The Rebel's Heart

Chapter Four

The first light of dawn filtered through the tiny, barred window, casting pale streaks across the cold, bare floor. Kara shifted, her muscles aching from a night spent against the unyielding surface. Isabella lay beside her, curled into a tight ball, her small chest rising and falling in rhythm with her soft breaths. Kara brushed a hand over the girl’s tangled hair, a fierce feeling of protectiveness surging through her and settling in her chest.

The metallic rattle of the lock shattered the quiet. Two guards entered with trays of food balanced in their hands, their expressions cold and impassive. Dropping the trays with a clatter, they knelt, untying the ropes on the prisoners’ wrists. Kara’s eyes narrowed, jaw clenching as one guard turned his back. She wasn’t here to be a helpless captive.

In a flash, she lunged forward, wrapping her fingers around the guard’s throat. He gasped, stumbling as he tried to pry her fingers from his throat. She held on, refusing to be thrown off. Together they fell to the ground, his feet kicking at a tray and scattering food across the floor. The second guard was on her in seconds, wrenching her arms back, his grip bruising as he twisted her wrists behind her.

“Think you’re clever, do you?” he spat, his breath hot against her ear.

Slow, mocking applause interrupted the brawl. Kara looked up to see Raffaele standing in the doorway, arms folded, amusement twisting at the corners of his mouth.

“Hold her,” he said softly, and the guards obeyed instantly, pinning her arms tightly behind her. Raffaele strolled closer, eyes gleaming with something dark. Without warning, his hand shot out, a sharp slap cracking across her cheek. The impact burned, but Kara didn’t flinch. She held her head high, anger and resolve flashing in her eyes. Her facial expression remained cold and defiant.

Seeing her reaction, his sneer faltered, lips curling tighter as anger flickered in his face. He slapped her again, harder, but she met it with the same unwavering glare, each strike only fueling her defiance. His jaw clenched, his control fraying in the face of her stubborn resistance.

“Take it all away,” he barked, jerking his head toward the trays. “She wants to play hero? Then no one eats today.” His glare lingered on her, smoldering with resentment, before he turned and stormed out.

The guards yanked the trays from the floor and left, the door slamming shut behind them. Silence fell, thick with tension.

A sharp voice cut through the tense silence. “Thanks a lot.”

Kara turned to see the speaker —a teenage girl, maybe sixteen, with wild curls that framed her face like a mane. Her clothes, once probably vibrant, were faded and torn at the edges, dirt staining the fabric as if she’d been here far longer than the rest of them. She wore a fraying blue hoodie two sizes too big, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, exposing lean arms that were tightly clenched in frustration.

The girl’s face was thin, her cheekbones high and prominent, and her dark eyes were narrowed into an accusatory glare as she stepped closer.

Kara held her gaze, unflinching, assessing the girl’s wiry frame and the dark smudges under her eyes. This was someone who’d endured a lot already.

There was a raw, untamed energy to her, like a feral animal forced into a corner. She stopped just short of Kara, her fists trembling at her sides. “What were you thinking?” she snapped at Kara, her voice laced with bitterness. “Because of you, we’re all going to starve for God knows how long.”

Marta stepped between them, laying a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Let it go,” she murmured, her voice soft. “She was just...”

The girl shoved Marta’s hand off and lunged at Kara, her fists swinging. Kara sidestepped, deflecting the blows without striking back, each move controlled. They grappled, their scuffle filling the room with muffled grunts and shuffling feet.

“Enough!” A commanding voice sliced through the chaos. The room stilled, all eyes turning towards the door.

Matteo’s presence filled the room with an air of authority. Tall and lean, he moved with a calm control that contrasted sharply with Raffaele’s volatile energy. In daylight, his sharp features cast shadows across his face, highlighting high cheekbones and dark eyes that held an intense, steady gaze. His tailored clothes seemed almost out of place in the grim setting, yet he wore them with a quiet confidence, like someone well-accustomed to holding power —and wielding it without display. There was a disarming patience about him, a quiet strength that hinted at a complexity beyond the cold facade of his brother.

His gaze fixed on the girl, demanding absolute respect. “Sit. Now.”

She backed off, muttering under her breath, but the fire in her glare remained as she retreated.

Matteo nodded to a servant waiting by the door. “Bring them food,” he instructed, his tone edged with impatience. The servant hurried off, and Matteo turned back to Kara, his expression unreadable. “You need to cool off. Walk with me.”

Kara’s posture stiffened, her arms crossing in silent refusal, her gaze wary.

One of the guards shifted, ready to enforce the command, but Matteo raised a hand, stopping him. He tilted his head slightly, his voice calm, almost coaxing. “I’m not here to force you, Kara. I’d like to have a few words with you. That’s all.”

She studied him, sensing something in his tone —almost as if he were offering her a choice. After a tense moment, she nodded, her shoulders squared as she stepped forward.

Isabella’s small hand clutched her arm, her wide eyes filled with worry. “Where are you going?” she whispered.

Matteo knelt beside her, his voice softening. “She’ll be safe, I promise. Just a talk. She’ll be back soon.”

Kara crouched at Isabella’s level, her gaze steady. “Stay here, alright? I’ll be back.” She gently squeezed Isabella’s hand, and the girl reluctantly let go, watching with anxious eyes as Kara stepped toward the door.

As she crossed the threshold, Kara’s senses heightened, her heart pounding with the uncertainty of what lay ahead. She steeled herself, ready to face whatever Matteo had planned —because if there was one thing she was certain of, it was that this would not be the end.