It was a "gift" he gave me the day he finally won me over—those stakes. A percentage of the Family's legitimate holdings, the kind of security that made a woman untouchable. I told him it was too much, that I didn't need his fortune, only his heart. But he held my hand tight and insisted I sign the papers.
That gentle voice still echoes in my mind like a cruel memory, a ghost of who he used to be:
"Baby, if you want the stars or the moon, I'll reach up and pull them down for you. What's a few stakes compared to that?"
I know now—what we had, it was real. Once. But people change. Hearts grow cold. And love? Love is never immortal. It can be killed just like anything else.
The boy who once held me like I was his whole world—he's long gone. Swallowed by time and ambition and the poison my sister dripped into his ear night after night.
Just as I ended the call, my phone lit up with a message from Colino.
[Calmed down yet? I've arranged the cemetery plot and paid for the funeral. Satisfied now? Stop testing my patience, Anneliese.]
Another one followed almost instantly: