Chapter 2 Loud Girls Don't Live

POV: Fiore

I unpacked slowly. Not because I had much, just one small leather bag but because I wanted to see if anything in the room would move when I wasn't looking.

It didn't.

But I still didn't turn my back on the mirror. Not with that crack running through it like a scar. It felt like the room could see me better through it. Or maybe the house. Or worse, I'm being watched.

There was no clock. No phone. Even if it's a damn landline. Just a gilded bell on the nightstand with a card under it. Read:

"Ring if you need assistance."

I didn't.

But someone knocked anyway.

The door opened slowly with a crack.

And there she was standing, a girl barely seventeen years, looking like someone who'd been messed with just for dreaming too loud.

She looked tiny, so fragile.

Her huge dark eyes watched everything and her mouth twitched like it wanted to smile but had forgotten how to. Her apron was spotless, like she still cared or someone made her pretend to.

Her hair tightly braided. And her hands...shaking.

"Miss Rosetti?" she asked.

I looked her over. "Who wants to know?"

"I'm... I'm Emilia. Madonna Serafina assigned me to you."

I gave her a long look. "How bad do you think I am?"

She blinked. "I...I didn't say..."

"You don't have to. You flinched when you said my name."

I leaned in, lowering my voice barely above whisper. "You sure you're not just pretending to work here? You look barely sixteen."

I gave her a long look. She looked like she'd stepped out of an old convent painting if the nuns had switched to surveillance cameras and shame instead of prayer beads.

She came a few steps in, closer to me with her eyes darting to the corners of the room. Like something might be watching. Maybe something was.

"I can assist you with your unpacking..."

"Already done."

"Or with...."

"You don't have to serve me like you're waiting for a slap, Emilia."

That made her eyes widen.

She lowered them again quickly. "I only want to do it right."

I caught the tremble in her voice. Then I saw it. Just for a second as she turned to reach for a brush on the vanity: the thin pale ridges on the inside of her wrists.

It wasn't fresh. Didn't look like something violence would cause. But looked real and tightly packed and clean. Looked like it was done deliberately and consciously.

"Those yours?" I asked softly.

She paused, her hand hovering mid-air. "...Sometimes I get things wrong."

"And someone punishes you for that?"

Her silence was answer enough.

I stood and crossed the room slowly.

"You can look at me," I said.

She did, reluctantly.

I softened, barely. "You've worked here long?"

"Six months," she whispered. "Before that, I was in the Rosetti chapel orphanage."

"Rosetti?" I asked, raising my eyebrow.

"It wasn't named for your family," she said quickly. "I mean...it was. But not recently."

I smiled. "Don't worry. I'm not insulted. I don't even like my name most days."

She offered a tiny, unsure smile in return.

I stepped closer, my tone dropping into whisper. "Tell me something, Emilia. No more fear. Don't give me the fucking silence everyone in this house give. You see things here, don't you?"

A pause.

"I'm not supposed to...."

"No one is. But I'm not asking you what you were told. I'm asking what you know."

Her throat bobbed. "What do you want to know?"

"Why they sent me here."

Emilia hesitated, she glanced at the door.

"They said... to keep the peace."

"And?"

"And to keep you hidden."

I tilted my head. "From huh?"

Another pause. She lowered her voice like the walls could tattle.

"Don Matteo doesn't like loud women."

I didn't move. Let that phrase settle between us.

"Loud how?" What in hell is that supposed to mean?

"Not just by voices," she said. "Thoughts. Presence. He likes to control."

I gave a soft laugh. "Well. That's going to be a problem."

"I think that's why you're here."

Her honesty hit like cold wine. I liked her better for it.

"What happens when a girl in this house is too loud, Emilia?"

She didn't speak for a moment.

Then, "You stop seeing her."

My jaw tensed.

I sighed.

Of course it had to be the closet. And then I walked straight to it, pretending I wasn't scared of something popping out.

It was filled with black gowns.

Every one of them with high collars, long sleeves, and no zippers just some boring rows of tiny buttons, like restraints. Not a single garment a woman would choose for herself.

"This Don of yours. Does he have a thing against skin?"

Emilia hesitated. "He... also... doesn't like women who draw attention."

I smiled slowly. "Then he's going to hate me." This whoever he is seems to have embedded fear in a lot of people. Does he know about Rosetti? Clearly not.

I cluckled.

I turned back to her. "He ever punish you?"

"No," she said too fast.

For someone like Emilia, that was too fast and I could tell she had just lied.

"...Only once," she added, eyes fixed on the floor. "Maybe twice."

"How?"

"I dropped a tray. He didn't speak. He just left the room. The next morning I was told I'd been reassigned to garden work for a month. With shoes. In winter."

I exhaled, slowly.

"And you're still here."

"Better here than elsewhere," she said softly. "At least here the rules are clear."

A knock made both of us jump.

But it was only Serafina of course. She stepped in like smoke, placed a small black box on the vanity, and left without a word.

Emilia stared at it.

"What is it?" I asked.

Her fingers curled. "She said to place it here for when you return."

I opened it.

Inside: a bracelet.

White.

Smooth.

Cold.

Bone.

Not ivory. Not pearl. Bone!!! Of all things?

It wasn't even polished. Slightly rough.

It wasn't decorative. There was no engraving. No stone. No gold. Just... whatever.

Emilia stepped closer, voice low. "That's his bracelet."

"Huh?" I tilted my head.

"Made for you. Or not. I don't know. They say he gives one when he chooses."

"Chooses what?"

She didn't answer. Gosh! I hate how they communicate in this house! Do they all have the same tone? Or?

I looked down at the bracelet again.

A blue light comes brown the side of the cracked mirror. I loved close. A camera moves. The house is alive and watching.

I looked at the bracelet again.

I didn't touch it.