Chapter 7

Elena Vitiello POV

The heavy dose of painkillers turned the world into a fuzzy abstraction, but my rage remained crystal clear.

My father had left an hour ago to handle "business"-a euphemism for violence.

The silence didn't last.

The door burst open, shattering the quiet.

The guards outside should have stopped her. But they knew the boys. And the boys were with her.

Sofia rushed into the room, her face blotchy, her eyes wide with a frantic, performative terror.

Luca and Matteo were right behind her, flanking her like human shields.

"Elena!" Sofia screamed. "Please! You have to call him off!"

She threw herself against the railing of my bed.

The impact sent a shockwave of white-hot agony through my burns.

I gritted my teeth, swallowing a scream.

"Get her off my bed," I rasped.

"Your father sent men to her apartment," Luca said, his voice shaking. "They're going to hurt her, El. You have to stop it."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because she's sorry!" Matteo yelled.

Sofia was sobbing now, great heaving breaths that sucked all the air out of the small room.

"I'll do anything," she cried. "I'll pay for it. I promise."

She grabbed a fruit knife from the tray of untouched dinner on the side table.

It was a dull, serrated blade meant for sawing through apple skin, not flesh.

"I'll pay the debt!" she shrieked.

She dragged the blade across her forearm.

It barely broke the skin.

A thin, insipid line of red beaded on her arm.

It looked like a cat scratch.

"Oh god!" she wailed, dropping the knife and clutching her arm as if it had been severed at the elbow.

"Sofia!" Luca gasped.

He grabbed her arm, inspecting the scratch like she was hemorrhaging.

Then he looked at me.

His eyes were full of accusation.

"Is this what you wanted?" he spat. "Blood?"

"That's not blood," I said. "That is a papercut."

Luca's jaw tightened.

He picked up the fruit knife.

He didn't hesitate.

He gripped the blade in his palm and yanked it out.

Blood-dark, rich, arterial blood-welled up instantly and dripped onto the linoleum floor.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

"I bleed for her," Luca said, staring into my soul.

Matteo stepped forward.

He took the bloody knife from Luca.

He sliced his own palm open.

"We pay her debt," Matteo said.

The metallic smell of iron filled the room, overpowering the sharp scent of antiseptic.

I looked at their hands.

These were the hands that had sworn to protect me.

They had cut those same palms ten years ago to swear eternal loyalty to the Vitiello name.

Now, they were cutting them to save a social climber who had burned me for sport.

Something inside my chest, the last tether holding me to them, finally snapped.

It wasn't a loud noise.

It was the quiet, final click of a lock sliding into place.

"You didn't pay her debt," I said softly.

I looked at the blood pooling near their expensive shoes.

"You just defaulted on your own credit."

I pressed the call button for the nurse.

"Get out," I said. "And take your trash with you."

Luca wrapped his handkerchief around his bleeding hand.

He looked at me with a mix of defiance and pity.

"You've changed, Elena," he said. "You're cold."

"Winter is here," I whispered.

They helped Sofia out of the room, cooing over her scratch, leaving their blood staining my floor.