Chapter 74

Chapter 74
“Tell me everything you know…” Vanessa demands as she stands across from Arturo, seriousness etched on her features as she keeps her arms crossed.

says.

Arturo watches her silently for a moment, hs hands resting loosely at his sides, his shoulders relaxed, as if this is just another conversation and not the one that might rip apart the story she has lived by for most of her life.

“Fine…” He begins.

“But first, you have to tell me what you know,” Arturo continues, his gaze fixed on her face as though he is trying to read what she will not say. “You have to tell me what Santoro told you, all these years, starting from the moment he ‘rescued you’, just so you can understand all the lies he’s ever told you.”

Vanessa frowns. The word rescued lands badly, even with the way he frames it. She keeps her arms crossed over her chest, fingers tucked beneath her elbows, a quiet barrier she refuses to drop. Trust is not something she hands out because someone asks for it.

“If you lie to me, Castellano…” she warns, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies him for any sign of hesitation.

“Lying is more of Santoro’s thing, not mine…” Arturo replies.

There is no smile this time, no flirtation to soften the edge of it. Just a statement that he lets it hang between them.

Vanessa squints at him, searching his face the way she has learned to do over the short time she's known him, scanning for the small tells most people do not realise they give away, but she finds none that satisfy her.

She exhales slowly, uncrossing her arms but not relaxing them, and shifts her stance, planting her feet more firmly as if she is bracing herself for impact, knowing that speaking about this feels more dangerous than facing a loaded gun.

“My name wasn’t always Vanessa De Castillo,” she begins, her voice quieter now, less defensive and more distant. “Vanessa was my middle name. Rosalia was my first... So my real name is actaully Rosalia Nevelio. And my parents… Dante and Marcella Nevelio...” She begins, and saying their names feels foreign, like she is reaching back into a life that no longer fits the woman she has become. She watches Arturo carefully as she speaks, measuring his reaction, but he does not interrupt.

“I was five or six years old,” she continues, her eyes drifting away from him for a moment as memory pushes forward whether she invites it or not. “I never really knew what my parents did when I was younger. I just thought they protected people. That’s what they told me. It was only when I got older that I figured they were part of the Underground...”

She pauses, jaw tightening slightly as if she can still taste the innocence in that belief.

“All I remember is… screaming, throughout the entire house.”

Her brow furrows, and her posture shifts almost unconsciously, shoulders drawing in just a fraction as the memory settles in her chest... 

It was 20 years ago, but she still remembers the details of that day...

The house is louder than it has ever been. She is small again, barefoot on polished floors that feel too cold against her skin. Her mother’s hand wraps tightly around her wrist, pulling her down the hallway, while her father moves ahead of them, checking corners, shouting something she does not understand.

The noise makes no sense to her then. It is just chaos. Glass shattering somewhere in the distance, men yelling and the sound of furniture scraping violently across the floor. 

Her mother’s breathing is fast, uneven, and that is what scares her most. She tries to keep up, but her legs are too short, her steps uneven as she stumbles over her own feet. Her father notices immediately. Without slowing down, he turns back and scoops her up into his arms, holding her against his chest as they move faster.

"Dad..." She mumbles fearfully, pressing her face into his shoulder as she continues to look around the house, the sound of gunfire continuing to echo through the entire house.

"It's okay darling," Is all he says to her, his tone reassuring and urgent.

Eventually they reach their bedroom and her mother walks them into the open closet, picking our one of the door with small spaces to provide ventilation. That's when her father sets Vanessa on the ground, standing guard just as her mothee begins moving coats aside, creating space with shaky hands.

“Eventually they put me in the closet to hide…” Vanessa says quietly in the present, though her eyes are no longer seeing Arturo.

Inside the memory, her mother crouches in front of her and guides her into the small space.

“No matter what you hear, you stay in here until we come and get you… okay…” her mother says, brushing hair back from her face.

“B-but where are you going?” Vanessa whimpers, her voice small and uncertain.

“We’re going to make sure the bad people go away, okay? We’ll come for you right after.”

Her mother forces a smile and even at that age Vanessa senses that something is terriblh wrong, and she doesn't quite believe what her mother has said to her...

“Remember, don’t come out till we come get you.” She insists and that's when Vanessa nods her head quickly.

“Okay…” she whispers and that's when her mother smiles at her sadly.

“We love you, so much…” her mother says before pulling her into a tight embrace.

“I love you too…” she replies fearfully, clinging to her mother’s shirt, not wanting to let go.

Her mother stands, and her father crouches down in front of her next, his large hands cupping her small shoulders. He leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead before pulling her into his chest.

“Be strong, my little firecracker,” he says softly, his voice warmer than the chaos outside the door.

Vanessa swallows in the present, the words lingering in the air between her and Arturo as the memory holds there, suspended, right before the closet door closes.

After that they close the closet door and lock it, plunging her into darkness.

The click of the lock sounds much louder than it actually is. Inside the closet, she sits on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest, breathing in the familiar scent of her mother’s clothes, trying to pretend this is a game, trying to believe they will open the door any second and laugh and tell her she did so well.

Then the gunfire starts again, even louder than before.

It comes in bursts at first, loud enough to make her flinch, then closer, then so close she feels the vibration of it through the walls. She presses her palms over her ears and squeezes her eyes shut even though it makes no difference. She tries counting in her head because her mother once told her that counting helps when she feels scared, but she loses track almost immediately when something crashes in the hallway outside.

Time stretches in a way only a child understands and the minutes feel endless. Eventually, after what feels like forever but could not have been more than thirty minutes, the gunfire stops.

And the silence that follows is much worse. She keeps her hands over her ears anyway, as if more noise is coming, as if she can block out what she does not want to hear next... 

Then she hears it.

Footsteps.

More than one pair.

Unrushed and uneven steps of her parents. These are slower, heavier and much more confident.

She straightens where she sits, hope rising too fast in her chest. They are back. They won. They are coming to get her like they promised...

But then, the closet door unlocks and light spills in again, blinding at first. She squints, blinking up at the shapes standing in front of her.

It is not her mother...

It is not her father...

The bedroom is filled with men she does not recognise, dressed in dark suits, some holding guns at their sides, others already tucking them away. The room looks wrong, though she cannot yet explain why. Drawers are open. A lamp is knocked over. Something dark stains the carpet near the door.

One man steps forward and crouches down in front of her.

“Hey there, little one…” he calls out gently.

She shifts backward into the corner of the closet, pressing herself against the wall as if she can disappear into it.

“It’s okay, there’s no need to be scared… I won’t hurt you…” the man says. His voice is soft, almost patient, and that confuses her. She expected shouting. She expected anger.

“Are you Vanessa…?” he asks.

Vanessa hesitates for a few seconds, then finally she  nods once.

"Okay…" The man says. "I’m Santoro… I’m a friend of your mom and dad… we were helping get rid of the bad guys…"

He smiles when he says it, and in the present Vanessa can still see that smile clearly. It is warm, reassuring and practiced.

“Where… where are they…?” Vanessa asks.

The question leaves her before she can stop it, hope clinging stubbornly to the edges of her voice.

Santoro’s expression shifts, only slightly. The smile fades at the corners. His brows draw together just enough to suggest sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Vanessa… they did everything they could to protect you…”

The words do not make sense at first.

“No…” she whispers.

He does not answer that.

“I want my mom and dad… I want my mom and dad…” she says, louder now, tears spilling down her face before she can wipe them away. The room feels too big, too full of strangers, and she suddenly understands that something is wrong in a way that cannot be undone.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay…” Santoro says quickly.

He reaches his hand toward her, stopping just short of touching her, giving her the illusion of choice.

“Come here, no one will hurt you… we can keep you safe, okay? I promise…”

Safe.

The word sounds important. Necessary.

She looks past him, searching the room one more time for a glimpse of her mother’s dark hair or her father’s broad shoulders, but they are nowhere she can see.

Slowly, she crawls out of the closet and reaches for Santoro’s hand.

His grip closes around her small fingers, warm and sure.

He lifts her easily into his arms and pulls her against his chest. She buries her face into his suit jacket, breathing in the scent of cologne and something metallic she does not recognize yet.

“I want you to close your eyes and don’t peek no matter what, okay?” he says.

“Okay…” she answers, pressing her palms over her eyes obediently.

She feels him start walking.

Each step carries her farther from the closet, farther from the only place she still believed her parents might return to.

Curiosity gets the better of her.

She parts her fingers just slightly.

And that is when she sees them.

Bodies line the room. Some of them she recognizes. One of them is her mother.

A sound tears out of her before she can stop it, high and broken.

“I told you not to peek, princess… I don’t want you to be scared…” he says, his voice calm but the expression on his face has changed completely different.