Chapter 3 - The Broken Glass
The second-floor corridor was in absolute chaos.
Two maids stood outside the nursery doors, weeping quietly, while Marco and another guard tried to speak through the heavy, carved oak panels. From inside, the sound of shattered porcelain and high-pitched, desperate screams echoed through the hallway. It was a sound that didn't belong to four-year-old children; it sounded like wild, wounded animals trapped in a cage.
"Clara! Mia!" Dante called out, slamming his hand against the door. "Open the door, sweethearts. It's Daddy."
"No! No lights! No white coats!" Mia’s voice shrieked from within, followed by the heavy thud of something wooden striking the door. "Go away!"
"They’ve barricaded it from the inside with the heavy toy chest," Marco muttered, his hand resting on his holster. "We can take the door off its hinges, boss, but the noise might panic them further."
"Let me," I said, pushing past the guards.
Dante looked at me, his eyes narrowing. "They are terrified, Elena. If you make one wrong move—"
"They are not terrified of me," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "They are terrified of what you are keeping from them."
I leaned my forehead against the cool wood of the door. I didn't shout. I didn't use the authoritative tone the doctors and nannies had undoubtedly used. Instead, I began to hum.
La Stella Dorata.
The melody was soft, slow, and slightly flat from the dry air in my throat. I pressed my palm flat against the wood, letting the vibration of my voice carry through the heavy oak panels.
Within three bars of the melody, the screaming inside the room died down. The sudden silence was so heavy it felt physical.
"Elena?" a tiny, trembling voice whispered from the other side of the door. It was Clara.
"Yes, sweetie," I said, keeping my voice low and soothing. "It's Elena. I’m right here. It's very dark out here, too. Can you help me open the door? My key is too big."
A long pause followed. Then, the slow, scraping sound of heavy wood being dragged across the carpet echoed from inside. The brass doorknob turned, and the heavy door creaked open an inch.
Two pale, tear-streaked faces peeked out through the crack, their wide, dark eyes blinking in the bright hallway light. The moment Mia saw me, she let out a small sob, threw the door open, and launched herself at my knees, wrapping her tiny arms around my legs. Clara followed a second later, burying her face in the folds of my faded skirt.
I collapsed onto my knees on the carpet, wrapping my arms around both of them, holding them tight as their small bodies trembled with residual terror.
"I’ve got you," I whispered, kissing the tops of their heads. "I’ve got you both. You’re safe."
Dante stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. He looked at his daughters—the children who had refused to let him touch them for months—clinging to a woman he had locked in his basement only hours prior.
"Why?" Dante asked, his voice barely a whisper as he knelt down beside us, his large hand hesitantly reaching out to touch Mia's hair. "Why does this song work?"
"Because your wife didn't just sing it to them, Dante," I said, looking up at him over the girls' shoulders. "She used it to hide them. When the Valenti attackers came to your villa in Italy... she hid them in a dark place, didn't she? And she sang this song so they would know she was still alive outside the door."
Dante’s face drained of color. He looked at me as if I had just read his mind.
"How do you know that?" he whispered.
"Because my grandmother told me the same story," I said, my voice tightening. "She said that in our family, the dark is not where the monsters live. The dark is where we hide the things we love until the storm passes."
Dante stared at me, the suspicion in his eyes slowly melting into something far more dangerous: a profound, terrifying understanding.
"Marco," Dante said, his voice dropping into a cold, commanding register as he stood up. "Double the perimeter guards. Bring the car around. We are leaving the mansion."
"Where are we going, boss?" Marco asked.
May you like
Dante looked down at me, then at his daughters who were finally, quietly breathing against my chest.
"To the only place the Valentis can't reach," Dante said. "The old docks."
