Page 3 of The Freedom in Captivity

It’s packed full of darkness, even when we don’t, or can’t, admit it to ourselves. A darkness that begins early in life, and with every passing year, devours more and more of our being. It winds our body, seeps into our bones, and consumes our organs, our heart, and our soul, until the best means to survive is not to feel. To turn it off and only go through the motions.

“Turning it off” looks different for each person. For me, it’s being the daughter—stepdaughter technically—to Dad. The one he thinks he needs. Being rude to my other stepsisters, Della and Ariella, when they came into our lives. Pretending to be happy for my own blood-related half-sister, Yasmine, simply so the darkness avoids consuming her. To accept Dad’s various means of training, all while knowing I’m the second daughter. The one he doesn’t care for.

Not like he does Yasmine.

In some ways, compared to what he did to Della and Ariella, my situation is worse.

Turning my emotions off meant not feeling. Bring cruel to who I had to be, only thawing when I was alone in my room and was allowed to, before switching it off again and going out to survive another day.

It wasn’t always like this. When Mom was alive, life was better, even if that was fleeting too. Until I uncovered the truth of our lives. That was when the darkness made its presence known, using me as a host in the week leading up to Mom’s death. Consuming me entirely on the day of her funeral, when the clouds were gloomy, when the mood was sombre, and when I held my weeping sister. I realize now, the environment was forewarning me of what would come. Mom’s death signalled the start and end of so much change and chaos.

Of me. Of the life I was familiar with. Of the family I assumed I had.

Whatisfamily? I wish I knew because in my experience, family removed my individuality. In this life, in the life Dad pretended to build, family was created through blood or marriage relations. Being directly related didn’t give a free pass to safety. Just gave us people to use and allowed people to use us.

But when it really mattered most, family was the first to turn their backs on us.

Dad left me in Montreal, so he and Yasmine could escape to British Columbia where the family he actually cares about is, while I took the fall for his actions. But it worked in my favour because while he believes he’s in control, the first time he lifted a hand to me was the moment he secured his downfall. I’ve simply been following along, waiting for a moment to strike.

This moment.

I needed to get the Corsettis’ attention and Aurora Corsetti gave me the perfect opening.

The moment Mom died, Dad told me everything. About who he truly is, why he’s in Montreal—every last detail. He did it to bring me into the fold, to train me to continue his work, to assist and become his own private assassin while he plotted and planned for the right time to execute years of work.

But at that point, it was too late. The abuse one occurrence too many. The ongoing reminder that I’m secondary in Dad’s eyes, and always have been.

So when the dirty cloth bag is ripped off my head and the stagnant cool air washes over me, I keep my head lulled to the side, feigning sleep as I consider what loyalty and family truly means to me.

In my father’s perspective, loyalty is transient. But for me, it can be a lifeline if loyal to the correct person.

Yasmine’s fidelity is unwavering. She and I forged a bond, constructed by our father’s cruelty toward me. She never asked for any of this hell, and is as innocent as they come, bred into a family with wickedness already immersed into its other members. The one flash of light among it all, and the fragment I still try to preserve.

I’vealwaysprotected her. I’m loyal to her. She’s why I followed Dad’s insane plans. It’s why, at the end of this, she and I will walk away alive and our father will not.

A sharp slap to the face jolts me from my thoughts, but I lock my muscles from revealing I’m awake. Other than slapping me, I want to know how far they’ll take the torture from this starting point. They won’t kill me because they need me, and as long as I protect my father’s whereabouts, I’m valuable.

Another slap, this one harder, and I roll my chin, moving feeling back into it as I slowly blink open my eyes, revealing I’m awake. The hits will likely worsen the longer I fake being asleep, and I’d rather not experience too much pain yet.

“There she is.” A cold voice growls. I recognize it instantly as Aurora’s bodyguard, from the few times I snuck away from the garden after she left to listen to their conversation. “Wake up, bitch.”

I’d expect no other name or treatment, and it’s about to get worse.

Peeling open my eyes, I immediately take in my surroundings, starting with the people around me. Aurora’s bodyguard looms in front of me. Two feet behind him, Nico, the Corsetti family’s underboss and Aurora’s older brother, stands poised, glaring. Beside him, I recognize Rafael Corsetti, standing in a similar position to his brother. I’ve spent the last two years studying every soul inside this mansion, starting with these brothers and their parents. Leaning against a post at the bottom of the steps is another guy, this one’s appearance so different, but intriguing. Gothic almost. Bold eyes pin me, but they look less angry than the Corsettis’.

Against the wall to my right is the final person, and another one I don’t recognize. His stance is entirely different than the four other men, pressing against the wall like it’s holding him up. Rather than hate, his deep gaze seems curious. In some ways, he’s more intent than the others, and there’s a lulling sensation tugging at my senses. For a second, he makes me forget where I am and what’s happening.

His eyes seem…familiar.Somehow. Somehow, because of the little features I make out, he’s not recognizable.

I move my gaze from him to the rest of the room. A basement. Dim lighting. I’m tied to a chair, the rope digging into my wrists from where they’re looped behind me, pulling my shoulders tight. I imagine it won’t be long before my arms go numb. My legs are also bound.

Rosen moves behind me and snatches something off the metal table. Metal against metal, and I presume a knife. If they think they’ll scare me with weapons, they’re wrong. Dad’s training was…rough. For this very purpose.

“We should get started,” Rosen murmurs, as he returns to the front of me, a four-inch knife in his hand.

He leans over me, getting closer than I’m comfortable with, and grabs a small handful of my hair, using it to tip my neck back. I don’t fight because I won’t win and fighting his grip will only hurt me.

“You’re going to answer some fucking questions for us, bitch.”

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