Chapter 2 – Basement Echoes
1036 Words
*Casa Moretti – Fourteen Years Ago*
“Hold your head high, Claire. Remember, we belong here now."
Claire gripped her mother's hand as they stepped into the grand hall of Casa Moretti. The marble gleamed under chandeliers. Every surface sparkled. Every stare burned.
“She's the one?" a girl's voice sneered. “The bastard from the charity hospital?"
Claire turned toward the voice.
A girl her age, dressed in silk and shadows, stood by the staircase. Behind her were two boys—older, bored, dangerous.
“That's Viviana," her mother whispered. “Your stepsister."
Claire blinked up at her. “She doesn't like me."
“She doesn't know you yet."
Viviana stepped forward. “What's your name again? Clara? Clarice?"
“Claire," she said quietly.
Viviana snorted. “Right. The poor girl with the w***e mother."
Claire's cheeks flamed. “Don't talk about my mom like that."
One of the boys chuckled. “Or what? You'll sew us to death?"
“Leonardo," the mother scolded from a balcony above. “Behave."
The boy offered a mocking bow. “As you wish, mother."
Claire tightened her grip on her sketchbook, the one she'd carried like armor. She wanted to run. But her mother squeezed her shoulder.
“Endure," she whispered. “We don't get second chances."
That night, Claire found shredded pages in her backpack. Her favorite dress splashed with ink. She found her toothbrush in the toilet.
When she told her mother, the reply came as always.
“Endure. Don't make trouble. We're guests here."
“They said I'm not really family."
Her mother looked away. “We need this, Claire. Just survive."
—
*Two Months Later – Wine Cellar*
“Do it," Viviana hissed. “She's scared of the dark. I saw her cry during that thunderstorm."
Claire backed away. “What are you—"
Leonardo and Matteo flanked her. “Let's play hide and seek."
“I don't want to—"
Matteo shoved her.
Claire stumbled down the stone steps. The iron door slammed shut above her.
“No!" she screamed. “Let me out!"
Their laughter faded.
Darkness swallowed her.
“Please!" Her fists pounded the door. “Please, let me out!"
Silence.
Her knuckles split. Her throat burned. Her sobs echoed off cold stone.
She curled up on the damp floor, whispering the only prayer she remembered.
“Please… someone…"
Hours passed. Or maybe days.
Then—
*Clink.*
The lock turned.
The door creaked open.
Light poured in like salvation.
A figure stood in the doorway, backlit by gold.
Vincenzo.
He didn't speak.
Just stared at her—dusty, shaking, eyes red.
He stepped inside, shrugged off his charcoal jacket, and draped it around her.
Claire flinched at first—then collapsed into him.
He held her. Not tightly. Just enough.
“You're safe now," he said.
“I—I couldn't breathe," she whispered. “I thought I'd die."
“They will never touch you again."
He pulled her to her feet, guided her out.
In the hall, servants stared. He didn't care.
He dragged Leonardo, Matteo, and Viviana to the main salon.
“On your knees," he ordered.
Leonardo sneered. “What is this?"
“You locked her in a cellar. You terrified her."
“She's not even blood."
“She's under my protection," Vincenzo said, voice low, lethal. “That makes her family."
Matteo rolled his eyes. “You're overreacting."
Vincenzo's boot slammed into the table, splintering wood.
“No. I'm correcting a mistake."
Claire stood behind him, still shaking.
“You touch her again," Vincenzo growled, “and I swear, you'll beg for a dungeon."
Viviana scoffed. “You're acting like she's your—"
His glare shut her up.
From that day forward, no one laid a finger on Claire White.
—
*Present Day – Florence Apartment*
Claire sat cross-legged on the floor, scarf in hand, phone untouched beside her.
Edward appeared in the doorway, holding two cappuccinos.
“You didn't sleep," he said gently.
“No."
He walked in, sat beside her. “Did you go to the police?"
“No point."
“Claire—"
“I know how this works. He's not a man you charge. He's a man who decides what charges exist."
Edward studied her face. “You know him better than I thought."
“I know who I was around him," she whispered. “That's the problem."
He reached for her hand. “You're not that girl anymore."
“I'm not sure he believes that."
Edward hesitated. “Will he come back?"
Claire nodded. “He gave me twenty-four hours."
“To what?"
“Leave with him. Or risk everything I've built."
Edward's jaw clenched. “If he touches you—"
“He won't. Not like that. He doesn't have to."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Claire looked up. “There's something I never told you."
“You don't have to—"
“I do."
She met his eyes.
“Vincenzo saved me. Once. When I was thirteen. He protected me from his siblings, from... everything. He became my entire world. I followed him everywhere. And then, when it really mattered, he gave me away."
Edward's voice was low. “To Salvatore Russo."
She nodded.
“I begged him to stop it. He chose ambition."
She gripped the scarf. “So I chose to die."
Edward exhaled slowly. “And now he wants you back."
Claire looked out the window.
Rain blurred the city.
“Yes. But I'm not sure it's me he wants… or the control he lost."
He wrapped his arms around her. “We'll figure something out."
Claire leaned against him.
But in her chest, an old wound pulsed—alive again.
—
*Casa Moretti – The Next Morning*
Vincenzo stood before the courtyard fountain, tossing espresso grounds into the stone basin.
Carlo, his consigliere, approached. “Did she agree?"
“Not yet."
“You gave her time?"
“I gave her a choice."
Carlo raised a brow. “She won't come willingly."
“She will," Vincenzo said flatly.
“Why?"
“Because I know her heart."
Carlo hesitated. “And if you're wrong?"
Vincenzo stared at the rippling water.
“I won't be."
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