Whispers of Love

Chapter 4

The room was quiet, almost painfully quiet. I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers wrapped around a cup of lukewarm tea, staring at the cracks in the ceiling like they held the answers to questions I didn’t dare ask. The hum of Ambrosia’s machines downstairs reminded me that the building was alive, that it had its pulse, and I was just another trapped heartbeat inside it.

And then, like a shadow rising from the edges of memory, it all came back.

Sixteen. The stale tang of fear that seemed to seep into your bones. The summoning, the sharp quiet command to descend without question. My body remembered every step I took, every nerve stretched, even when my mind tried to convince me that I was somewhere else entirely.

We were lined up, the girls, twenty three of us, he’ll point and have Barney separate us into different rooms, there were eleven of us put together in the same room while the remaining girls in the other rooms, we heard gunshots… some of the girls screamed and cried, but not me… I couldn't, not because I didn't want to, but I just couldn't. Something stole my voice but I was trembling in silence.

Ambrosia’s basement wasn’t a place of comfort. It was a cold cathedral of obedience, its walls absorbing every quiver, every stifled sob. I could feel the tension in the air, thick enough that I could feel the taste, and I wanted to look away, to run, to vanish into some corner where Don Luca’s gaze couldn’t find me. But there was no corner. Not then. Not ever.

After a while, Barney came for us, there was a strong stench of raw blood from the other room, no one needed to tell us that those girls were shot dead.

Now seventeen of us. Don Luca waited. Calm, exuding a power that didn’t need to be loud, didn’t need to shout. He was seated, legs crossed, cigar smoldering between his fingers, his eyes scanning us as though we were books he could flip through, read and discard at will.

“Spain is short on supply,” he said, his voice low and smooth,“Europe pays more. And this time… we use the girls.”

The words sank into me. My stomach flipped, my throat dried. The other girls whimpered among themselves, tiny cries swallowed immediately by the walls. I stayed silent, because silence was safety, and even safety was a fragile concept here.

He didn’t waste time shooting one of the girls, “ silence!” He ordered. “ Allow me to process.

“You,” he said. “What's your name?”

“ Rachel.” Her body stiffened. Her lips parted in a silent protest that went nowhere. The guards moved like shadows at the signal, and suddenly she was in their grip. Her cries filled the room, muffled by hands stronger than her will. I couldn’t look directly, couldn’t tear my eyes away. Every retch, every gag, every forced swallow of those small white pellets carved itself into my memory like a brand.

I wanted to scream, to run, to collapse into something safe and real. But my body refused. My limbs were frozen in a mixture of fear and disbelief, like terror had been injected straight into my bloodstream. I could feel her panic radiating outward, infecting me with a sharp, relentless electricity that made my skin crawl.

One pellet, two, three. I lost count. My mind stopped numbering things. I only saw her struggling, vomiting, gagging and helpless, and I felt each one of those moments inside my chest. My teeth clenched. My stomach turned. My head throbbed with every panicked, muffled sound.

Finally, it was over.

Don Luca leaned close to her face, his voice was soft, indifferent and almost casual.

“You will fly to Madrid tomorrow. Make sure you don’t disappoint, I have men waiting for your arrival.”

They dragged her out. Her body shook, barely able to walk. Her eyes were wide, unseeing. None of us moved, none of us breathed, none of us spoke.

Two days later, the news came back.

Rachel didn’t make it. One pellet ruptured inside her mid-flight. Cocaine flooded her bloodstream. She died before the plane even landed. Flight attendants assumed she had fallen asleep.

And Don Luca’s reaction? Cold, Indifferent and unbordered. “She wasn’t worth the investment,” he said.

I still hear it sometimes, echoing in my memory.

That night, I returned to my own bed, alone, my legs felt weak, I stared at the ceiling, willing it to open, to let me escape. My hands shook so violently I could barely hold a cup of water without spilling it. My throat ached from swallowing, my chest ached from holding in the screams I wasn’t allowed to make. My body remembered what my mind tried to bury. The choking, the gagging, the panic, they all lived inside me.

Fear became the new language in my veins, not screaming fear, not explosive terror, but a quiet, coiled, patient fear that learned to hide in my bones, shaping every thought, every movement, every calculated smile I gave when anyone looked my way.

I could no longer trust comfort. I could no longer trust silence. I could no longer trust that the world outside the basement was anything but a trap waiting to happen.

I leaned back against the wall, trying to steady my breath, to convince myself that the memory wasn’t happening anymore. But it was. It always would be. I felt it coil around me, curl in my chest, grip my throat. I would never be free of it.

And yet, somewhere beneath the constant hum of fear, a faint thought flickered, like a candle almost snuffed by wind.

Michael. A new client, just entering this strange orbit around me. I didn’t know him yet. I didn’t know whether he could hurt me, save me, or simply observe me the way Don Luca did. But the thought of him, of a man who might…maybe look at me differently, stirred something I've never felt.

I shook my head slightly. No. It didn’t matter. He was irrelevant to the memory of Rechel, to the basement, to the crushing, unrelenting weight of what it meant to survive here. He didn’t belong in this room. He didn’t belong in this fear.

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the present. The walls of my room, the dim light, the faint scent of the city outside. I tried to ground myself. But I couldn’t escape entirely. The fear stayed. The memory stayed. Silent, patient, always watching.

Because in Ambrosia, in Don Luca’s world, survival wasn’t guaranteed. Pain was inevitable. And trust… trust was a luxury no girl could afford.

And somewhere, far away, Michael’s presence hovered in my mind, and I felt terrified, what could he possibly want? My next visit is in two days, and I wish that I didn't need to go. His presence… his aura makes me weak and vulnerable. Just as I was about to sleep Barney came a knocking on my door.

“ Marah, Don Luca wants you in his office now.” I felt an uneven chill ran through my vain, but I must put myself together, ready to meet the very weapon fashioned against me…