Page 55 of Blood Heir

I pace the room, each step echoing against the cold marble. My blood boils under my skin, pulse pounding. Cassian stands to the side, phone to his ear, muttering into the receiver. My hands clench and unclench as I stare at the door.

Three hours.

I start toward the door, my jaw tight, my vision narrowing, but Cassian blocks my path, stepping in front of me.

“Serevin.”

“Get out of my face before I snap your neck.”

His palm lifts slightly, trying to calm me. His voice remains level, but I hear the tension under it. “Your aunt says she has it under wraps. We saw Gustavo drive off with her. Your aunt has your men searching. She wasn’t kidnapped. She will be back.”

I glare at him. “It’s been three hours.”

“We’ve got our men scanning every major highway out of Melbourne. She’s not leaving the city. She probably went for drinks with Gustavo. The new her is quite…lively.”

His attempt at humor scrapes against my nerves. I open my mouth, but the door swings open behind him.

Emilia stumbles in first. Her hair is a mess, her eyes wide, her breathing shaky. She’s disheveled—even more than usual. Behind her, Fioretta follows. She’s limping slightly, her gait uneven. The oversized T-shirt hangs just above her bare legs, and she’s in unfamiliar shorts. A bandage wraps around her head. My chest tightens at the sight of her.

Cassian’s head turns sharply, silent. My gaze locks on Fioretta, scanning her from head to toe. My fists curl again.

They stop a few feet from me. Emilia bows her head, her hands twisting. Fioretta barely glances at me. She looks exhausted, but that sharp fire still flickers in her eyes.

“Do you both care to explain?” My voice is low, cold.

Fioretta exhales slowly, lifting her gaze to mine with steady defiance. “No, I don’t,” she says, her voice flat. “I’m tired.”

She moves past me, and I catch her wrist before she slips away. She spins to face me, her jaw tight, her eyes fierce. “Let me go before I kill you.”

We stare at each other. The room stretches thin around us. Her pulse races beneath my grip. She isn’t afraid—not of me, not anymore.

I release her.

She pulls her hand back and walks upstairs without looking back.

The silence wraps around us as I turn my eyes to Emilia. She trembles, her skin pale and damp. I take a slow step toward her. She flinches.

“What happened.” My voice cuts sharper this time.

Her lips part, and words tumble out, rapid, shaky. “I—I met her on the road. She was walking—alone. I—I was driving back. I saw her there, and I picked her up. I brought her home, safe. That’s all.”

I stare. Her breathing quickens under my gaze, her hands wringing together like she’s trying to squeeze the lie out of her own skin.

Cassian watches from behind, silent, waiting.

I step even closer, lowering my head so my words hit her trembling mouth directly. “Tell me the truth now, Emilia, and I will spare your life.”

Her eyes pool with tears as she stares at me, her body locked in place, unable to move.

I sit behind my desk, the weight of the room pressing in, heavy with her sobs. Emilia stands before me, crumbling. Her hands shake as she wrings her fingers together, her shoulders hunched forward. Her tears drip freely, staining her already blotchy face. She struggles to speak, words tumbling out between gasps.

“It wasn’t—it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t plan it,” she breathes out, wiping her face roughly with her palm. “Monte—Monte planned it. Gustavo too. They took her, they were going to—” She hiccups. “They poured wine on her, threw food on her—humiliated her.”

My jaw tightens. My hands ball into fists on the desk, nails biting into my palm.

Her voice cracks. “They stripped her. Left her in her underwear.” She pauses, like reliving it drains the breath from her lungs. “They slapped her. Monte hit her with—something heavy. I—I don’t even know what it was.”

I don’t speak. The rage builds, creeping like acid through my veins. My pulse throbs against my temples.

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