Page 46 of Scar

My car comes to a stop, and I take a deep breath before stepping out into the familiar surroundings. The air hangs heavy with sadness and loss, quieting even the usually lively grounds of the estate. Gone is the constant chatter of brothers who were inseparable. Gone is the man who used to drive me crazy...until he didn't anymore. It feels like the whole estate is holding its breath for what is yet to come. I push aside my emotions and enter through the doors of the mansion. Inside, grief weighs heavily on every surface. Soldiers move silently through thecorridors, their faces stoic and resolute. Among them are new faces, but I search for my parents as I make my way into the grand foyer. They wait for me there, their expressions mirroring my own turmoil.

My father moves his wheelchair closer to me, but then stands up and embraces me tightly. I ask where they are, and my mother joins in the embrace before taking my hand. A shared look between my parents makes me start to worry, and I silently beg for an explanation. My father suggests we go to Scar's office, and I echo the name with a whisper before we step inside and shut the door behind us. I walk straight to the desk and pick up a paperweight that used to belong to Scar; I bring it close to my face, until I catch a faint whiff of his scent and I inhale, drinking in his smell. I place the paperweight back down on the desk as tears threaten to spill from my eyes. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to hold back my emotions.

Even though Scar is no longer here, his presence lingers in this room. His smell, his aura, his very essence remains trapped within these walls. A sob escapes me as I come to terms with his loss. I never would have thought that his absence could be so overwhelming.

“I need to see him,” I tell my father.

But deep down, I already know what happened. My brothers were ambushed. There were gunshots, explosions, and then everything was set on fire. If there was anything left of them, it would have been charred remains by now; there's nothing left to see. Despite knowing this, the urge to say goodbye to Scar is too strong for me to ignore. My emotions overpowering me, drowning out all reason.

“We talked about this, Allegra,” my father says gently. “There’s nothing left for you to see. It's better if you remember them how they were.”

The mere thought of their brutalized bodies fills me with such intense fury that my mouth flies open, and a guttural scream reverberates through the room.

“They didn't just kill them; they desecrated their remains!” I scream in disbelief. My emotions take over, and I collapse to my knees, consumed by grief. Hearing about it is one thing but walking into an empty home and realizing they will never return is a whole different level of pain.

“Allegra...”

“Do I even have anything left to bury? Why would they do this? Why did he have to send me away?”

Resentment courses through my veins. It was two more weeks I could have spent with Scar before he was taken from me. Instead, I was banished. Forced to leave while he stayed behind to be slaughtered. All for what? To break my heart and darken my soul.

My attention is pulled away from my thoughts by a movement at the edge of my vision. I look up to see a tall, elegant woman enter the room. Her presence is commanding and authoritative, suffocating even. My breath catches in my throat as I’m pulled into the striking resemblance she shares with Scar – her son. She has the same dark hair pulled tightly into a bun at the nape of her neck, and her piercing grey eyes hold a menacing glint that Scar never had, no matter how much I aggravated him.

Scar didn't want me to have any contact with her, a request that I respected and accepted, so although I’m not surprised to see her now,

The matriarch's eyes sweep across the room before landing on me, her gaze assessing and thoughtful. Herexpression remains unreadable as she slowly approaches me, each step measured and deliberate.

“My condolences, Allegra,” she says in a cool, detached voice.

“Why are you here?” I ask, standing to face her. I never expected to see her here.

The matriarch bristles, my bluntness catching her off guard. “I’ve returned to ensure that my sons receive the respect and honor they deserve.”

“I'm here to bury them,” I reply calmly, despite the turmoil inside me. She lost the right to call herself their mother fourteen years ago. It is now my responsibility to give them a proper burial - my husband and my brothers.

I meet Benita's gaze, see the steely determination in her eyes. But beneath it lies something else - something that makes me question who this woman really is. Where was she when they were alive? Despite the anger I have inherited towards her from my brothers, I can't help but wonder why she suddenly decided to show up and pretend to care. It's too late for her to be a mother now.

Benita's gaze softens, but I can see the hidden tension beneath the tightness in her eyes. She's a complex woman, just as Scar had warned me.

“I know this is difficult for you,” she says, her voice gentle yet firm. “But there is more at stake here than just our grief. The Lucianis are taking advantage of our loss and attempting to seize control of our family.”

My heart races with fear and confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Your father wanted to make sure you were safe,” Benita continues, glancing over at my father before adding, “but he also knew that with the Gatti brothers gone, our enemies would seethis as an opportunity to strike. They have infiltrated our home with their soldiers, and it is no longer safe for you here.”

Anger and defiance surge within me. “But it's safe for you?” I retort.

She almost flinches but regains her composure quickly.

“I understand the importance of playing the game,” she replies calmly. “Sometimes we must compromise in order to get what we want. And sometimes, we must form alliances with our enemies to survive.”

“You mean do exactly what your sons wouldn't!” I snap back. I know my insolence may put me on her hit list, but at this point, I have lost everything, and I no longer care about the consequences.

“I won't leave,” I declare firmly. “This is my family, and I refuse to abandon their memory.”

Benita's grip tightens on my shoulder, her expression serious. Her warning is clear.

“I understand your desire to stay,” she says sternly, “but your father's wishes are clear. You must leave for your own safety and for the future of our family.”

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