YESTERDAY'S GHOSTS

Sofia's small, lovely face, surrounded by the decaying loveliness of the house, outlined a knife in Luca's abdomen. A surge of possessive fury washed over him, blotting out the cold, calculating fury that had brought him here. This wasn't about control or dominance anymore; this was his sister, his flesh and blood. Isabella followed behind her, a conqueror's glint in her eye that ran a shiver down Luca's spine. She was nearly queen-like in her ugliness, a monarch looming over her captive. But beneath the mask, Luca saw a glimpse of something exposed and raw, a lifetime of grievance at last finding its fatal denouement. "Leave her alone, Isabella," Luca growled, his voice strained, the tightly coiled frost starting to frayed at the edges with tension of feeling. He could see the fear in Sofia's eyes, the unspoken question upstairs that was in him too: would he ever be able to take her out of here alive? Isabella's laugh was cold, with no real humor. "Let her go? After all this? You really think it's going to be that simple, Luca?" You and your beautiful family always withdrew to your ivory tower, happily oblivious to the doom you left behind. Her words shook, a bitter sting of pain cutting through her venom. "Her mother… she fancied your father. She did everything for him, and what did she get back? Contempt. Spurning. She fled in fear, his bastard child with her, and in knowledge of the sort of man he was." Luca's breath was seized. He'd heard rumor of his father's sin, but never thought it anything other than jealous rant on the part of his foes. To be confronted with the reality of the rumor, seething with decades of anger and bitterness, was a foul and rank taste. "Isabella," he began, trying to hold on to a shred of sanity in her stormy feelings. "I didn't know… "Not likely, at all," she taunted, slashing him across. "Why in the world would you? You were the legitimate heir, the rightful son. We were nothing. Bridesmaids to your whirl of the exotic." She shot a bitter glance Sofia's way across the room, her eyes heavy with an odd combination of pity and strategy. "She has your father's eyes, you know. So unschooled, so naive of the dark around your family." Luca took a step forward, his trembling hand out to grab Sofia, but stopped himself just in time, for spasmodic movement only fueled Isabella's insanity. "This isn't Sofia's fault. She hasn't done anything to you." "Isn't she?" Isabella's voice was close to being shrill. "She's a Vincenzo. She bears the name, the disgrace of the man who destroyed my mother's life. You people are." Tears bordered the corners of Sofia's eyes, and a soft whimper escaped her lips. Luca's heart was like stone. He had to end this, and he had to end it right now. "Isabella, what do you want?" he growled, his voice ice and stone. "Say it. Tell me. Name your price. Anything." Isabella's mouth curled into a wicked smile. "Anything? Will you restore my mother to me, Luca? Will you turn back the years of pain and shame she suffered?" Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. "No. Some debts are never paid in gold or land.". "So what?" Luca snarled, his own temper unravelling. He could hear the groaning of his soldiers pacing impatiently outside his door, awaiting his order to charge. But he held back, aware that a direct charge would put Sofia in more peril. "I want you to know how I knew," Isabella gasped, her throat heavy with icicled rage. "The helplessness, the fear… knowing that the ones you love are in danger because of what you are." Her gaze fixed on Luca's, lunatic, wild rage burning through her. "I want you to understand everything you love is taken away from you." Luca's blood ran cold. This was not about dominance; this was about revenge, plain and simple. Isabella was not sane; she was tormented by demons of her own history. And then, at the periphery of his vision, a flash of motion. Bianca. Standing on the far side of the room, her face twisted in an inner struggle he couldn't decipher. Did she step towards him? Or did she remain frozen in place and wait for him? Isabella's gaze trailed behind Luca. Her gaze opened in surprise, then furrowed in distrust. She said, "Bianca? What are you doing here?" Bianca entered the room, her face a combination of obstinacy and hidden, searing pain. "I could not allow this to happen, Isabella." Her tone was hard but gentle. "This is not done this way." "Which way is it done?" Isabella sneered. "You, all of you, instructing me 'the way'? You, who've been with them, living off their wealth?" "I came back for you, Isabella," said Bianca, looking at her imploringly. "I wanted to have a family of our own, not one formed of hate and revenge." Something – sorrow? Shock? – flashed across Isabella's face, but it vanished before growing into stone resolve. "It's too late for that now, Bianca," she said, her tone icy. "They stole our mother from us, in their manner. And now I'm stealing something from them." Luca employed it, his voice slicing the tense air. "Bianca's right, Isabella. This is not the answer. You'll only hurt yourself." Isabella's grip on Sofia's wrist was a vice. "Don't you see, Luca? I'm already broken. You people broke me." Lorenzo was half pushed, half dragged down the corridor, battered and bloodied face twisted into a death mask of terror, elbows in the hands of two Luca heavies. "Boss. she. she had aims, other," he spluttered, eyeballs bulging in terror. "She wasn't going to go and procure just the sister." Isabella's eyes burned with rage. "You dirty dog traitor!" No one had time to think as Isabella shoved Sofia in front of her, toward Luca, and repeated the swift movement of the hand clutching the tiny, concealed pistol. Metallic click resonated down the icelike corridor. Time stood still. Luca took an involuntary step but recognized that he would never be able to get to Sofia in time. Bianca shrieked. The ring of the pistol, ringing and mournful to the ears. It was not Sofia, however, who fell to the ground. Isabella took a step backward, face one of horror, chest a red splash of blood. Bianca stood stock still, still-warm gun in her hand against her palm, shock and horror on her face. The spirits of the dead had finally arrived in their rightful location, and quiet was more potent than shots. The reconciliation of the sisters brought them close to death, and the price of their common past paid in coinages poorest. Luca stood amazed, Sofia shivering but unscathed in his arms, looking down on Isabella's shattered corpse, the weight of their shared fates weighing heavily upon all.