Page 54 of The Shadow King's Brother

“They were caught completely off guard,” Marco mutters, examining one of the bodies. “Professional work.”

Upstairs, the bedrooms are silent, undisturbed… all except for one. Her room. Our room. Every cell in my body screams her name.

My pulse skyrockets. Each step I take is heavier than the last, the floorboards mocking me with their slow creaks.

This better be a dream. A nightmare.

I reach the door, the handle cold beneath my trembling fingers. It’s slightly ajar. A sliver of darkness teases me.

“Nica?”

I shove it open, the hinges protesting with a drawn-out whine. My heart hammers against my ribs, threatening to break free.

“Nica!” I call out.

The room… is perfect. Immaculate. As if she’s stepped out for a moment. Her favorite perfume, a blend of vanilla and something sweeter, clings to the air. The bed is messy, but not too much. Like she’s just gone out for a moment, her jewelry box sits open on the dresser, still gleaming.

Too perfect. The air is heavy with a stillness that screams something is wrong.

“Nica!” I shout again, louder this time, my voice cracking. I scan the room, my eyes darting from object to object, searching for any sign, any clue.

The ensuite bathroom is empty, too. In the walk-in closet, her clothes are neatly arranged, and her shoes are lined up in perfect rows.

A cold dread washes over me. This isn’t a casual disappearance. This is… deliberate. A violation.

I run my hand along the silk sheets. Where are you?

A sudden movement catches my eye. I whirl around, my gun raised.

Nothing.

But then I see it. A single playing card is lying face down on the floor near the doorway. The Queen of Spades. A black card. The death card.

My breath catches in my throat as I pick it up. This isn’t random. This is a message.

A few words are scrambled on the card: Galli in, Galli out.

What does that mean?

“Fuck,” I breathe, the word a strangled gasp. This is bad. This is very bad. I fold the card and slide it into my jacket pocket.

The rest of the house is a blur. I practically fall down the stairs, my legs numb. I need to find her. I need to kill whoever did this.

Downstairs, Marco stands frozen, his eyes fixed on the figure slowly crawling out of the pantry.

“Get up!” he barks, his gun trained on the shifting shadows.

I tense for a second, every muscle locked, ready to fire—until the figure comes into focus.

Mrs. Gambini.

She stumbles into the light like a ghost, her face ashen, hands clasped tightly in front of her as if trying to keep her insides from spilling out. Her eyes are wild, full of terror. She must’ve been hiding in the pantry—curled up like prey.

“They took her…” she whispers, her voice ragged.

“Who?” I bark, my voice barely human.

“Victoria,” she sobs, shaking uncontrollably. “They took her... Poor child. I’m so sorry, Elio. Forgive me…”

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