Chapter 218 Ownership

Chapter 218 Ownership
Ivy’s POV:

The first time the phone rang, I didn’t answer. Not because I didn’t know who it was.

Because I did.

The burner sat on the counter beside the sink, screen dark, quiet like it hadn’t already ruined my life once. Matteo had made sure it stayed powered but isolated.

Just a line.

A weakness with a screen.

I stood there with my hands under running water that wasn’t hot enough to feel like anything. The estate kitchen was empty at this hour. Staff were elsewhere. The house had its own schedule, and I had learned it fast. Quiet pockets. Blind rhythms. The same way I learned my father’s house.

The phone rang again.

No caller ID. Of course.

I shut the tap off. Dried my hands slowly on a towel I didn’t need. If I rushed, my body would tell on me. Matteo would read it in my posture before I opened my mouth.

I picked up the phone on the third ring and answered without speaking.

For a second there was only breathing.

Then a soft laugh, like he found the silence amusing.

“Irene,” Elio said.

My stomach dropped anyway. It always did, no matter how prepared I thought I was.

“I’m not doing this,” I said.

“You are,” he replied, calm, almost bored. “You already picked up.”

I held the phone tighter. My fingers were shaking though I forced them not to.

“Where are you?” I asked.

He made a sound that could’ve been sympathy if he’d been anyone else.

“You always ask questions like you’re still in control,” he said. “It’s cute.”

I swallowed. “Why are you calling me.”

“To talk,” he said.

“That’s a lie.”

“It’s not,” he replied, still smooth. “It’s just not the kind of talk you want.”

I stared at the dark window above the sink. My reflection stared back. Pale face. Flat eyes. A girl pretending she wasn’t thirteen again.

“I’m hanging up,” I said.

“You can,” he answered. “But you won’t.”

I hated that he was right.

“What do you want,” I repeated, more force this time.

He exhaled slowly into the receiver like he was savoring my tone.

“I wanted to hear your voice,” he said. “You forget how long you’ve been mine.”

My throat tightened bringing up memories I didn't want to surface ever again. “I was never yours.”

He laughed again, sharper this time. Not loud. Controlled. Like he was keeping it polite.

“You really told yourself that story,” he said. “After everything. After who fed you. After who kept you covered. After who took the heat when you ran.”

My hand went cold.

“You didn’t take heat,” I said.

“I did,” he replied immediately, cheerful like we were swapping memories over coffee. “He broke half the house looking for you. You think he didn’t notice food disappearing? You think he didn’t notice locks being touched? You think he didn’t notice you walking the corridors like you owned them?”

My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

“You’re rewriting history,” I said.

“No,” Elio said softly. “I’m correcting your fantasy.”

I took a slow breath through my nose.

“You’re not getting me back,” I said.

He didn’t react like a man being denied.

He reacted like a man hearing something irrelevant.

“I don’t need to ‘get’ you,” he said. “You’re not a stolen purse. You’re a debt.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

The kitchen door behind me didn’t open. No footsteps. No voices. Just the hum of the house and the pressure of Elio’s voice in my ear.

“Debt for what,” I asked, even though I already knew.

He paused, like he enjoyed that I asked.

“For leaving,” he said. “For making me look stupid. For making him look weak. For thinking you get to walk away from blood and call it freedom.”

My spine stiffened.

“I was a kid,” I said.

“So was I,” he replied, and there was something in his tone then, something bright, almost pleased. “Look what I turned into anyway.”

I held the phone away from my ear for half a second, like distance would change the words.

When I put it back, he was still there. Patient. Certain.

“You didn’t call to threaten me,” I said carefully. “So stop circling it and say what you came to say.”

He clicked his tongue.

“Listen to you,” he said, mock admiration. “Moretti training suits you.”

I went still.

“What did you just say.”

He didn’t answer the question. He never did if it didn’t serve him.

“I came to remind you,” he said, voice softer now, almost intimate, “that you’re not a person who gets to choose your ending. You’re a person who gets assigned one.”

“I’m hanging up,” I said again.

“No,” he said, and the word was gentle. That gentleness was the unhinged part. Elio didn’t need volume. He never did.

“I’m calling because I want you to do it the easy way,” he continued. “The adult way. Walk out. Meet me. We talk. You come home.”

I let out a breath that tasted bitter.

“That was no home,” I said. “You both made sure it never felt like it.”

Elio went quiet for one beat.

Then he laughed like I’d told a joke.

“Still blaming him,” he said. “You really do like saving the wrong people.”

Something in my chest tightened, sharp and immediate.

“You’re sick,” I said.

“Maybe,” he replied lightly. “But I’m consistent. That’s what matters.”

I wanted to throw the phone into the sink. I wanted to crush it. I wanted to do anything that wasn’t standing here listening to him speak like he still owned a piece of me.

I didn’t move.

Because a small part of me still feared him the way you fear gravity. Not because it screams. Because it doesn’t need to.

“You said you wouldn’t take me that day,” I said.

“I didn’t,” he agreed. “I said not today.”

“And now?” I asked.

He breathed out slowly.

“Now I’m giving you options,” he said. “Because I’m generous.”

My skin crawled.

“You’re not generous,” I said. “You’re setting a trap.”

“Of course,” he answered, like I’d pointed out the sky was blue. “But it doesn’t have to hurt you. Not if you stop being stubborn.”

I heard it then. In the room. A faint sound behind me. A shift in air. Fabric moving.

My pulse jumped once. I didn’t turn. If I turned, Elio would hear it.

But I already knew.

Matteo had entered without noise. He always did when it mattered.

Elio kept speaking, unaware or pretending he was unaware.

“You owe me,” he said, voice warm now, coaxing. “You owe me for the years I spent cleaning up after you. You owe me for what you cost. You owe me because you don’t get to survive our father and then build a new life like the rest of us were just scenery.”

I kept my face blank and stared at the window.

I could feel Matteo behind me, close enough to hear my side.

“Say it,” Elio added, suddenly bright, playful. “Say you understand. Say you’re coming.”

“I’m not coming,” I said.

Elio went silent. Then he chuckled.

“Oh,” he said softly. “Okay.”

The way he said it made my stomach twist. Like the decision didn’t matter because he’d already planned past it.

“I’ll see you soon anyway,” he continued. “You know I will.”

“That’s a threat,” I said.

“No,” Elio replied, almost offended. “It’s a promise. And I always keep my promises you know that.”

My hand tightened around the phone.

“You walked into a Moretti building, they won't let it go this time.” I said. “You don’t have power here.”

His voice turned lighter again, cheerful in a way that made my skin crawl.

“I walked out too,” he said. “That’s the only part you should be thinking about.”

My mouth went dry.

“You’re insane,” I said.

He laughed. Not loud. Just pleased.

“Tell Matteo I said hello,” he added.

My blood froze.

“You didn’t hear him?” Elio asked, sweetly, like he was teasing me about a secret. “Oh, Irene. You always think you’re the only one paying attention.”

My hand shook once. I forced it still.

“You’re not speaking to him,” I said.

“I’m speaking to you,” Elio replied. “He’s just… in the room.”

A pause. Then, softer: “Like he always is now.”

My throat closed.

I heard Matteo shift behind me. Just enough. A change in weight. Controlled, but real.

Elio laughed again.

“You can hang up,” he said. “It won’t change the timeline.”

Then he ended the call.

The screen went dark.

For a second I didn’t move. My hand stayed pressed to my ear like the phone was still there.

Then I lowered it slowly and set it on the counter.

Matteo didn’t speak right away.

I turned my head just enough to see him in the reflection. He stood behind me, face unreadable, eyes locked on the burner like it had teeth.

“You owe me,” he repeated quietly.

My chest tightened. I didn’t answer.

He stepped closer, not touching me, but close enough that I could feel heat through the space between us.

“He thinks he owns you,” Matteo said.

“Yes,” I whispered.

Matteo’s jaw clenched.

“And he thinks I’m a tool,” he added.

I swallowed hard.

“Elio thinks everyone is a tool,” I said.

Matteo’s gaze shifted to mine in the reflection.

“How long,” he asked, voice flat, “until he stops calling and starts taking.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. My pulse hammered against my ribs.

“I don’t know,” I said.

Matteo’s eyes didn’t leave mine.

“You do,” he corrected.

My throat burned.

“Soon,” I admitted.

Matteo nodded once, like he’d already decided what “soon” meant.

I stared at the dark phone on the counter.

I could still hear Elio’s voice. That calm certainty. That casual ownership. The way he didn’t need to threaten because he believed the world would bend for him.

I finally turned fully toward Matteo.

“I’m out of time,” I said.

He didn’t argue.

He didn’t comfort me.

He just looked at me like a man assessing a battlefield that had come to his doorstep.

“Yes,” he said. “You are.”

And in the space after that, I understood something with brutal clarity:

The next time Elio made contact, it wouldn’t be a call.

And whatever happened next, I wouldn’t get to control the pacing anymorer.