Page 110 of The Don's Prima Donna

"Show me, then," I say, the decision made before I fully grasp its implications. "Show me the truth, Martin. All of it."

The car crunches over gravel, the sound a harsh whisper in the stillness of the dark. Martin's hands are steady on the wheel—too steady now. He drives like a man trying to keep his world from spinning out of control.

"Are we close?" My voice trembles despite my attempt to sound composed.

"Almost there, Tatiana," he responds, not taking his eyes off the road. The tension in his jaw tells me he's holding back, keeping secrets locked tight behind his lips.

As the car rolls to a stop, I take in our destination—an abandoned farmhouse that squats in the encroaching darkness like a forgotten memory. It's desolate and eerie, the windows dark and soulless, watching us like hollowed-out eyes.

A shiver takes hold of me, wrapping its icy fingers around my spine. I cradle my belly.

"Stay close to me," Martin says as he kills the engine.

He comes around to my side and opens the door. His hand finds mine, a warm contrast to the cold air that bites at my skin. I step out onto the uneven ground, gravel poking through the thin soles of my shoes as I peer up at the looming structure.

"Martin, what is this place?" I ask, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my chest.

"Answers lie within," he replies cryptically, the moonlight casting eerie shadows across his face.

His grip is gentle but firm as he guides me toward the farmhouse, the dilapidated woodwork groaning beneath the assault of time and neglect. Each step feels like a descent into a world where right and wrong blur, where my past threatens to rise and swallow me whole.

I want to believe in him, in the love he claims to have for me, but doubt is a relentless pursuer. What truths does this forsaken place hold? Are they the balm to heal old wounds or the blade to deepen them?

"Martin, why here?" I press, searching his face for any signs of betrayal.

"Quiet," he tells me.

What other choice do I have? And so I let him lead me, step by tentative step, towards the yawning mouth of the farmhouse, my heart a fragile bird fluttering in a cage of ribs.

The stillness breaks when laughter, sharp and cold as a dagger's edge, slices through the silence. I startle, my gaze darting toward the source of the sound. There, emerging from the shadows of the farmhouse like a phantom summoned by the dusk, stands a figure whose very presence seems to chill the air.

"Ah, Tatiana," he calls out, his voice laced with a cruelty that makes my skin crawl.

"Who are you?" The question claws its way out of my throat, even as my insides twist with dread.

"Well, your uncle, of course," he sneers, stepping into the light. "Or at least that's the title they gave me."

Martin's grip on my hand tightens, his body tense as if ready to spring into action at any moment. "What do you mean, that's what they told you to call yourself?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the man laughs, a sinister sound that curls around us like smoke. "They want her dead."

I reel, a gasp escaping my lips. My mind screams in denial, but the truth is stark in his piercing blue eyes. This is no benevolent family reunion; this is a trap sprung, a death sentence pronounced.

"Martin?" My voice trembles, barely audible over the cacophony of my racing heart. "Is this true?"

He looks at me, agony etched into every line of his face. "Tatiana, I swear—I didn't know."

Betrayal, thick and bitter, threatens to choke me. But there's no time for it, not when the man takes a step closer, his intentions as clear as the shears Atropos wields upon his skin.

"Run, Tatiana!" Martin pushes me behind him, facing the man with a resolve that belies his earlier confusion.

"Go before it's too late!"

I look around, not knowing where I can run to. There are woods everywhere. I stand frozen in fear.

The man's laughter echoes again, mocking our feeble stand against the fate he has decreed.

"Let's dance with destiny," he says, advancing with deadly intent.

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