me refused to let it go. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was both.

Either way, I had made up my mind.

When the clock struck seven, I stood before the mirror, adjusting the strap of my black dress. It clung to my body perfectly, sleek and simple. My hair fell in soft waves over my shoulders. For a moment, I almost felt like myself again — whoever that was.

I was halfway to the stairs when I nearly ran into Dante.

He stood at the foot of the staircase, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” I said carefully.

“Out where?”

Before I could answer, my mother’s voice drifted from the sitting room. “Let her go, Dante. She’s been locked inside this house for days. She needs air.”

Dante turned his gaze toward her. “It is night,” he said calmly. “There is no air out there worth breathing.”

I bit back a sigh.

He looked at me again. “Be back before midnight,” he said. “If you are not, that will be the last time you step out of this house.”

He didn’t wait for my reply. He just walked away.

Lucia smiled after him, then turned to me, her expression soft. “Don’t mind him, darling. He only worries because he cares.” She reached out to fix a strand of hair that didn’t need fixing. “You look beautiful, by the way. Try not to waste that on the wrong company.”

“I won’t,” I said, forcing a smile.

Outside, the night air was thick and cold. I called for an Uber, climbed in, and gave the driver the address Louis had sent me.

As we drove, the streets grew narrower, darker. Streetlights flickered weakly, and the air began to carry the stench of garbage and smoke.
When the car slowed to a stop, I could already hear loud voices from somewhere ahead — laughter, shouting, the clatter of glass against wood.

I almost told the driver to turn around. Almost.

Instead, I paid him and stepped out.

The road was uneven, littered with bottles and damp paper. A few men sat by the wall outside The Brass Key, their faces rough, clothes stained. One of them looked up at me and grinned, showing teeth yellowed from smoke.

I tightened my grip on my purse and walked past them.

The door creaked as I pushed it open.

The smell hit me first — cheap alcohol, sweat, and something metallic underneath. The air felt heavy, sticky, as though it clung to the skin.
Inside, the lights were dim, tinted red and gold, and the floor was stained from years of spilled drinks. People crowded the small space, talking too loudly, laughing too hard.

I hated it instantly.

The music was low and sluggish, the kind that tried to sound sophisticated but only made the place feel older. I could almost hear the echoes of my mother’s voice in my head, telling me that nothing good ever came from sitting too close to people who didn’t know their worth.

She would have been right about this place.

Still, I walked to the counter.

The bartender, a middle-aged man with tired eyes, looked up at me with mild surprise. “What’ll it be?”

“Whiskey,” I said.

He reached for a bottle, poured it into a glass, and slid it across the counter. I didn’t need to taste it to know it was cheap.

I took a sip anyway. It burned all the way down.

I lifted the glass again and took a slow sip, pretending to enjoy it. The burn settled deep in my chest, sharper than I remembered. Maybe I was just out of practice.

My gaze drifted toward the door. If Louis was right, Leonardo would be there — standing outside, maybe arguing with the bouncer again, maybe trying to slip in unnoticed. The thought almost made me laugh. He never did know when to stop.

I sighed and traced the rim of my glass. “You better be worth all this trouble,” I whispered under my breath.

Then the smell hit me.

It came suddenly, heavy and sour, like something that had been rotting for weeks. My nose wrinkled before I could stop myself. Someone had sat down beside me. Too close.

I glanced sideways.

The man looked as though the world had chewed him up and spat him out. His beard was long, uneven, streaked with gray and ash. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, revealing skin that hadn’t seen soap in days. A stale scent of alcohol clung to him. His eyes were small, darting, the kind that had seen too much and learned nothing from it.

He smiled at me, showing crooked teeth. “Evenin’, beautiful,” he slurred. “You here alone?”

I froze, my fingers tightening around the glass.

He leaned closer, his voice thick with smoke and something else I couldn’t name. “We could dance, you and me. Bet you move like an angel.”

The words made my stomach turn. I didn’t even look at him. I stared straight ahead, expression blank, hoping silence would be enough.

It wasn’t.

He chuckled softly and leaned in further, the smell almost unbearable now. His hand brushed against my wrist, fingers grazing the silver bracelet I wore.

“This is real,” he murmured. “You don’t look like someone from around here.”

My heart began to beat faster. The way he touched me — so casual made my skin crawl.

“Don’t,” I said sharply, pulling my hand away. “Touch me again and I’ll call the police.”

He laughed, the sound low and ugly. “Feisty,” he said, almost in a whisper. “I like that.”

I was about to move away when something cold splashed across my back.

I gasped and turned sharply.

A woman stood behind me, eyes wide, a half-empty glass in her hand. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “It slipped—”

My dress clung to my skin, sticky and smelling like cheap rum.

I stared at her for a moment, every nerve burning with frustration. “It’s fine,” I muttered, though it wasn’t.

She hurried off before I could say another word.

I turned back to the counter and exhaled slowly. I could feel the old man’s eyes on me, still watching. I ignored him and waved at the bartender. “Fill it again.”

He hesitated, then poured.

I drank fast this time. One shot. Then another. The taste didn’t matter anymore.

The noise around me began to fade, voices blending into a dull hum. My vision blurred at the edges. The room seemed to tilt slightly, then right itself again.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

Something wasn’t right.

I hadn’t had enough to feel like this. Not even close.

I tried to set the glass down, but my hand trembled. The lights above me stretched into long streaks of color. The bartender’s voice sounded far away, muffled, as if he were speaking through water.

My fingers slipped from the counter.

The last thing I saw was the glint of my bracelet under the light — and the outline of someone moving toward me.

Then everything went black.