Reborn from the Capo's Fire

I wouldn't go through that again. This time, I radioed the other Soldatos under Marshall’s command for help.

I should have known. Marshall had so thoroughly turned his own crew against me that every single one of them refused.

As I watched my meticulously arranged art studio—my creative paradise—be consumed by the inferno, bile rose in my throat.

Marshall once told me that his fondest childhood memory was watching his mother paint in her studio. He said that was what a true artistic home felt like. So I abandoned my plans for a city studio and poured my life savings into building this one with him on the estate.

He had embraced me with tears in his eyes, thanking me for giving him the home he had always dreamed of. He swore he would protect me and this place forever.

And I, like a fool, believed him.

When the flames began to lick at my neck, I refused to just sit here and die.

With all my might, I shoved open the highest ventilation duct. Amid the roaring flames and billowing smoke, I hoisted my father toward the opening, then scrambled up after him.

Below us, a raging inferno. Above, the smooth ceiling offered no handholds.

One slip, and we would be ash.

Fortunately, our luck hadn't completely run out. Two patrol teams were passing through the grounds.

"Help!"

"Help us!"

My father and I waved our hands frantically, screaming until our throats were raw.

The team in the lead heard us and sprinted toward our position.

The captain was a grizzled, middle-aged man, with several young Soldatos at his side.

"There are two people in the vent up there!"

"It's the Capo's wife and Mr. Ricci—hold on! We're coming to get you!"

Hearing their voices, my nose stung, and tears of relief welled in my eyes. I nodded over and over, flooded with gratitude.

At least these strangers were willing to help.

But just as they were about to throw us a rope, the second team caught up.

It was Bianca's team, with several family members she had rescued in tow.

The moment she saw someone trying to save me, a look of pure contempt twisted her face.

"Leave them. The Capo said her studio is fireproofed up the wazoo. No matter what happens, she and her father won't be in any real danger."

She was Marshall's lieutenant, his most loyal dog. She never questioned his word.

Bianca then turned her venom on me, yelling, "No wonder Marshall always says Paige is the true artist, so kind and pure. And you? The daughter of some outsider, selfish to the core... He was right about you! Rosa, you're wasting the family's resources. Do you have any idea how many people could die because of your theatrics?"

The temperature inside the duct was skyrocketing, the flames funneling smoke directly toward us. My father's breathing grew ragged and shallow.

The men in the other team grew agitated as they listened to Bianca's tirade.

"Are you fucking crazy? Who survives a fire like that? There's an old man up there!"

"They're about to be cooked alive, and you're saying they shouldn't call for help? Do they have to be a pile of ash before it's not a 'waste of resources'?"

"Ignore this psycho—let's get them down!"

Both teams surged toward me at once.

But it was too late.

My father had no strength left. A violent explosion rocked the building, and the force of it tore him from my grasp.

"Papa!"

My world turned to fire and screaming. Panic seized me. I let go, launching myself down after him.

In that instant, my fear of the flames vanished.

But as the inferno swallowed me whole, no matter how I struggled, no matter how I screamed for help, I couldn't reach my father, nor could I find any escape for myself.

Those two teams, once symbols of hope, were lost to my sight.

Panic gave way to terror, and terror dissolved into the cold certainty of despair.

In the last moments before consciousness fled, I murmured in agony, "I'm sorry, Papa… I failed you… again."