Page 5 of The Freedom in Captivity

“Stay until Dr. Shappo is finished, and then come find me,” Nico instructs, before following his brothers and Rosen up the stairs and from the basement.

“Got it.”

When the door shuts behind them, I move toward the centre of the room, toward the girl I knew. She’s a woman now.

A girl I look back on and believe I dreamt her up half the time. That my shattered, lost brain, going through life frazzled and unfocused, managed to see clearly for a short time.

She went by a different name then, but knowing who she is, it’s obvious Stefano De Falco enrolled her into school under a fake name.

I stand over her, looking down at the face I used to stare at all day. She looks like a fucking doll. Full lips and hair that goes on for days. I once wanted to get lost in it, always fascinated with how silky it felt between my fingers. Certainly something my tarnished younger self shouldn’t have been allowed to touch.

Even the sight of her now dulls the chaos in my head. She always had that skill, and I’m annoyed how eleven years later, she still does.

With my thumb, I brush it against her bottom lip. She’s as soft as I recall. Kissing her was once my favourite thing. Her skin, I’d touch as long as she allowed me. I never got enough of her.

Now, I wonder how easily it scars.

And then I think about the reason I’ll be marking her up.

Clearly, this life stole the girl I cared for. Or maybe I never really knew her. Evil controls her actions, and it did then too, I’m sure. The same as it does for me now.

Rozelyn isn’t the girl I remember. The girl with pain in her eyes and a smile to distract as she cared for me in ways no one else ever has. After my mother abandoned me, so did my father in all the ways that mattered. The emotional, physical, and mental abuse was so much, it felt like I was drowning most of the time. School became my reprieve from home, even if I despised the institution almost as much as being at home. Until meeting her, no one wanted me.

But she did.

Or she had for a while. She told me she did, which I learned later, was all a lie.

She’s her father’s daughter. My enemy. Shehurta Corsetti. To hurt someone of Enzo and Caterina’s bloodline is to hurt me.

Eleven years have passed since she told me goodbye. Since her lies came tumbling down around her. Therefore, who she was to me can’t matter any longer. When she told me goodbye, she earned my loathing. And after recent actions, she’s proven to me, it’s all she deserves.

Yanking my hand away from her lips, I glance at the knife jammed into her thigh, placed there by Rosen becausesheharmed someone he cares for. If I remove it, she’ll bleed to death, and this will be over. She’ll return to being a memory of my past.

Judging by the lack of acknowledgement earlier, she doesn’t recognize me. I should be pissed, but this could work to my advantage. Maybe a reminder of who I am will shatter her carefully erected walls and I’ll break her from the inside.

Before I’m interrupted by the doctor, who’s bound to arrive soon, there’s one final thing I have to check, to ensure that I’m not imagining this girl to be who I want her to be, regardless of the shared first name and fucking identical appearance. A final confirmation.

I walk behind her, crouching by her tied hands, uncurling one to inspect her palm.

It’s there. A small, white scar. Placed there as a promise to one another when we were different people with different goals and life outlooks.

Holding her hand, I uncurl my right one, finding the duplicate scar in the centre of my palm.

When the door opens again, I release Rozelyn with a jerk and move to the far side of the room to give Dr. Shappo, the Corsettis’ private doctor, the space to work.

The grey-haired man inspects the blade sticking out from her thigh as he approaches. He frowns and finds me standing behind her. “Already?”

“Wasn’t me,” I reply gruffly. “Rosen’s pissed at her for harming Aurora.”

“Nico said to bandage her up,” he explains, dropping his small leather bag by Rozelyn’s feet. He stands out amongst the grimness of the basement, dressed in a pristine white-collared shirt and pressed slacks. The last time something white came down here and remained white when it left was…never.

“She’s not allowed to die yet.”

“You staying?” He checks as he unzips his bag and first takes out a square black cloth, which he stretches out on his other side.

“In case she wakes up, yeah.”

He shrugs as he gets to work, first removing bandages, cloths, and tools from his bag and resting it on the black cloth by his side, revealing its purpose—keeping the medical supplies away from the disease-riddled ground. Once he slips on plastic gloves, he slices into her jeans, opening his work area and carefully grasps the knife’s handle and begins sliding it from her body, a squelching noise filling the room. She gasps, her body jerking, but not quite waking up through the pain.

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