Kimberly POV
A week had passed since we relocated to the mansion in the southern part of Spain. It was grand, imposing, just like the previous one. Talking about that, the name of the man responsible for my turmoil had finally reached my ears, Salvatore. The realisation twisted in my gut like a cruel joke.
Days earlier, Luca had demanded my Instagram login after my phone had been shattered, reducing any shred of privacy I clung to. Together, we scrolled through my exchanges with Salvatore. Each word felt like a confession, staining me as Mario and Enzo looked on. Shame prickled up my neck, burning my skin. At that point, I couldn't help but agree I had been stupid.
Enzo's gaze hardened as if silently branding me a fool. I didn't need his disdain to confirm what I already knew—I had been careless.
Leonardo rose from his chair, the scrape of wood against the marble tile slicing through the tense silence. He walked to the bar, filling a glass of wine with steady hands, but his jaw clenched tight.
"I'm wondering why you never left," he said finally, each syllable weighted with an accusation I wasn't prepared for.
I wanted to say because I already like it here, I never really liked the outside world. But how can I say all of that? Instead, I settled for the truth I could manage.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said, the defiance barely masking my vulnerability.
Leonardo shot me a look that cut deeper than any blade, then turned back to his drink, swirling the liquid as if it held answers. I drew in a shaky breath. The silence stretched until I couldn't bear it.
"You can't kill my father, hold my brother, and expect me to wander the streets — penniless,"
I added, the words slipping out before I could stop them. My voice trembled, and the moment they hung in the air, I wished I could pull them back.
His hand tightened around the glass, that I feared it might shatter. His knuckles whitening as an unreadable expression flashed in his eyes.
My heart stuttered as regret curled in my stomach. Before I could stammer out an apology, Leonardo spun on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls seemed to shake.
Mario glanced at me, sympathy and frustration mingling in his expression, before following Leonardo out. Enzo didn't even bother to look my way. His silence, heavier than any judgement.
I stood alone in the enormous room, the echo of the door vibrating through me like a second heartbeat. The weight of my mistake pressed down on me.
Since that day, I hadn't met with Leonardo eye to eye. And it's eating me up. Helen had told me that he still comes home, only he made sure our paths never crossed. each day, a reminder that I was trapped in this prison of guilt and silence.
I haven't gotten a new phone and I don't even know if Ian is alright, eating my conscience. I'm just frustrated at myself, Leonardo, Ian, Salvatore, at just everything.
*******
It's past 2am in the middle of the night, the rest of the mansion was covered in darkness. I sat awake. My third cup of cold coffee sat forgotten on the table. Sleep was a luxury I couldn't afford right now. I wouldn't rest until I saw Leonardo, until I found some way to bridge the chasm between us.
I almost gave up waiting when I heard the sound of the front door click.
But instead of the familiar sound of boots, there was the sharp click of heels against the marble floor. Red heels.
I was greeted by a woman, whose features appeared too sharp and bright, making her look more mean than beautiful.
Her eyes swept over me dismissively, like I was a mere fixture in the room. My chest constricted as unease curled in my gut.
"Who are you?" The question slipped out, harsher than I intended.
Before she could answer, his voice, deep and unyielding, sliced through the tension. "Pick your bag, Monica."
Leonardo stepped into view, closing the door with a finality that made my stomach drop. He looked past me, his expression unreadable. Monica adjusted the strap of her purse, still ignoring me.
"Leonardo," I called, desperation making my voice thin and raw. He glanced at me, a flicker of recognition before he continued like he didn't hear me.
"Leonardo, I'm sorry. Please, I'm so sorry," I choked out, the words crumbling as tears blurred my vision. I could barely breathe past the tightness in my throat, each second dragging like an eternity.
"Let's go, Leo," Monica's voice was impatient, slicing through my plea like a blade.
Leonardo paused, his eyes narrowing, the bitterness in them unmistakable. "Trust you?" He shook his head, the corners of his mouth twisted in something between rage and pain. "You sold me out. My sister's life is in danger, my mansion, my cars—ruined." His words echoed in the vast room, each one a dagger.
"I..." My voice failed me, silenced by the gravity of his accusation.
"You should be grateful I'm keeping you alive." The finality in his tone left no room for argument. Without a backward glance, he walked toward the stairs. Monica followed, her heels striking the marble like gunshots.
The silence after they disappeared was deafening. I sank onto the couch, my fingers pressed to my temples as tears spilled over.
*Grateful,* I thought bitterly, as the weight of everything settled over me like a suffocating blanket. Sleep wouldn't come tonight. Not when the empty ache was louder than any comfort.