Chapter 28- I'll Make Them Pay

Chapter 28- I'll Make Them Pay
Alessandro’s words hit me like a slap.

“Your father wants you home now.”

Home.

Like that word meant anything right now. Like marble floors and locked gates could possibly matter when Camilla was lying behind me, cold and gone.

I didn’t move at first. I just stared at him, at the cut of his jaw, the precise way he stood—like the world could be burning around him and he’d still have perfect posture. My heart was pounding so loud it made my ears ring.

“Did you not hear me?” he said, voice steady, not even a flicker of emotion. “We’re leaving.”

I blinked at him, then actually laughed—a short, sharp sound that scraped my throat. “You think I’m going anywhere? My best friend is dead, Alessandro. She’s in that room, and you want me to just… what? Go home like this is some inconvenient dinner I’m skipping?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “I only follow orders. And your father—”

“I don’t give a damn what my father wants right now!” My voice rose, too loud in the narrow hallway. “I’m not leaving her.”

Behind me, Julia’s jaw tightened. Rosetta’s hand curled into a fist at her side. The suited men shifted almost imperceptibly, their collective weight pressing into the space like an oncoming storm.

Alessandro took a single step toward me, slow, deliberate. “Miss Moretti, you can make this easy, or you can make this difficult. But we’re leaving.”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed, and in the next breath, his hands were on me—firm, unyielding, lifting me off my feet like I weighed nothing. The hallway spun as my shoulder hit his chest, his arm locking around my waist.

“Put me down!” I twisted, kicking against him, my fists hammering at his back. “You bastard—”

“Aria!” Rosetta’s voice snapped through the chaos.

I caught a glimpse of her through the tangle of movement—her small frame squared off against one of Alessandro’s men, and in her hands… a gun. His gun. She’d stripped it from him so fast I hadn’t even seen her move.

“If you don’t put her down,” she said, voice shaking but deadly serious, “I swear I will shoot you.”

The suited man she’d disarmed froze, his eyes darting between her and Alessandro.

Julia stepped forward then, planting herself between the rest of the men and us. Her face was a thundercloud, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Have you people lost every shred of respect for the dead? Our friend just died. Her blood is still on us. And you’re making trouble in the hallway like this is some goddamn boardroom negotiation?”

The air went razor-thin. Alessandro’s arm tightened once more around me before, finally, with visible restraint, he set me back on my feet.

Rosetta didn’t lower the gun immediately—she kept it leveled at him until I stepped into her space. Then, without a word, I wrapped my arms around her. She was trembling, her breath uneven, and I felt my own tears pushing again.

Julia joined us, looping her arms around both of us until we were a tangle of grief, clutching each other like we were the only thing keeping from collapsing. None of us spoke. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t splinter us further.

Movement at the end of the hall caught my eye. They were wheeling Camilla out, her body small under the white sheet. The sound of the gurney wheels squeaking was a knife in my gut.

Julia broke first. A low, choked sound tore out of her as she pressed her face into my shoulder. Her whole body shook, her nails digging into my back. I held her tighter, my own throat closing as I fought the sobs clawing to get out.

We had talked about her wedding once—late at night, lying on her bed with her phone between us, scrolling through ridiculous dresses and laughing until our stomachs hurt. And now… now the only thing we’d be planning for her was a burial.

The image hit me so hard I almost stumbled.

Her blood was still on my hands. All over Julia’s shirt. In streaks on Rosetta’s sleeve. And no amount of scrubbing would wash away the way it felt.

Eventually, they took her away. We didn’t follow. We couldn’t.

We left the hospital in silence, the night air heavy and too warm. I walked Julia and Rosetta to the car, forcing a smile that was all wrong as I told them to be careful. My voice cracked halfway through, and I quickly stepped back, letting them close the doors.

I stood there watching until their taillights disappeared.

When I finally turned, Alessandro was waiting by another car, the passenger door open. He didn’t speak, and neither did I. I slid in without looking at him, and he took the driver’s seat.

The engine started. The city slid by in blurs of light and shadow. I stared out the window, jaw locked, my hands clasped so tightly in my lap my knuckles ached.

He didn’t say a single word the entire drive.

By the time we pulled into the long, winding driveway of the mansion, I could see my father waiting at the top of the steps. His shoulders were stiff, his face set in that hard mask he wore when he was already angry before you opened your mouth.

The moment I stepped out of the car, his voice cut through the night.

“Aria—what the hell were you thinking—”

“Not now, Dad.”

I didn’t slow down, didn’t look at him, didn’t care that his voice rose behind me. My legs carried me up the stairs, past him, into the grand hallway that suddenly felt suffocating.

He called my name again, sharper this time, but I didn’t stop. I ran up the marble staircase two steps at a time, my vision blurring, until I was inside my room with the door shut.

Only then did I let myself breathe—ragged, uneven, my chest tight enough to hurt.

The mansion was silent around me, but I could still hear the echo of that squeaking gurney, still feel the cold of her hand in mine.

And under it all, simmering hotter than anything else, was the promise I’d made in that hospital room.

I will make them pay.

Even if it's the last thing I do.