Born of the Storm

Chapter 5

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains. The room smelled faintly of the vineyards outside, a reminder of the estate's sprawling beauty.

       I sat in my chair, staring at the cup of coffee growing cold beside me. My mind was still reeling from the event of the previous night, every detail relating in an endless loop. The wound on my side throbbed dully, a reminder of how close things had come.

          The door opened softly, and I looked up to see Luca entering. He moved with a cautious grace, his eyes meeting mine with a mix of concern and curiosity. "I got rid of the assailant." he said, his voice steady but probing.

          I barely acknowledge him, my gaze drifting back to the papers spread out before me. "Buono," (good) I replied, my tone flat. The fate of the assailant didn't matter to me; he was a pawn, nothing more. My focus was on the information he had given and what I would do with it.

          Luca lingered, clearly unsatisfied with my terse response. "Cosa ti ha detto?" (What did he tell you) he asked, his curiosity finally breaking through his reserve.

          I looked up, meeting his eyes either a cold stare. "The Silver Serpent," I said, each word deliberate and measured. "I want all the information you can gather about it. The club, its patrons, its connections and—" A tattoo of a serpent and a dagger. I kept the significance of the tattoo close to myself, and I intended to pursue it quietly, on my own. "Questo è tutto." (That's all)

          He nodded, already mentally cataloging the resources he'd need. "I'll get on it right away," He paused. "What are you planning Teresa?" He added.

          I leaned back, considering my next move. I haven't thought of it yet, but I knew the risks I had to take. My willingness was all that mattered, it will get me to the truth.

          "Get me the information, Luca. Time is of the essence."

          I was in my home, it was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavy and oppressive. Outside, the moon cast long shadows over the vineyards, creating an ethereal, almost ghostly landscape. I stood by the window, looking at the sprawling fields, my thoughts far away.

          I finally moved away from the windows, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over my shoulders. The events of the past few days had taken their toll, and my body was calling for rest. I slipped into bed, hoping for a few hours of peace.

          But peace was elusive.

          In my dreams, I was transported back to a time I had tried so hard to forget. I was sent back ten years back, running through the darkened streets of Sicily, my heart pounding with fear. I had just learned the truth about my family—the violence, the endless cycle of blood. I couldn't bear it. I wanted out. I wanted a life free from the shadows of the Moretti name.

          I saw my self hiding in a dingy alley, clutching a small bag with whatever possessions I could grab in my haste. I heard the footsteps of my pursuers, the men sent by my father to bring me back. They called my name, their voices echoing off the narrow walls. I held my breath, praying they wouldn't find me, and they didn't. I managed to escape that night, disappearing into the city labyrinthine streets, leaving behind everything I had ever known. The relief was short-lived.