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Chapter 12.

                   NORMAN POV.

  Hours had stretched since Hermann’s departure.  I took a final sip of apple juice, my gaze drawn once more to the figure on the bed.  She slept peacefully, her hair a dark cascade partially veiling her face.  The white blanket was pulled halfway up her body.  I couldn't deny the unexpected warmth blooming in my chest; a happiness I couldn't fully comprehend, a feeling that went beyond simple contentment.

Genevieve, usually so sharp-tongued and defiant, had revealed a heartbreaking vulnerability last night.  Her devastation had been palpable, her gaze clinging to me as if I were her only refuge.  It had unsettled me, prompting a nagging question: was it Ivy, or something far more profound?

The thought of Ivy sent a fresh wave of concern through me.  I turned, closing the door softly, determined not to disturb her rest.

Downstairs, Carlos nursed a cup of coffee, while Miguel surveyed the dining table, a chilling array of weapons gleaming under the soft light.

“What’s this, then?” I asked, approaching them.

“New additions to the family,” Miguel said, a proud smirk playing on his lips.

“Signore,” Carlos murmured, his tone subdued.

“Morning, Carlos.  Everything alright?” I addressed Carlos with a warmth I rarely showed others. I believed in his potential, in a better future for him, a life beyond this brutal existence. If only I could persuade Hermann… “Why the long face?” I asked.

“How long does Signore Rodriguez intend to keep Ivy tied up and exposed to the elements?” Carlos asked, his irritation simmering beneath the surface.

“He needs to learn some tenderness. Women are delicate blossoms, you know,” Miguel added, his tone laced with a touch of sardonic amusement.

“Gentlemen, that’s his prerogative.  There’s nothing I can do,” I said, my voice heavy with resignation.

“Oh, yes, there is,” a voice cut through the air, a voice both beautiful and dangerous.  Genevieve stood at the top of the stairs, her gaze piercing.

“He won’t listen. I’ve tried,” I said, my words failing to capture the depth of my frustration, the unspoken plea in my eyes.

“Try harder,” she said, descending the stairs, her movements deliberate, her determination unwavering.  “You can.”
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                         IVY SILVER POV.

My throat was raw, my lips cracked and bleeding, my stomach gnawing with hunger.  My legs were weak, my fingers and toes numb with cold.

“Baby,” a whisper, barely audible, reached my ears.  “I brought you something to warm you.”  I lifted my head, my vision blurred, to see Genevieve standing before me, a steaming mug in her hands.  I wouldn't accept anything from her blood-stained hands.

“I’m fine,” I said, letting my head fall.

“Ivy, I know you’re angry, and you probably hate me right now, but it’s not…” I interrupted her.

“It’s not what? It’s not that you’re part of this brutal gang?  Is that what it’s not?!” I shouted, my voice raw with fury.

“Baby, listen—you don’t understand,” she said, her voice trembling, her attempt to calm me futile.  My body was frozen, but my heart burned with a fierce, agonizing fire—anger, sorrow, exhaustion, and profound loss.

“I don’t want to understand. All I want is my mother,” I sobbed, nausea rising in my throat.  I wanted to run, to escape, but my strength had been drained.  I knew I would collapse the moment they released me—if they ever did.

“Let me promise you something… but you need to trust me,” Genevieve said, stepping closer.

“As much as I despise you, I can’t risk not finding my mother,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper.

“I promise I’ll help you find her. Okay, baby?” she said, her voice gentle, her eyes filled with a sincerity that chipped away at my defenses.

I looked into her eyes, a desperate hope flickering within me.  I didn’t want to trust her, but her sincerity was pulling me in.  She reached out, her touch feather-light as she brushed my lips.  Her eyes roamed my face, her warmth a stark contrast to the icy chill that had settled deep within my bones.  All I craved was the comfort of her embrace.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything. I’m sorry I couldn’t stand up for you. I’m so weak, all I did was cry. If I’d confronted Hermann that day, things wouldn’t have gone this far. I’m so sorry you had to endure this alone,” she said, tears streaming down her face.  She took all the blame, even though it wasn’t hers to bear. It was that monster’s.

My anger ebbed, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion.  “Please… stop crying,” I whispered, my voice frail, my body succumbing to the overwhelming fatigue.

Darkness claimed me.
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              HERMANN RODRIGUEZ POV.

Ten minutes ago, I'd parked my car in front of the Rodriguez mansion, a place of both childhood memories and bitter regret.  It was here that the sweet boy I once was had been buried beneath layers of violence and ambition. A place I longed to destroy once I secured my position as the new leader of the Italian Mafia.  I would burn it all to the ground, leaving only my grandmother untouched.

My phone vibrated.  “Norman.”

“Sir, Ivy is unconscious. Should we release her?”

“No.”

“Hermann, please. The girl will die out there. She’s weak, she’s freezing,” Norman pleaded, his voice laced with genuine concern.

“I made my intentions clear,” I replied, my voice hard.

“Hermann,” Eve’s voice cut through the tension, her tone serious, unwavering.  “Tie me up instead.”  I smirked.  This was getting absurd.  Their defiance was… irritating.

“Fine. Untie her,” I said, my voice tight with barely suppressed frustration.

“Thank you, Hermann,” she said, her gratitude genuine, a rare sound I hadn't heard from her before.

“But she doesn’t leave that room until I return. And only Carlos is allowed near her,” I added, my voice firm.  She hesitated, but ultimately agreed.

I hung up, shoving the pistol into my waistband. It had been a long, long time.

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