The Music Remembers me.

The Music Remembers me.
Alice’s Pov.

Night had draped its heavy veil over the mansion, the sky beyond my window a starless void that mirrored the emptiness in my chest. I retreated to my room, curling up on the bed, my legs tucked tightly against my chest as if I could shield myself from the chaos of my life. 

The door stood ajar, a small surprise—Tiberio hadn’t locked it this time. 

Was it a test? A taunt? Freedom dangled just out of reach, mocking me, because where could I go? 

I sat on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to my chest, arms wrapped around them like I could hold myself together. My thoughts twisted inside me—reliving memories I wanted to forget.

Before everything changed, I had a life—one I actually lived. A voice. A dream. And now? Now I was property… an afterthought locked in a mafia lord’s lair full of secrets and shadows. My future as uncertain as the next breath. 

A single tear rolled down my cheek. I didn’t sob. I just sat in silence.

Please, I whispered to no one, to the universe, let there be hope somewhere. But hope was a cruel illusion, and deep down, I knew it wouldn’t come.

More tears rolled down my eyes.

A distant rumble broke through my grief, sharp and jarring—a voice raised in anger, followed by the crash of something heavy hitting the floor. 

My head snapped up, my heart lurching as I wiped my tears with trembling hands. The sounds echoed through the mansion, pulling me from the bed before I could think better of it. 

My bare feet padded softly across the cool hardwood, drawn toward the noise like a moth to a flame, curiosity overriding caution. 

What’s happening? I thought, my pulse quickening. Who’s angry enough to shatter Tiberio’s perfect world?

The closer I got, the clearer the voice became.

It was Silas. 

His words were a torrent of Italian, too rapid and furious for me to catch, but the rage in his tone sent a chill down my spine. I crept down the dimly lit corridor, the walls lined with gilded frames and heavy drapes, until I reached a corner near an open door. 

My breath hitched as I pressed myself against the wall, straining to listen.

“Signore, non è mai successo prima,” a woman’s voice said, shaky with fear. It was the nurse from earlier. 

(Sir, it's never happened before)

“Non può essere controllato.” (Sir, this hasn’t happened before. He can’t even be controlled.) Her words were laced with panic, and my brows furrowed, my heart pounding harder. 

Who was she talking to?

A muffled voice crackled through, likely from a phone, and her reply came, her voice trembling. 

“Sì, i farmaci sono stati somministrati, ma non funziona ancora.”( Yes, his medicines have been issued, but still nothing.)

I edged closer, my curiosity a dangerous pull, and peered through the crack in the door. The sight stole my breath. 

Silas was a monster unleashed, his gray eyes wild with a madness that made my skin crawl. His composed features were twisted, his dark hair disheveled as he swept a lamp off a desk, the glass shattering across the floor. 

Papers and books littered the room, a chaotic reflection of his unraveling state. 

The nurse stood in the corner, her face pale, her hands clutching her phone like a lifeline. She looked terrified, her eyes darting between Silas and the floor, as if she feared his next move.

What’s wrong with him? I thought, my mind racing. Was this the “condition” Tiberio had mentioned? A sickness? A breakdown? The Silas I’d met earlier, with his velvet voice and calculating smirk, was gone, replaced by this raging beast. 

My stomach twisted, a mix of fear and pity. Whatever was happening, it was dangerous—and I was already in too deep. Not wanting to risk being caught, to make my situation worse than it already was, I backed away.

My feet moved on their own, carrying me through the mansion’s endless halls, past locked doors that hid god-knows-what secrets. 

I didn’t know where I was going, only that I needed to breathe a brand new air.

My wandering led me to an open door, and I stepped inside, my breath catching at the sight.

It was a music room, vast and elegant, like a living room designed for dreams. 

Polished hardwood floors gleamed under soft recessed lighting, and instruments lined the walls—a violin on a stand, guitars lined up like soldiers, and a flute glinting in a glass case. But it was the grand piano that stole my heart, positioned in front of a floor-to-ceiling window that framed the dark horizon, the distant vineyards barely visible under the moonlight. 

Its ebony surface shone, the keys beckoning like an old friend.

A small smile tugged at my lips, bittersweet and fleeting, as memories flooded back. 

I was a girl again, sneaking into the Catholic church near my grandma’s cottage after Sunday service, the pews empty, the air heavy with incense. 

I’d sit at the old organ, my fingers dancing over the keys, singing until my voice became hoarse and echoed off the building. Grandma would find me hours later, her warm smile lighting up the room, a plate of freshly baked apple pie or oatmeal cookies in her hands.

“My little songbird,” she’d say, her voice soft as a lullaby. 

Those days were gone, stolen by Rick’s betrayal, by this nightmare, and tears welled in my eyes, spilling over as I stood there, lost in the past.

I started to turn away, the pain too raw, but the piano’s pull was magnetic, a siren song I couldn’t resist. Just a moment, I told myself, my legs carrying me to the soft leather bench. 

I sat, my fingertips grazing the keys, coaxing a soft, uneven do re mi from the instrument. 

The notes were clumsy, but they stirred something in me, a spark of the girl I used to be. 

I’m still here, I thought, my heart aching. They haven’t taken that from me.

I closed my eyes, letting the music room fade, and a song—raw, unformed, never heard or written—crashed into my soul. It wasn’t a melody I knew, but it felt like mine, born from the pain of these past two years, from the cage I was trapped in. 

My fingers found the keys, tentative at first, then bolder, weaving a haunting tune that echoed my grief, my defiance, my longing for freedom. 

I opened my mouth, and my voice spilled out, soft at first, then soaring, each note a rebellion against Tiberio’s control, against Silas’s madness, against the life that had broken me.

“I’ll rise, I’ll fly, though chains hold me down…” The words came unbidden, raw and unpolished, but they were mine, a vow to the universe. I won’t break, I thought, my voice trembling. 

The piano sang with me, the notes filling the room, and for a moment, I was free—free in the music, free in the memory of who I used to be. But deep down, I knew this was a fleeting escape, and the shadows of this mansion were waiting to pull me back.