Chapter 2 The Summons
I heard the gunshot from my room at exactly six in the morning.
One clean shot, then silence, footsteps above me walking away like nothing had happened.
I sat up in my narrow bed and listened to the villa wake up around me, to the sounds of violence being swept under expensive rugs.
Welcome to Villa Caravelli, I guess.
My alarm went off at 3:45, but I was already awake and dressed in the plain black pants and white shirt they'd left for me.
I checked my hiding spots one more time, phone under the mattress, knife in my boot, everything secure.
The hallways were dim when I opened my door, and other servants moved like ghosts through the darkness; no one spoke to me or even looked at me, really.
I followed them downstairs and through corridors until we reached the kitchens.
The kitchens were huge, like something from a restaurant, already full of people working in perfect silence.
An older woman stood in the centre like a general commanding troops, and her eyes found me immediately.
"You're the Rosetti girl."
It wasn't a question, so I didn't treat it like one. "I'm Lilith."
"Here, you're whatever I tell you to be. I'm Rosa, the head cook, and what I say goes, understand?"
"Yes."
"Good." She pointed to a bucket and a scrub brush under the sink. "Start with the floors."
I got on my knees and started scrubbing even though the floor already looked clean.
Around me, the kitchen came alive with the smell of bread baking and coffee brewing and breakfast being prepared for however many people lived in this fortress.
The other servants whispered when they thought I couldn't hear.
"That's her."
"The Rosetti girl."
"I heard her father sold her like property."
"I heard she's a spy."
"Don't be stupid, look at her scrubbing floors on her knees, does that look like a spy to you?"
I kept my head down and listened to everything because people always told the truth around someone they thought was nothing.
An hour passed, and my hands started hurting from the cold water and harsh soap; my knees ached against the hard floor, but I didn't stop or complain because what would be the point?
Rosa came over and looked down at me. "You're fast and you don't complain, that's good."
"Would complaining help?"
"No."
"Then why waste the energy?"
Something changed in her expression for a second. "Smart girl, finish up, take five minutes to eat something, then you're in the main hallway."
I finished scrubbing and stood up, my knees cracking like an old woman's.
One of the younger servants handed me bread and coffee, his smile almost friendly.
"I'm Marco, with an o, not the crime boss Marco."
"Lilith."
"I know, everyone knows." Then he lowered his voice.
"Word of advice? The Don does rounds every morning around ten. If you see him coming, make yourself invisible; he doesn't like seeing the help."
"Noted."
"I'm serious, the last girl who made eye contact with him got fired on the spot, just gone."
I filed that away and ate my bread quickly; the coffee was strong and good, probably the only good thing about this place so far.
Rosa sent me to the main hallway with a mop and bucket, and I started working my way down the long corridor of marble and expensive art.
The villa was starting to wake up properly now, and I could hear voices from upstairs, doors opening and closing, the machinery of the day beginning.
I was halfway down the hall when I heard footsteps behind me, heavy and deliberate, expensive shoes on marble.
I moved to the side like Marco had warned, kept my head down, and kept working.
The footsteps stopped.
"You."
The voice was cold and commanding. I looked up slowly.
Dante Caravelli stood five feet away.
He was taller than I expected, broader, dressed in a black suit that probably cost more than my entire life.
He had dark hair, a sharp jaw, and eyes like winter, grey and cold and empty.
This was the man whose empire I'd come to destroy.
"Stand up," he said.
I stood slowly, keeping my expression neutral even though my heart was pounding.
This wasn't how I'd planned our first meeting, on my knees with a mop in my hands.
He looked me over like I was a piece of furniture he was considering buying; his expression never changed, never showed any emotion at all.
"You're the Rosetti girl."
"Lilith Rosetti, yes."
"I didn't ask your first name." He stepped closer, and I forced myself not to step back.
Your father owed me a considerable debt; now you're here to work it off. How long that takes depends entirely on how useful you make yourself."
"I understand."
"Do you?" His eyes were like ice.
"Because from where I'm standing, you look like a liability, another mouth to feed, another problem to manage."
My hands tightened on the mop handle. "I'm not a problem, I work hard, I stay quiet, I don't cause trouble."
"You better not." He turned to leave, then stopped. "Giovanni tells me you've been asking questions."
My stomach dropped, but I kept my face calm. "I asked where things were, so I could clean them properly."
"Is that all?"
"That's all."
He stared at me for a long moment, and I stared back, refusing to look away even though every instinct screamed at me to drop my eyes and submit.
Finally, he smiled, and it was the coldest smile I'd ever seen. "You have your mother's eyes, I remember her, she came here once to beg for your father's life, she cried and pleaded and promised anything if I'd just give him more time."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Mama had been here, had begged this monster for mercy.
"I refused her, of course," Dante continued. "Your father made his choices, the consequences were his to bear, not mine; your mother didn't understand that; she thought tears and promises meant something in this world."
"My mother was a good woman," I said through clenched teeth.
"Your mother was weak; weakness gets you killed in our world. Remember that." He started walking away.
"Get back to work, and stay out of my sight. I don't like looking at reminders of failed negotiations."
He disappeared around the corner, and I stood there shaking with rage so intense I could barely breathe.
He'd known Mama, had watched her beg, had refused her and then sent her home to die.
And now I was here, in his house, scrubbing his floors.
I went back to mopping, but my hands shook so hard I could barely hold the mop. Every fantasy I'd had about seducing him, about playing the long game, evaporated in the face of that cold cruelty.
This man wasn't going to fall for charm or manipulation; he was ice all the way through.
I'd have to find another way.
The rest of the morning blurred together in anger and planning. I scrubbed and cleaned and carried things, all while my mind spun in circles looking for weaknesses, for cracks, for anything I could exploit.
Around noon, I was carrying fresh linens upstairs when I heard soft crying coming from behind a door covered in crayon drawings.
I stopped, listened, and something pulled at me even though I knew I should keep walking.
I knocked softly before I could stop myself. "Hello?"
The crying stopped, then a small voice said, "Come in?"
I opened the door slowly, and the room was like something from a princess story, all pink and white with toys everywhere and a canopy bed.
But sitting in the middle of all that perfection was a tiny girl with dark curly hair and grey eyes that looked way too sad for someone so small.
She held a stuffed white rabbit and stared at me with those big, sad eyes.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"Lilith, I'm new here. Who are you?"
"Jasmine." She sniffled and wiped her face. "But Papa calls me Jas, are you going to tell on me for crying?"
"Why would I tell on you?"
"Because crying is weak, Papa says weak people don't survive."
The words echoed what Dante had said to me just hours ago, and something twisted in my chest looking at this little girl who'd clearly learned to hide her tears.
"Sometimes crying is the strongest thing you can do," I said quietly.
Her eyes went wide like I'd said something revolutionary. "Really?"
"Really, it means you're feeling things, that you're human."
"Papa doesn't cry, I don't think he feels anything anymore."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just stood there holding my linens while this child stared at me like I was something rare and precious.
"Are you sad?" Jasmine asked suddenly.
The question caught me off guard. "Sometimes."
"Me too, I miss my mama, she died when I was little."
My throat tightened because I knew exactly how that felt. "I'm sorry."
"Do you have a mama?"
"I did, she died too."
Jasmine's whole face changed, lighting up in a way that hurt to see. "Then you understand! Everyone else tells me to stop being sad, but you understand!"
Before I could respond, a stern voice called from the hallway. "Jasmine! Where are you?"
A middle-aged nanny appeared in the doorway, and her eyes narrowed when she saw me.
"What are you doing in here?"
"I heard crying, I was just checking—"
"Get out, now, and don't let me catch you bothering Signorina Jasmine again."
I left quickly, but not before Jasmine called out, "Bye, Lilith!!"
Back in the hallway, my mind was spinning again, but for different reasons now.
Dante Caravelli had a daughter, a lonely, sad little girl who missed her mother and clearly got no comfort from her father.
That was a weakness.
That was something I could use.
I pushed the thought away as soon as it formed because using a grieving child felt wrong, even for revenge.
The rest of the day passed in endless work, scrubbing and cleaning and trying to become invisible like Marco had advised.
I saw Dante twice more from a distance, and both times he looked through me like I didn't exist.
Good, let him think I was nothing.
By the time I stumbled back to my room at eight PM, every muscle screamed, and my hands were raw and bleeding. I collapsed on the bed and pulled out my phone.
Message from Selena: "You alive?"
I typed back: "Barely, this place is hell, met the devil himself today."
"That bad?"
"Worse, but I'm learning the layout, finding weaknesses, it's going to take time."
"Be careful, these people are dangerous."
"So am I," I typed, then deleted it and sent nothing instead.
I hid my phone and stared at the ceiling, thinking about Dante's cold eyes and colder words, about the way he'd dismissed my mother's memory like it meant nothing.
About little Jasmine with her sad eyes and her stuffed rabbit.
This family was broken in ways I hadn't expected, and I didn't know yet how to use that, but I would figure it out.
I had to.
For mama.
Always for mama.