Chapter 228 False Control

Chapter 228 False Control
Ivy's POV:

I didn’t know how long it had been.

Time stopped behaving the way it was supposed to somewhere between the first blow and the moment I came back into myself.

My body kept score even when my mind drifted. Pain had layers. Dull where it had settled. Sharp where it was still fresh. My jaw ached. My ribs burned when I breathed too deep. My wrists were numb where they were bound again, pulled behind the chair in a way that made my shoulders scream if I shifted too much.

I stayed still.

Staying still kept things from escalating.

The room was different from the last place. Smaller. Less clean. Not improvised, but not polished either. Temporary. The kind of space people used when they didn’t plan on staying long. The floor vibrated faintly now and then, like something heavy was moving nearby. Engines. Equipment. Logistics.

That told me more than anything else.

Elio didn’t rush.

He came in without announcing himself. The door opened. Closed. Footsteps measured. Unhurried. I didn’t look up right away. I waited for him to speak.

He didn’t. That was deliberate.

I lifted my head slowly, careful not to let the movement look like weakness. My vision blurred for a second, then steadied. He stood a few feet away, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, hands clean. There was a thin red mark along his knuckles. Not from hitting me.

From reminding someone else who was in charge.

His expression wasn’t angry. It was focused. Tight around the eyes. Controlled in a way that meant whatever Matteo had done earlier hadn’t derailed him.

It had irritated him.

“You’re awake,” he said finally.

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he replied calmly. “But you always were stubborn about that.”

I didn’t answer.

He stepped closer, just enough that I had to tilt my head back to keep eye contact. He studied my face the way a craftsman studies damage, evaluating what could still be used.

“You look worse than I intended,” he said. “That’s on them. I told them to keep it believable, not excessive.”

My mouth tasted like blood. I swallowed it down.

“Believable for who,” I asked.

His mouth curved faintly. Not a smile. An acknowledgment.

“For Matteo.”

There it was.

He pulled a chair and sat across from me, close enough that his knee nearly touched mine. He didn’t flinch at the sight of my injuries. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t pretend concern.

Those things were beneath him.

“You almost had him,” he said. “You and your little system. Clever. I’ll give you that.”

I didn’t react. Reaction was a gift.

“But clever isn’t the same as decisive,” Elio continued. “You’ve always confused the two.”

“You’re angry,” I said.

“No,” he replied immediately. “I’m correcting course.”

That was worse.

He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs. His voice dropped, not softer, just narrower.

“Matteo didn’t save himself,” Elio said. “That’s the lie everyone tells. He didn’t escape because he was stronger. He escaped because circumstances allowed it.”

My chest tightened.

“He was spared,” Elio continued. “By chaos. By luck. By a fire no one planned. And then the world pretended it meant something.”

I met his gaze.

“I’m going to correct that narrative,” Elio went on. “Men like Matteo don’t get to build empires on accidents. They don’t get to turn survival into virtue.”

“You can't rewrite history like that, no matter how hard you try. Father was a monster in human skin and he shaped you in his ways. That is a fact that'll never change. Because you chose this life. You chose to hurt me then and you're choosing it now.” I said.

“Tsk, Irene. Irene, Irene, you need to understand one thing,” he drawled like what I said was insignificant. “You got punished because you didn't learn obedience when that was your only choice. Not then, and not now.”

Something then shifted in the air. I noticed the smell then. Faint, but wrong. Chemical. Sharp. Not blood. Not oil.

Fuel.

It lingered under the stale air like a second layer I hadn’t registered until now. My pulse jumped once. I forced it steady.

“You didn’t bring me here to bargain, or negotiate.” I said.

“No.”

“You brought me here to punish me and him for what you think, in that twisted head of yours, is right,” I said.

Elio’s eyes brightened just a fraction. Approval.

“You always were the fastest to catch on,” he said. “That’s why losing you was… inefficient.”

I laughed, short and humorless. It hurt my ribs.

“You didn’t lose me,” I said. “I left, by choice.”

“Yes,” he replied. “And that’s what made it unforgivable.”

He stood and walked past me, slow, circling like he wanted to see how I tracked him without moving my head too much. He stopped behind me. I felt his presence before his hand touched my shoulder.

It wasn’t rough. That was the point.

“You don’t understand what that did,” he continued. “To Father. To the men who stayed. To me.”

I closed my eyes for a second.

“When you left,” he said, “you broke the rule that kept everything in place.”

“And what rule was that,” I asked.

“That no one gets to choose who they become,” he replied. “We’re moulded. Trained. Used. That’s order.”

I opened my eyes again. His hand dropped.

“You want to burn it all down again,” I said.

He smiled then. Small. Precise.

“I want to finish it properly.”

My breath caught despite myself.

“You don’t care if I die,” I said.

He considered that.

“I care whether your death means something,” he replied. “If it doesn’t, then it’s wasteful.”

The smell of fuel was stronger now. I shifted slightly in the chair. The restraints bit into my wrists. I ignored it.

“I'm going to make him watch,” he said. "I'm going to lock you somewhere and let him arrive too late.”

“Either way works,” Elio said calmly. “That’s the beauty of it.”

My stomach turned cold.

“If I burn,” I said, “you lose leverage.”

“No,” he corrected. “I gain the satisfaction of watching Matteo regret it for the rest of his pathetic life, if he survives.”

I stared at him, all colour from my face draining. Not for myself but for him.

Outside the room, something heavy rolled past. Fuel trucks.

He wasn’t improvising. He was building a set piece.

I forced my breathing slow.

“You think this will break him,” I said.

“I know it will,” Elio replied with too much surety.

He stepped back toward the door.

“Rest,” he said. “You’ll want your strength. Fire takes more than people expect.”

The door closed behind him with a soft, final click.

I sat there in the dim light, wrists bound, body aching, mind painfully clear.

The smell of fuel seeped deeper into the room.

It was about turning a boy who survived a fire into a man who failed to stop one.

And as the floor vibrated again beneath my feet, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:

Elio wasn’t planning to let me walk out.

And if Matteo came, he was meant to arrive just in time to watch me burn.