Instead of replying, I continue to stare out the window, taking in every detail I can as we pass through the city gates, the pillars of which look centuries old and are half crumbled, unlike the iron gates themselves that gleam imposingly in the morning sun.
The streets hum with life around us. A baker dusts flour from his hands as he sets fresh loaves on a wooden rack outside his shop. A woman with a basket of oranges chats with an old man seated on a bench, his cane resting by his side.
Children chase each other through the piazza, their laughter rising like music above the murmured conversations of the townsfolk. It’s idyllic—a quiet rhythm that feels like it’s been playing for centuries.
We pass a fountain in the center of the square, its stone edges worn smooth by time. In the middle, a statue of a saint, weathered but proud, stands with water trickling from the folds of his robe into the basin below.
People pause to dip their hands in or fill small bottles, offering quick prayers before moving on. It doesn’t feel staged or touristy—it feels real, like this is simply how it’s always been.
As the car climbs higher, leaving the piazza behind, I notice something else peaking out above the rooftops. A shadow, almost, that seems to stretch taller and taller the higher we climb.
The streets narrow, and soon, we’re threading through a canopy of tall cypress trees as we turn a final corner.
I blink. I blink again.
A castle.
“What the hell?”
To my surprise, Dante seems to snort back a laugh.
“Welcome toCastello de Ferro.”
I gawp like an idiot as the castle rises into view. Its dark stone walls are soft with age, the central tower stretching into the sky, commanding but not oppressive. It feels timeless, rooted in the land as if it grew there rather than being built.
“You can’t be serious,” I whisper as Dante pulls right up to the front door without so much as a whisper from the guards patrolling the perimeter.
He kills the engine and pauses for a moment.
I watch intently as his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. The muscles in his jaw work overtime as he stares up at the massive wooden entranceway.
Interesting.
“It’s not too late to turn around,” I hedge quietly.
He shoots me a dark look as if irritated that I read him so well. He rights himself quickly, throwing back his shoulders and cracking his neck.
The next time he looks at me, it’s with that patronizing little smile.
“Come now, princess. Your dungeon awaits.”
5
DANTE
Walking up the steps of theCastello di Ferrofeels like walking to the chopping block.
Only, I’m the one holding the prisoner roughly by the arm.
The tranquilizers seem to have worn off, but her body is still weak, and the fight in her seems to cower away under the shade of the looming castle. Useful, as I’m not sure I have it in me to chase after her if she makes a break for it now.
Although, I suppose that’s one of the benefits of living in a castle—it’s always fortified with people who are paid to do the dirty work for you.
The double wooden doors are opened for us on our approach, and I do my level best to ignore the looks of shock from the help that gawk in our direction.
It’s been nine years since I last set foot in this place—four years galavanting across the globe, five with the Brooklyn mafia.
It’s still not enough time for me ever to want to be walking these halls again.
