Chapter 69: I need to Know
Vanessa
"That fucking woman!" I screamed the moment I got back into my room, slamming the door behind me as I groaned in anger, the sound echoing slightly in the enclosed space.
Carmen Castillo! I wondered how I had ever thought she could be a better person than Father, anger rising sharply at the part of myself that had hoped for a sister and imagined how nice it would be to meet a sibling I had only known about but never truly met.
"Fucking piece of shit!" I groaned, falling onto my bed as I recalled the way she had threatened my mother without a single trace of empathy in her bones, her expression completely cold.
But barely had the thought settled in my mind when suddenly a loud booming sound echoed through the house, loud enough to make me scramble off the bed and dive underneath it in panic.
Next came the sharp sounds of guns and bullets, followed by screams and shouts that seemed to be coming from the guards. My hands shook with fear as I lay under my bed, pressing myself closer to the floor.
Clearly, whatever was going on was an attack, and I gasped softly, wondering how someone like Nico Romano—a billionaire with countless guards—could be attacked like this.
"Shit!" I cursed under my breath as I covered my head with my hands, doing my best to remain completely silent without uttering a word or even breathing too loudly.
The sound of guns booming through the night continued for much longer than I wanted, each second stretching painfully, as I grabbed my phone with trembling hands and dialed 911, no longer caring if someone else had already called.
"Please, there’s... there’s an attack at Nico Romano’s estate!" I uttered into the phone as quietly as I could, my voice shaking.
But barely had the words left my mouth when the operator responded immediately.
"Nico Romano’s estate? Are you sure that’s where you are?" she asked, a slight impatience in her tone.
"Of course!" I snapped back in anger, something she should already know since she could track my phone, only to hear words that my brain struggled to process next.
"We just reached out, and the security has assured me that everything is under control," she said, and I was about to point out that even she could hear the gunfire through the call. How was that under control?
But she hung up on me.
The incredulity of the situation stunned me into silence. The thought that the police would hang up and not care about citizens made my hands shake even more as I suddenly recalled the man I had met on my way to school.
I still had his card and phone number. He had pointed out that he was with the FBI and that they were conducting an investigation about Carmen and Nico, who I might be related to.
I had denied everything at the time, and he had simply handed me his card before turning away, leaving me with a few final words.
"Just make sure you don’t get involved with them. They are not at all what they seem. If you get in trouble somehow, call me... you have my number."
The guns were still booming as I scrolled through my phone quickly and found his number, dialing it as I began to narrate everything that was happening, fear clear in my voice.
I was terrified.
Being there was already against my will. It wasn’t something I wanted in the first place.
But I had just finished speaking, asking him to send help, when I suddenly heard a soft, almost amused laugh from the other end.
"It’s already an oversight that they didn’t give you another phone, but just in case, memorize my number. If you find an opportunity to step out, we’ll meet at the central mall. It’s crowded enough."
"I’ll wait there at the very center ground floor near the fountain at 2pm every day. Wear something red, we’ll talk if you’re alive until then," he said, his voice deep, warm, and husky—nothing like the man I had met earlier.
"What? What do you mean—" I started, confusion rising, but I was still speaking when the call suddenly ended.
He hung up.
The line went dead.
It was only after silence reigned in the air for several long minutes that I realized the sound of gunfire had already ceased.
Everything had gone quiet.
But even then, I didn’t dare move from under the bed. I remained there, my heart pounding loudly in my chest, afraid that someone—anyone—could burst into my room and kill me at any moment.
"Fuck!" I swore again under my breath, something my mother would hate, but I didn’t care enough to stop myself. Fear that I might die here, and my mother would never even know, weighed heavily on me.
"Twenty-four years... I’m not ready to die," I mumbled quietly as tears filled my eyes, and I continued to lie there until exhaustion eventually pulled me into sleep.
The next morning, it was the beeping of my phone that woke me up. I blinked slowly, glancing around the room to see sunlight streaming through the windows as if nothing had happened.
Still, one look at my phone was enough to remind me.
A message.
From the same number.
{Central mall, beside the fountain. Wear red, 2pm. If I don’t see you in a week, I will assume you’re dead.}
The tone was cold. Extremely so.
But I didn’t care as I stared hard at the message, my grip tightening around my phone before I scrambled out from under the bed and rushed out of my room, intent on getting answers.
I was shocked when I stepped out to see two guards stationed outside. I immediately asked about the events of the night, but they simply shook their heads.
"It’s been handled," they responded.
Annoyed, I was about to head back into my room when I spotted Carmen heading up the stairs toward her room, which was just before mine.
Clearly, she hadn’t slept there.
That realization unsettled me even more.
I rushed over and blocked her path.
"What’s happening? I heard gunshots and—" I began, but she cut me off immediately, a familiar fierceness in her eyes.
"It’s better if you don’t know. It’s handled," she said, brushing past me and entering her room before slamming the door behind her.
The number of guards on the floor had doubled, enough to tell me that something serious had happened.
I had planned to ignore the message.
I really had.
But the thought of not knowing how I died—or why—gnawed at me from the inside.
Staring at her closed door, I made my decision right there and then.
"I’ll meet with the FBI agent."
