TORN BETWEEN TWO BROTHERS

Chapter Five — Midnight Confessions

The sky was already bruised with deep purple shadows by the time Kara trudged up the rickety staircase to their apartment. Her arms and shoulders ached from scrubbing antique floors, polishing brass until her fingers went raw, and keeping her mouth in check for a full day — a miracle in itself.

She fumbled with the keys, the metal cold against her palm. When the door finally swung open, she stepped straight into warmth — the tiny flat glowing with soft lamplight, the smell of garlic and fresh herbs wrapping around her like a promise.

“Kara!” Aria squealed, practically launching herself off the battered couch. She barreled into Kara’s arms so hard they both nearly toppled back into the hallway. “Tell me you didn’t slap anyone. Or get slapped. Or—”

“I didn’t slap anyone,” Kara laughed, hugging her tight. “Yet.”

Behind them, Bella leaned against the wall, arms folded across her chest. Her dark brows arched in mock suspicion, but the relief in her blue eyes was impossible to miss. “So? Do we need to pack up and run again, or did you charm the rich bastards?”

Kara dropped her bag to the floor and stretched her aching arms. “They hired me.”

A beat of silence — then the apartment erupted into squeals and whoops. Aria danced in a little circle, clutching Kara’s hands, while Bella whooped like they’d just won the lottery. Which, in their world, they basically had.

“I knew it!” Aria cried. “I knew you’d do it! Bella owes me ten euros — she bet you’d storm out halfway through.”

Bella huffed, flinging a throw pillow at Aria’s head. “In my defense, our girl is a hothead. She probably wanted to punch the butler.”

“Just a little bit,” Kara muttered, grinning. “But I didn’t. He tested my cooking, my cleaning — made me scrub floors like my life depended on it.”

Aria took Kara’s face in her soft hands, her eyes shimmering with pride. “We’re going to be okay. This is it. This is the start.”

Kara wished she could hold onto that warm certainty, bottle it like cheap wine and sip it whenever the world got too dark. She looked around at their tiny living room — the threadbare couch, the flickering lamp that buzzed when it rained, the poster of the Naples harbor they’d pinned above the radiator when they first moved in. It was barely more than four walls, but it was theirs.

“Food’s ready,” Bella announced, brushing past them. “No more stale bread tonight. I’m celebrating my girl properly.”

They crowded around their rickety dining table — more milk crates than wood — and dug into Bella’s homemade pasta. Aria poured wine into chipped mugs, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

“To Kara,” Aria said, raising her mug high. “The best cook this side of Berlin. And the only one stubborn enough to survive that damn mansion.”

They clinked mugs, wine sloshing onto their sleeves. Kara laughed so hard her ribs ached, the tension finally uncoiling in her chest. They ate greedily, talking over each other — Aria about her students and the little boy who gave her a wilted daisy that day, Bella about a rude diner who tried to pinch her ass and got an elbow in his gut for his trouble.

Kara let the stories wash over her like warm water, soaking in the simple chaos of them. Her girls. Her family.

---

Later, when the dishes were stacked precariously in the sink and the wine bottle lay empty on its side, they curled up on the couch like they used to back in Naples — all elbows and tangled legs, wrapped in a single threadbare blanket.

Aria rested her head on Kara’s shoulder, her breath warm against her collarbone. Bella perched at the other end, flipping through an old gossip magazine she’d rescued from the diner’s trash.

“So,” Bella drawled, her voice dripping with mischief, “tell us about the master of the mansion. Is he as cold and scary as they say?”

Kara’s fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket. She could still feel it — that moment in the grand hallway, Wilhelm Finn’s eyes on her like a scalpel, cutting straight through her skin to the soft, hidden places underneath.

“He’s…” Kara trailed off, searching for the right word. “He’s… intense.”

Aria peeked up at her, frowning. “Intense how?”

Kara shrugged one shoulder, trying to seem casual. “Just… the way he looks at you. Like he’s reading your thoughts and judging your soul at the same time. He barely spoke to me, but it felt like… like he could see things I didn’t even know I was hiding.”

Bella let out a low whistle. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

Kara laughed, but it came out shaky. She pressed her cheek to Aria’s hair, breathing in the sweet, familiar scent of her cheap strawberry shampoo. “It doesn’t matter. He’s my boss. That’s it.”

But a traitorous part of her whispered the truth in the dark — that the way Wilhelm Finn’s eyes had locked with hers made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t since they fled Naples. Not safe. Not invisible. Alive. Seen.

She hated it. She craved it.

Aria’s eyelids fluttered as she mumbled, “Do you think he’s the type to treat his staff well? You know… no funny business?”

Kara snorted softly. “He didn’t strike me as the handsy type. More like he’d bury you in the woods if you annoyed him.”

Bella cackled. “Comforting.”

Kara’s laughter faded as she stared at the ceiling — the cracked plaster that sagged just a little more every winter. She thought about the Finn Mansion’s glittering chandeliers, the rows of ancient books, the smell of polished wood and money. It was like stepping into another world, and she couldn’t help wondering if some part of her would get lost in it.

Would she still be Kara Armani when this was all over? Or would she become someone else — someone who belonged to that world?

They fell quiet after that, the only sound their steady breathing and the distant hum of the radiator. Kara felt Aria’s fingers slip into hers, Bella’s foot tapping against her shin like an impatient cat.

She loved them so much it hurt — these two girls who’d run with her through rain-slick alleys, who’d stolen bread and dreams and promises right alongside her. Who’d kept her human when the world wanted her feral.

Aria stirred again, her voice slurred with sleep. “We’ll be okay now, won’t we?”

Kara squeezed her hand. “We’ll be more than okay. We’ll be… something more.”

She didn’t know what that more was yet — only that deep in her bones, she wanted it. Not just for survival. Not just for scraps. But something real. Something that felt like the fire Wilhelm Finn’s stare had ignited in her chest.

And if she had to claw her way through the mansion’s secrets to get it — so be it.

---

Hours later, after the other two had drifted off, Kara lay awake in the dim glow of the streetlamp outside their window. She traced her thumb over the little silver moon charm around her neck — their promise to each other.

She thought about the blonde woman with the poisoned smile. About Klaus’s cold eyes. About Wilhelm’s voice — so soft yet sharp enough to cut bone.

She was stepping into a lion’s den tomorrow. But she wasn’t the same girl who’d fled Naples in the back of a cabbage truck. She was Kara Armani — reckless, stubborn, and hungry for more.

And if the Finn Mansion wanted to swallow her whole, it had better be prepared to choke.