Chapter 24 Shadows and Spiders

Chapter 24 Shadows and Spiders
The scream had barely left my throat when the door flew open.

It banged against the wall with a violence that shook the room. 

A guard rushed in with his gun drawn and his eyes scanning the corners for a threat.

It was the young one who had been posted outside my door all morning. He looked ready to shoot the first thing that moved.

I sat on the bed with the sheets pulled up to my chin. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a bird trapped in a box.

I shoved the phone deep under the pillows behind my back just before he looked at me.

"What is it?" he shouted. "Where is he?"

He swept the room with the barrel of his rifle. He checked the bathroom and the balcony doors.

I took a breath and forced my voice to stop shaking.

I forced my face to smooth out into a mask of embarrassment instead of terror because I needed him to believe I was harmless.

"There is no he," I said. "It was a spider."

The guard lowered his gun. He looked at me, and then he looked around the empty room.
"A spider?"

"It was huge," I lied, and I made my voice sound small and pathetic. "It crawled across my hand. It went under the bed."

He stared at me for a long moment. I could see the adrenaline fading from his face and being replaced by annoyance. He engaged the safety on his rifle and slung it back over his shoulder.

"You screamed like you were being murdered because of a bug?"

"I hate spiders," I said. "I'm sorry. It startled me."

He sneered. It was an ugly look that twisted his mouth.

"City girl," he muttered. "Scared of a little bug. You are lucky I didn't shoot the furniture."

"I said I was sorry."

"Keep it down," he said. "Unless you are actually dying, do not make me run in here again. The Don does not like false alarms."

He turned and walked out. He didn't check under the bed.

He didn't notice that I was sweating or that my eyes were wide with a fear that had nothing to do with insects.

He pulled the door shut, but he didn't lock it.

I waited until I heard his footsteps settle back into his position in the hall.

Then I pulled the phone out from under the pillow.
I looked at the photo again. Me sleeping. The timestamp. The message.

Sleep tight.

The guard thought I was weak. He thought I was a pampered princess who screamed at spiders.

Good.

Let them think I am weak. Let them think I am scared of the dark and the bugs and the shadows. Because weak people are invisible. Weak people are underestimated.

I got out of bed. My legs were steady now. The panic had burned off and left something cold and hard in its place.

I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. I looked at myself in the mirror.

I looked tired. There were dark circles under my eyes, and my skin was pale. I looked like a victim.
I hated it.

I gripped the edge of the sink until my knuckles turned white.

"No," I whispered to my reflection.

I was not a victim. I was a Rosetti. I was the daughter of a king, and I had survived the fall of my own empire. I would not let a ghost with a camera break me.

I needed to prepare.

I didn't know what was going to happen when the time ran out, but I knew I couldn't just sit here and wait for it.

I walked back into the bedroom. It was too open. There were too many windows, and the furniture was too nice. I felt exposed.

I needed a place where I could move. A place where I could sweat and bleed and remind my body that it was a weapon.

I couldn't leave the floor without an escort, but Dante said I could move around the house within reason.

I put on a pair of leggings and a loose shirt. I tied my hair back.

I opened the door. The guard looked at me.

"Kitchen?" he asked, and he sounded bored.

"No," I said. "I am going to walk. The Don said I was allowed."

He shrugged. "Stay on this floor."

I walked down the hallway. It was quiet. The thick carpets swallowed the sound of my footsteps.

I passed Dante’s office. The door was closed. I wondered if he was in there. I wondered if he was looking at the security feeds and watching me walk.

I kept going.

I explored the third floor. It was mostly guest rooms and storage.

At the far end of the hall, there was a door that looked different. It wasn't heavy oak like the bedrooms. It was a lighter wood painted white a long time ago.

I opened it.

It was something like an old nursery. It looked like it hadn't been used in thirty years.

There were dust sheets on the furniture, and the air smelled like stale lavender and old memories.

It was perfect.

I stepped inside and closed the door. I dragged a heavy armchair in front of it just in case someone tried to enter.

I moved the dust sheets aside. There was a large open space in the centre of the room.

The floor was hardwood and scratched from years of use.

I stood in the centre of the room, and I closed my eyes.

I breathed in. I breathed out.

Then I moved.

I started with stretches. I pushed my body until the muscles pulled and burned. I focused on the pain.

Then I started the drills.

I didn't have a sparring partner, and I didn't have a bag. I fought the air.

I threw punches at the dust motes dancing in the light. Jab. Cross. Hook.

I imagined Dante’s face. I imagined the guard’s sneer. I imagined the hooded figure in the pantry.
I moved faster. Sweat started to drip down my back. 

I practised the disarms I had taught myself years ago, how to break a hold and more.

I fought until my arms felt like lead and my legs were shaking. I fought until the image of the photo in my phone faded into the background.

Afterwards, I cleaned up the room and put everything back exactly how I found it. I slipped out of the room and walked back down the hall.

My body ached, but it was a good ache. It was a reminder that I had power.

I passed the stairs and saw Antonio coming up. He stopped when he saw me.

He looked at my flushed face and the sweat dampening my hairline.

"You look like you ran a marathon," he said. He didn't look suspicious. He just looked curious.

"I was doing yoga," I lied. "In my room. It helps with the stress."

"Yoga," he said. He smiled a little. "Whatever works. It has been a stressful week."

"Is everything quiet?" I asked.

"Quiet enough. The extra guards are making everyone nervous, but the perimeter is secure."

He hesitated. He looked like he wanted to say something else.

"Dante is in a mood today," he said finally. "Just a warning. If you see him, maybe give him space."

"I always try to give him space."

"Try harder today. He is looking for reasons to break things."

"Because of Marco?"

"Because of everything. He doesn't like being blindsided. It makes him feel like he is losing control."

"He seems like a man who likes control."

"He needs it," Antonio said. "It is the only thing that keeps the ghosts away."

He nodded to me and walked down the hall toward Dante’s office.

I watched him go.

Control.

Dante thought he had control because he killed Marco. He thought he had control because he locked the doors and doubled the guards.

But there's a lot he doesn’t know. I walked back to my room. The guard was still there. He didn't look up from his phone.

I went inside and locked the door. I took a shower and washed the sweat off my skin.

I put on fresh clothes. I sat on the bed and took out the locket Dante had given me.

The silver was tarnished black in the grooves. It looked neglected.

He told me to fix it.

I went to the bathroom and found a soft cloth. I sat by the window and started to polish the silver.

The black tarnish came away on the cloth. The silver underneath started to shine.

I looked at the face of Isabella Caravelli inside.
She was the ghost Antonio was talking about. She was the reason Dante was so hard and so cold.

She died and took his heart with her.

I wondered if anyone would mourn me like that if I died. Selena, maybe, but she hadn't answered my messages in days.

My father wouldn't care. He sold me to save his own skin.

Jasmine might care. The thought made my chest ache.

I polished the locket until it gleamed like a mirror in the sunlight. It felt heavy in my hand.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out slowly. It was a new message from the Unknown Number.

I unlocked the screen. It was a video file, and I pressed play.

The video was grainy and dark, but the image was clear enough.

It showed a room with dust sheets on the furniture. It showed a figure in the centre of the room.

Me.

I watched myself on the tiny screen. I was throwing punches at the air. I was practising the disarms. I was sweating and fighting ghosts.

The camera angle was low. It was coming from the corner of the room.

I watched the video to the end.

Then a text message appeared below it.

Nice form.